Lift Her Up (Kaid Ranch Shifters Book 3)
LIFT HER UP
(KAID RANCH SHIFTERS, BOOK 3)
By T. S. JOYCE
Other Books in the Kaid Ranch Shifters Series
Steal Her Heart (Book 1)
Make Her New (Book 2)
Love Her Better (Coming May 2020)
Lift Her Up
Copyright © 2020 by T. S. Joyce
Copyright © 2020, T. S. Joyce
First electronic publication: March 2020
T. S. Joyce
www.tsjoyce.com
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
Published in the United States of America.
Editor: Corinne DeMaagd
Photographer: Wander Aquiar
Contents
Other Books in the Kaid Ranch Shifters Series
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Up Next in this Series
Newsletter Sign-Up
More Series from this Author
For More From this Author
About the Author
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 was alive?
She was messing with him. If he wasn’t imagining all this, then this was Summer’s revenge. Had to be.
Hunter was on Boone, trotting toward the road, when Wes pulled up at the big house. No time. No time to explain. He was the new alpha of the Kaid Pack, so Wes couldn’t let his brother see how crazy he was. Alphas were steady. They were the foundation of the pack. He couldn’t expose all his cracks right now.
“Everything all right?” Hunter called as Wes opened his truck door.
“Everything’s great.” His boots hit the gravel, and he strode for the front door.
“Then why was you tearing up the drive like your ass was on fire?” Hunter called. “You gotta take a shit?”
Wes swallowed a snarl and took the porch stairs two at a time.
“Wes!” Hunter yelled. “What’s happening?”
Gritting his teeth, Wes turned and tried to look calm. “I’m just in a hurry to get to work is all. Can you bring in Maris and Sadey’s herds? Time to sell them.”
Hunter’s eyes went wide under the brim of his cowboy hat. “Already?”
Wes looked over Hunter’s shoulde
r. In the corral, Bryson Locke, the bear shifter who missed nothing and looked like the spitting image of Sam, was resting on the saddle horn of his horse, Smoke, staring at Wes with suspicious, narrowed eyes. Bear smelled a rat.
“Both of y’all bring ’em in,” Wes ordered.
“Something’s happening,” Bryson murmured softly. Oh, Wes could hear it fine. He had the ears of a dog.
Sam is alive.
“Mind your business and do what I asked,” Wes barked out. “I’ll explain everything later!”
“Liar,” Hunter called out as he turned Boone toward the pasture where Maris and Sadey’s herds were grazing off in the woods somewhere. “You lied when you said you’ll explain it later. It’s in your voice, plain as day, Alpha.”
“I don’t have to explain everything I have going on, or every feeling I have, dipshit!” This was how Wes coped with feeling shitty about himself. He put people in their place. Threw an insult so they would stop looking at him, stop focusing on him, like now. Hunter didn’t even turn around, just shook his head and kept riding away.
That used to give him satisfaction, like he’d won some battle between him and Hunter, but his brother’s reaction stung enough to draw Wes up straighter now. What was this awful feeling? Hunter was frustrated with him, and it had been a couple weeks since Wes had disappointed anyone. Hunter and Bryson seemed happy. But now?
Hunter didn’t even care enough to throw an insult back. He’d just…left.
Hunter’s disappointment fueled Wes’s disappointment in himself. Joke was on Hunter, though. No one could be as hard on Wes as he was on himself.
Bryson spat on the ground from his saddle and guided Smoke toward the corral gate with his reins. “Nicely done, boss.”
“Bite me.”
“No thanks,” Bryson called. “Don’t much enjoy the taste of asshole.”
Wes could sit here all day and trade insults, but he had bigger stuff on his mind. Stuff he needed to sort out on his own.
At least he’d successfully gotten rid of Hunter and Bryson’s prying attention by sending them on that pointless errand. They weren’t ready to sell the smaller herds yet, but it wouldn’t hurt them to be moved up here and get some good feed from the troughs in the front pasture.
Sam is alive.
Heart beating his chest hard enough to hurt, Wes yanked open the door and strode straight for his room. Duffle bag, pair of Wranglers, a couple T-shirts…
He rounded the corner and made it two steps into his room before he smelled her.
Summer.
But when he jerked his gaze off the floor, the woman who sat in his chair in the corner didn’t look like Summer at all.
The Summer he’d known had been all blond highlights and an easy smile. She’d been sunshine and laughter and dimples. She’d been curves and oozed with a sweetness he hadn’t been able to resist because she’d been the opposite of him.
The only similarity he saw between the Summer he knew and the Summer who sat in his bedroom chair now was her eye color—brown. And even then, it was only in one eye. The other was silver like mercury.
She’d died her hair black as night and grown it into long waves. Her full lips were drawn into a straight line of detachment, and her dark eyebrows were drawn down. She wore smoke-gray makeup on eyes that were dead as she stared back at him.
She had piercings all down one ear and wore a black tank top that was ripped low, exposing the top of her breasts. Rows of black bracelets adorned one wrist, and her jeans were dark blue, no rips. A pair of black western boots with steel toes completed her outfit.
A snarl sounded low in her throat.
Fuck. He’d turned her into this.
“You used to hate the color black,” he murmured.
“Nice opener.”
God, he didn’t even recognize the grit in her voice. The wolf he’d given her had changed everything about her.
