Stormborn: Poplar Ridge Ranch, #2

Table of Contents

Cover

Table of Contents

Look for these titles from J. C. Owens

Title Page

Copyright Warning

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

About the Author

Also by J. C. Owens

More Romance Available Now

Look for these titles from J. C. Owens

Now Available

The Poplar Ridge Ranch Series

Away in a Manger (Book One)

Stormborn (Book Two)

The Gaven Series

Gaven (Book One)

Gaven: The Bonding (Book Two)

Draconian Measures (Book Three)

The Anrodnes Chronicles

Dark Rain (Book One)

Night of Rain (Book Two)

Drums in the Rain (Book Three)

Rainfall (Book Four)

The Taken Series

Taken (Book One)

Out of the Darkness (Book Two)

The Wings Series

Wings (Book One)

Wings 2: Dominion of the Eth (Book Two)

The Tarsus Series

Tarsus (Book One)

Fire and Ice (Book Two)

Wishes

The Ice Prince

Betrayal

The Falling

Soulseeker

The Chosen

Dragon Forge

Siren’s Call

Farfall

The Emperor’s Wolf

Deepwater

Stormborn

Poplar Ridge Ranch Book Two

J. C. Owens

Copyright Warning

EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Published By

Wolf Hill Publishing

1643 Warwick Ave., #124

Warwick, RI 02889

Stormborn

Copyright © 2021 by J. C. Owens

ISBN: 978-1-949719-66-6

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.

First Etopia Press electronic publication: January 2021

CHAPTER ONE

Kaien tried to keep his chin up and his stride steady and sure, but his body still ached fiercely after the beating it had taken a week ago, and he found himself stumbling now and then.

He stared down the expanse of dusty gravel road, chest heaving, sweat trickling down his spine, not to mention dripping into his eyes and stinging like a bitch.

He had to rest, and didn’t that just gnaw on his pride? Even his vaunted stubbornness and will couldn’t force his body onwards for much longer.

Still, there was no one to see his weakness, not out here in the back of beyond.

The sign that had indicated that Poplar Ridge Ranch lay at the end of this road seemed forever ago, yet he had probably only covered a mile or so.

He swung the old saddle onto the grassy verge before shrugging off his tattered backpack and laying it down as well. The release of weight was a godsend, and he stretched aching muscles, flinching as wounds pulled and stung.

He sank down cross-legged upon the dusty grass, wondering, not for the first time, if he was a complete idiot for this trek, reaching for this last hope.

His grandmother would have called it a fool’s quest, and he was beginning to think she might be right.

Kaien had traveled all the way to Alberta, Canada, from Colorado. He had spent the last two years on a ranch just west of Denver, where the boss had been at least sympathetic, if not supportive. He had stayed to himself—as he always did—did his work well, and asked for nothing.

It had almost seemed that he might’ve found a more permanent home—but then one of the ranch hands, who was getting divorced from his wife, decided that Kaien would make the perfect target for his rage.

Fag bashing.

None of them even knew he was gay for sure, but sooner or later, people noticed that he had nothing to do with women, never spoke about them. There had been a few whispers in his vicinity, but nothing vindictive, so he had hoped…

Like a fool.

The day Bart received his divorce papers, he tracked down Kaien behind the stables and beat him into unconsciousness.

Kaien had fought back like the scrapper he was, but Bart was massive, six foot three at least, in comparison to Kaien’s five foot six. The results were predictable.

Just before he had passed out, completely convinced the bastard was going to kill him, he had heard shouts, a scuffle, then everything had gone dark.

He had woken in Milton’s bunk, bandaged and concussed. Milton was the lead ranch hand. He was older, in his late sixties, and people said he’d always run the ranch with a firm but fair hand. He was one of the few people Kaien had ever met who could look past his horrific facial scars and simply see him. Milton, in fact, was the major reason Kaien had wanted to stay at the ranch. For the first time, he could actually respect someone, and that someone seemed to feel the same toward him.

Milton was sparse with verbal praise, but more than once, he had laid a hand upon Kaien’s shoulder and nodded. Just that, but it had seemed the most wonderful thing to a young man who had never received the least amount of encouragement.

Kaien had tried to rise to an elbow in the bunk, only to collapse back, panting with pain, his body weak and hurting from the vicious beating.

Easy there, boy, Milton said in his rough, gravelly voice. Take it slow. Doc says you have a concussion. Worried me sick when I couldn’t wake you.

Kaien stared up into worried eyes. He tried to think of something to say and couldn’t.

You need a hospital.

Kaien shook his head, almost whimpering at the pain that pulsed through his skull.

He forced the words out through gritted teeth. No! No money. Can’t pay anyone back. No hospital. His agitation made his breathing harsh and strained.

Milton eased him back to the bed with amazingly gentle hands. Whoa, there. If you want, I can pay for it. You can work it off.

