Lone Wolf (Wilde Brothers Ranch #6)- Scarlett Grove Page 0,13

with his mate, only to have it snatched away just as quickly.

“Dylan?” a voice called from the door of his office. “We need help checking these boxes.”

A new batch of interns had come into the warehouse, and he had to teach them all over again how to do everything. But he hadn't been able to focus on his work since their arrival. And he asked himself daily if he even cared anymore. What was the point of it all without her? Did any of it even matter?

“I'll be right there,” he said, his voice impatient and rough.

The intern whispered a wary thank-you and disappeared out the door. Dylan growled at himself and at the world as he slammed his fist onto his desk and rose. He went out into the warehouse to check on the orders, picking up the packing slips as he went through each box. They had all been packed incorrectly. Every. Single. One. He picked up the first box and dumped the contents out on the packing table.

“I showed you five times how to pack the dry ice. And you've done it incorrectly. Again.”

The interns looked at each other, shrinking away from his gruff voice.

“I'm sorry, Dylan, but you never showed us,” said a brave young woman who couldn't have been more than five foot two.

He turned on her, baring his teeth. “What do you mean, I didn't show you? I showed you at least five times.”

“You told us yesterday that you’d show us today.” She went on, “But then when we came in today, you told us to go pack the boxes.”

Dylan looked down at the mess he’d made on the packing table, his mind searching for the memory of showing these interns, whose names he didn't even know, how to properly pack the boxes. When he realized that the girl was right, the truth of his mistake slowly sank in. He was angrier than before.

“I can't do this right now.” He stormed out of the warehouse into the bright Colorado sunshine. The heat hit his face and blared in his eyes. His brothers were out in the fields, fixing a water trough.

Cal waved at him in the distance. Dylan growled and stomped away, flinging open the door of his Jeep. All of his brothers had found their mates. Each and every one of them. They each had their problems, but those had ultimately been resolved. Gunner had even mated with a McCoy, of all people. The families, longtime enemies, had resolved a century-old conflict for Gunner and his mate.

But Dylan still had no one. His mate had left him without a word or a second thought. Just the memory of the taste of her kiss on his lips reminded him of everything he would never have. He turned on the car and pulled out of the parking lot, driving away from his responsibilities as quickly as possible, with the weight of his family’s expectations on his shoulders. He slammed his foot on the gas, pushing his Jeep harder and faster than anyone should ever drive on a gravel road.

He was pushing sixty miles per hour when he swerved onto the main highway, barely missing a semi that blasted its horn as he cut in front of the driver. He gritted his teeth, pressing his foot on the gas pedal. His Jeep was roaring down the narrow country highway at eighty miles an hour, then ninety miles an hour, then one hundred miles an hour.

He took the turns at ridiculous speeds. The danger pushed his shifter senses to the limit. It wasn't until he heard a sheriff’s siren blaring behind him that Dylan slowed even a little. He swore, slowing his vehicle. He pulled over on a turnout on the side of the road and waited. The officer approached his car. Dylan gritted his teeth, preparing for the man's instant recognition of him and his family.

Sheriff Brown rapped his knuckles on Dylan's window. And he rolled it down.

“Dylan Wilde, you were driving a hundred miles an hour on a thirty-five-mile-an-hour turn.”

“Yep.”

Shaking his head, the sheriff asked Dylan for his license and registration. He produced the documents. Sheriff Brown glanced at them and then looked back down at Dylan.

“I've known your brother Austin since we were kids. Our families go back a long way. I can't excuse this kind of reckless behavior. Do you want to tell me what’s going on that would cause you to be so irresponsible?”

“Not really,” Dylan said.

It was true. He didn't care.