This. This awful, poisonous feeling… This was why he’d left his old life. Guilt wasn’t good for a man like him. When his own wolf let off a long growl, Wes shook his head and slammed the heel of his boot on the wooden floorboards hard enough to jolt pain up his bad leg. That stopped the noise.
“What would you like me to open with?” he asked.
Summer shrugged up one shoulder. Her mis-colored eyes were empty. “Honestly, I don’t care. I’m here for one thing, and one thing only.”
“Sam?”
She nodded slow.
“How?” he asked, taking a step toward her.
The snarl in her throat got louder. Summer held her finger up and angled her face. “Close enough, Wesley. My wolf, she don’t like you, and I’m not one of you Kaids. Didn’t get that lucky gene. Didn’t get that control. You want your throat ripped out? March on closer then. You want to stay in one piece?” Summer twitched her head toward the door. “You stay the fuck over there.”
Wes didn’t like being talked to like this, but a wise man knew when he deserved something. Summer could kill him, and he would bleed out knowing he earned her teeth. So, he took a step back and angled his head in a gesture he’d never done before—for anyone. He exposed his neck, a sign of submission.
Her silver eye glowed brighter. “Your wolf sure feels different. Meaner. Even now, while you’re pretending to be submissive, you can’t stop glaring at me. I almost forgot how bright your eyes get when you go animal. Almost. The first time I saw them, do you remember?”
He wanted to retch at the memory. He slid his hands behind his back and clenched them hard. Steady now. “I remember. How could I forget?”
“Oh, you seemed to forget just fine, Wes. I’m not here to give you shit, though. I’m here to get your help. Far as I’m concerned, you owe me about a dozen favors.”
“What do you need?”
“Your anger. The Wesley Kaid I knew would fight anything, or anyone, at any time. Does that Wesley still exist?”
“Yes.”
“Then I want your protection.”
“Aw, Summer. Didn’t you know? You don’t have to cash in any favors for that. All you gotta do is ask.”
“You’ll probably die,” she said simply.
Well, now he was curious. “Where’s Sam?”
“When I tell you, you’re going to want to Change and maul something, but I warn you—you won’t be mauling me. You’ll get yourself killed, Wesley. Control is key around me.”
He hated that she called him “Wesley.” Hated being called by his full name by anyone, but she knew that. She was using it to get under his skin, or perhaps to distance him.
“I won’t Change,” he said.
One corner of those perfect, full lips turned up, but her smile was still dead as hell. “Pity. You would be a fun fight.”
The Summer he knew was long gone. His heart ached with the realization. He deserved it. Deserved it.
“Samuel Kaid doesn’t go by his given name anymore. He goes by Bones.”
“What the hell?” Wes asked. “Why did he change his name?”
“Oh, you’ll see. Guess what pack he branded himself into.”
Wes leaned back against the wall by his dresser and uttered honestly, “I don’t keep up with the packs or the moving members in them. Not anymore. I keep up with life here at the ranch, that’s all. I don’t worry about the other wolves unless they come into my territory.”
“I heard.” She arched her dark eyebrows. God she was stunning, even as this dark being. “You killed the entire Westland Pack, didn’t you?”
He didn’t trust her anymore. She was too different from what she used to be, and though female wolves were rare, they could be dangerous as hell. They were the more cunning gender by far, and he wasn’t getting trapped into some confession. Not when he didn’t know what pack she was branded to. “Why would you think I killed the Westland pack?”
“Hmm,” she murmured, rocking back in the chair slightly as she looked down her nose at him. “A careful answer. I like it. And I think you killed them because I p
ay attention. You were a fighter when you were human, and I’m betting you are really damn good at fighting now that you’re a shifter.”
“You think you know a lot about a lot, don’t you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I’m a better hunter than you and your brothers combined. Obviously. You would’ve gone your whole life thinking Sam was dead because you don’t pay attention to the bonds like you should.”
“My bonds are fine.”
She inhaled deeply. “Can you even feel them? My bond to you exists because you made me into this creature. It attaches me to the people you care about, too, Hunter. Some big predator shifter you started bonding with a couple months ago. A she-wolf. A human. Your pack. But it also lets me feel Sam. I always felt him. It took me forever to figure out what these bonds are about because I didn’t have a teacher.”
“Wait, back up. You can feel Sam?” he asked softly.
“You can, too, Wesley.” There was a flash of sadness that washed through her eyes, but it disappeared as fast as it had appeared. “You were never good with feelings.”
He swallowed hard and wished he could go back, do it all over again so he could carry less guilt. That’s what a selfish man like him did—worried about his own comfort first. “I wish I would’ve never changed you,” he admitted low.
“Well, you did, and now I have the wolf. No take-backs on shit decisions.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean, I wish I would’ve never changed your personality.”
Her lip snarled up, and a growl escaped her. “My personality is fine.”
The threatening sound she made in her throat lifted the fine hairs on his arms. He wasn’t scared of anything, but this she-wolf was off. She was sick. She was ready to bleed something. Someday, Summer was going to end up as a man-eater, if she wasn’t murdering humans already. Sometimes a shifter got a bad animal. She got a bad wolf, and there was no one to blame but her Maker. Wes.
She stood, tall and strong, crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s in the Wichita Pack. He’s Leif’s enforcer.”