No. No debt. Kaien’s senses swam, and he closed his eyes, feeling nausea come and go. At least Bart hadn’t broken Kaien’s hands or fingers, so he could still draw. Thank God. If he’d lost his art, his sketching too…he didn’t know if he could handle that. The pain was nothing, but the thought of not being able to draw scared him to death. I…I don’t want debt. And no cops either.

Stubborn cuss. All right then, but my friend is doing this for free. He’s a retired doctor. It’s because of him that you’re still with us, boy, so don’t go refusing his services. It makes him feel useful.

Kaien lay tensely, squinting out of the one eye that wasn’t completely swollen shut. He held Milton’s gaze for some time before finally, reluctantly nodding.

The lead hand’s expression softened. Good man. Sleep now. Things will get better from here.

Kaien wanted to retort that nothing ever got better, it just went sideways in a never-ending line of misery, but sleep overwhelmed him, and he sank into obliviousness with relief.

But later, it quickly became clear that the gruff old doctor didn’t miss a thing, not even when Kaien instinctively attempted to hide his injuries. Seemed he’d had more than one stubborn patient in a lifetime of treating cowhands. He chivvied Kaien into doing the right thing time and again, ignoring snarls and monosyllabic answers.

Kaien was sure Milton was right. He owed the doc his life.

Yet another debt.

A few days into his recovery, when he had still been concerned he might not regain full vision since his left eye was left blurry and headaches were his constant companion, he had been informed of his layoff notice.

The owner had come to see him, looking uncomfortable, not meeting Kaien’s eyes. He had told him he had to let him go for the good of the ranch. He needed a ranch hand who could work, and Kaien had been laid up for a week now, putting a strain on the other hands. Bart was out there right now, working hard, and since the two of them couldn’t get along… Well, a ranch was a business, not a charity or a hospital.

Kaien had clenched his teeth against the words that rose from the bitter well deep within him, but he had not protested, just asked for a good reference. The owner had perked up as though he thought he was doing a good deed and glad Kaien wasn’t making a fuss.

The owner left to write it up. Milton had returned, looking grim and angry, more so than Kaien had ever seen him display before.

I’m retiring. I’ve had enough. Letting a good man go because the boss’s too chicken to stand up to a bully? He turned and spat. Then he eyed Kaien, who had managed to stand and was slowly packing up his few belongings. I picked up your saddle from the stable. You can come live at my sister’s. That’s where I’m planning on going until I can get a place of my own.

Kaien shook his head, not meeting the other man’s eyes. He had gotten so used to shielding his scarred face from scrutiny that it had become second nature. I’ll be moving on. I’ll only bring you trouble.

Milton snorted. I’m more than capable of handling it, but I can see your heart’s not here. I get it. Never really found my place either, just settled here as the best of a bad lot. I hope life’s kinder to you, boy.

There was a pause before Milton spoke again. There’s a place I heard of up in Canada. A ranch where they take in gay kids. Not been going very long, but a place like that? He gave a languid shrug, his weathered face set in a slight frown. From what I’ve picked up, sounds like it might be a good place for anyone who needs to get away from prejudice. He was careful not to indicate whether he believed Kaien was gay or not. If you won’t come with me, then maybe that’s an option.

Milton thrust a piece of paper at him. Kaien took it with still-swollen fingers, awkwardly unfolding it to reveal a hand-drawn map along with a phone number.

That’s my number, Milton continued. You get in trouble, you need a hand, you call. You hear me? There was a fierceness in Milton’s tone that finally made Kaien look up.

They met eye to eye, something passing between them barely formed.

I will.

Milton nodded.

That had been it. Milton had driven him to the nearest bus station, paid for the route to Canada despite Kaien’s protests.

They had stood side by side at the bus, Kaien feeling a reluctance to leave for the first time in his life.

Milton’s gnarled hand had come to rest on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Find your heart, boy. Find the place that you never want to leave. There was a wistful longing in the man’s tone.

Then Kaien was on the bus, his backpack and saddle stowed in the hold. He’d raised a hand as the vehicle pulled out. Milton raised a hand in return.

The trip had taken almost three days of constant stops, and he had stiffened up during the journey. The bus had dropped him off where the gravel road to the ranch met the highway. He had stood there, holding all his gear, watching the bus pull away and slowly disappear into the distance.

Then he had stared at the sign. Poplar Ridge Ranch 16 km/10 miles.

He had rapped on the wood for luck, then started the trek, his beaten body protesting, every muscle pulling, aching, and cramping at the sudden exercise after so much time on the bus.

The day was hot, and he had forgotten to fill his water bottle at the last station, so he kept his eye out for a stream. Without a watch, he had no idea of the time, but by the sun’s movement, he reckoned he had to have been walking for around two hours.