Lift Her Up (Kaid Ranch Shifters #3) - T. S. Joyce
Chapter One
Wesley Kaid ran his hand down his beard and squinted against the dust that his truck had kicked up on the gravel road. Nobody on this ranch ever checked the damn mail. Always left it up to him.
“Lazy assholes,” he muttered about his brother, Hunter, and his blood-brother, Bryson.
The mailbox was overflowing so that the door didn’t shut all the way. Annoying. Everything was annoying.
Half of it was junk mail and half were the bills that plagued every rancher. They were relentless, especially with a place this big. For some reason, Hunter always liked to pay the bills. Wes never understood that. He would make a bills checklist and feel some sense of accomplishment with each one he marked off. Wes just got pissed he had to bleed the money at all.
Bill, bill, bill, grass-fed cattle magazine, bill, another bill, Ranchers Weekly, hand-written letter.
Huh.
The handwriting on the envelope was so familiar.
There was no return address. Wes left that one at the top of the stack and strode for his truck. He yanked open the driver’s side door and tossed every piece of mail on his seat except for the handwritten one.
That handwriting…
It was addressed to him. He glared at the loud-ass cow standing by the fence, mooing at him for food like the spoiled critter didn’t have acres of green grass to eat. It was one of Maris’s cows she’d named Marmalade. Stupid name. “Next Steak and Beer Friday, we’re going to eat you,” he assured the cow.
It was a lie. Maris would go wolf if he ever—
A picture fell out of the letter he was opening. It fluttered to the white gravel and, on instinct, he stepped on it with his boot so it wouldn’t blow away in the breeze.
Right above the toe of his boot was a picture of a face that stopped his heart.
Wes squatted down and picked it up, stared at it in disbelief. Wes would always recognize his brother, even looking like a monster, even with all the scars on the side of his face. In the picture, his brother was wearing a baseball cap, looking over his shoulder, hands shoved in his pockets as he walked down a street full of storefronts.
With shaking hands, Wes opened the ruled notebook paper that the picture had been folded into.
Sam is alive.
-Summer
It was a lie. He’d made this up in his head. Wes looked around the pasture, at the cows staring at him. Why was it so hard to breathe? It was as if he were trying to suck concrete into his lungs.
Summer.
Sam.
Summer.
Sam.
The biggest losses of his life were in this letter. Summer was his own damn fault, but Sam? Alive? Couldn’t be.
“Wake up, wake up,” he huffed out, squeezing his eyes closed as he knelt there by the truck, gripping the picture and the letter so hard the paper crumpled in his hand. He couldn’t breathe.
How many stupid times had he dreamed Sam was alive? How many times had he imagined doing everything differently with Summer? This wasn’t real.
“It’s not real,” he uttered in a voice he didn’t recognize.
Weak.
Fuck. He’d always been the weakest of the Kaid brothers. Just had to keep a cool face, steady hand, fight everyone. Prove he was fine. “I’m fine.”
But when he eased his eyes open, the letter was still there, being abused by his grip.
Wes stood in a rush, shoved the picture and letter in his back pocket, and climbed into his rig. Panicking, he hit the gas and the door slammed closed from the momentum. His Ford could go when he needed it to and, right now, the truck peeled out for a few seconds before the tires caught traction on the loose gravel. The truck fishtailing, Wes turned the wheel to steady out and then blasted down the driveway to the ranch.
What did he need? What did he need? What should he do? He didn’t even have Summer’s number anymore. She’d blocked him or got a new phone years ago. Moved on and forced him to move on. And she should’ve! She’d done good. Strong girl had done exactly what he deserved.
The picture gave no clues as to where Sam was. The names of the stores had been cropped out. He was about to call every wolf he knew to start tracking Summer. She was the key. If Sam hadn’t found him and Hunter, it was for a reason. A bad reason, if the dark instinct deep in his gut was right—and that was always right.
Sam was alive.
Sam