Riding High

The storm hit the high country like a fist. One moment, the sky was a bruised, ominous purple; the next, the world dissolved into a churning chaos of wind and water. The dilapidated line cabin, straddling the very border of their feud, was less a shelter and more a tinderbox for their animosity. The space was claustrophobically small, smelling of damp pine, old dust, and the sharp, masculine scent of their own wet denim and simmering rage. They circled each other in the gloom, two wolves trapped in the same cage, the howl of the wind outside a pale imitation of the tempest brewing between them.

“This is your fault,” Jed growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. He stripped his soaked gloves off, slapping them onto the rickety table. “If you hadn't pushed your survey markers another twenty feet onto my land, I wouldn't have been up here checking the line in the first place.”

Cole Maverick leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. Rainwater dripped from the ends of his dark hair, tracing a path down his temple. He looked infuriatingly calm, a stark contrast to the granite-hard set of Jed’s own jaw. “Your great-grandfather’s hand-drawn map isn't a legal document, Stone. The county survey is clear. That creek is the line, and your fence is on my side of it.”

“My family has worked that land for a hundred years!” Jed shot back, taking a step forward. The air crackled, thick with more than just the storm. “You think you can just waltz in here with your city money, buy up the coast, and rewrite history? That land is watered with my family’s sweat and blood.”

“And now it’s getting watered by this damn squall,” Cole countered, his voice losing its easy edge and taking on a sharper, more dangerous tone. “Your nostalgia doesn’t give you the right to be a belligerent ass. The fence was old and rotten. A strong gust of wind would have knocked it over.”

“Or maybe your prize bull finally managed to push through it,” Jed snarled, the insult landing with pinpoint precision. He knew Cole was trying to build a new, formidable cattle operation, a direct challenge to the Stone Ranch’s long-held dominance.

The jab hit its mark. Cole pushed off the wall, his eyes flashing. “Leave my stock out of this.”

“I will when it stays off my property.”

That was it. The last thread of civility snapped. With a guttural roar of frustration, Jed closed the distance between them in two long strides. He shoved Cole hard, slamming him back against the rough-hewn planks of the cabin wall. The impact shuddered through the small structure. Jed’s left hand fisted in the damp fabric of Cole’s shirt, pulling him close, his right arm drawn back, knuckles white and ready. The punch he’d been wanting to land since Cole first outbid him at the land auction was finally here.

But it faltered.

As he stared into Cole’s face, ready to unleash a century of grievances, something short-circuited in his brain. He was met not with fear, but with a blaze of raw, unyielding defiance. Cole’s eyes, the color of the sea in a storm, held his gaze without a flicker. Rain-slicked strands of hair were plastered to his forehead, and his lips, parted in a silent challenge, held a surprisingly soft curve. The sight was a gut punch of a different kind. A sudden, unwanted jolt of awareness shot through Jed, a bolt of lightning that had nothing to do with the storm outside. The anger was still there, a hot, molten core, but it was suddenly tangled with a different kind of heat, something confusing and primal.

His fist trembled, the intent to harm dissolving into a tense, vibrating uncertainty. The world narrowed to the inches between them: the thunderous beat of his own heart, the scent of rain and pine and Cole, the defiant pulse he could feel hammering in the hollow of Cole’s throat.

Before his mind could catch up, his body acted. The snarl on his lips twisted into something else entirely. He surged forward, not with his fist, but with his mouth. He crushed his lips to Cole’s in a kiss that was pure violence and desperation, a brutal collision of anger and a need he hadn’t known he possessed.

For a split second, Cole was rigid with shock. Then, a low sound tore from his throat, a mix of protest and surrender. His hands, which had been braced to shove Jed away, instead flew up to grip Jed’s shoulders. The kiss wasn’t gentle; it was a battle. Jed’s teeth scraped against Cole’s lip, and he tasted rain, salt, and the faint, lingering trace of whiskey from the fish fry. He expected to be thrown off, to have the fight he’d started finally answered.

Instead, Cole’s fingers tangled in his wet hair, yanking his head back just enough to meet his eyes before pulling him in again, deeper this time. Cole’s mouth opened under his, answering the raw fury with a matching, hungry fire. It was a kiss of grinding teeth and clashing tongues, a desperate, greedy exploration. Jed’s hand, still fisted in Cole’s shirt, uncurled, his palm pressing flat against the hard wall of Cole’s chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart. His other hand slid down, his thumb hooking into the waistband of Cole’s jeans, pulling their hips together with a rough jerk. Cole arched into the touch, a ragged groan escaping him, the sound swallowed by the storm and their mouths. The friction of their bodies, damp denim against damp denim, sent a fresh wave of searing heat through Jed, incinerating the last of his coherent thought. He was no longer on Stone land or Maverick land; he was in uncharted territory, and for the first time, he didn’t want to find the way back.

The argument at the fish fry had left a bitter, metallic taste in Jed’s mouth, worse than any over-fried cod. He’d barely stomped back to his truck, the whispers of the townsfolk prickling his neck, when the first siren blared from the volunteer fire station. It was a long, mournful wail, the sound of a high-country squall warning. A collective groan went through the crowd, but for Jed, it was a call to action. The new fence posts he’d planned to set along that disputed line were lying on the ground. A flash flood would wash them away, costing him time and money he couldn't spare.

He peeled out of the gravel lot, leaving the scent of fried fish and festive chatter behind for the sharp smell of ozone. As he gunned his old Ford up the winding mountain road, another vehicle fell in behind him, headlights cutting through the rapidly darkening afternoon. A sleek, new Dodge Ram. Maverick’s truck. Of course. The bastard was probably racing up to check on that prize bull of his, the one he’d let wander onto Stone property. Jed pressed his foot harder on the accelerator, taking the switchbacks with a reckless familiarity. It was a race now, another petty competition in their ongoing war.

The sky went from gray to a bruised, menacing purple in a matter of minutes. The wind began to shriek through the pines, and the first fat, cold drops of rain splattered against his windshield. By the time he reached the turnoff for the high pasture, the drizzle had become a blinding deluge. He could barely see the muddy track ahead. Up ahead, a pair of taillights glowed red. Cole had gotten there first, his truck already parked haphazardly near the treeline. Jed skidded to a halt beside him, shoving his truck door open against the force of the wind.

He didn't even have time to curse before the heavens truly opened up. The rain came down in solid, driving sheets, turning the ground to instant mud. Securing fence posts was a lost cause. The only thought was shelter. A hundred yards away, barely visible through the torrent, stood the dilapidated line cabin. It was a relic, built by his great-grandfather and Cole's predecessor, a testament to a time before lawyers and survey maps. It sat squarely on the creek bed that now marked the center of their dispute.

Jed broke into a run, head down against the punishing wind. He heard another set of heavy footfalls splashing through the mud behind him. They reached the sagging porch at the same time, shoulder to shoulder, both reaching for the weathered wooden door. Jed shoved it open and stumbled inside, with Cole right on his heels, slamming the door shut against the raging storm.

The world outside was reduced to a deafening roar of wind and a frantic drumming of rain on the tin roof. Inside, the sudden, relative quiet was suffocating. The small, one-room space was dark and smelled of damp earth, rotting pine, and old dust. Water streamed from their clothes, pooling on the warped floorboards. For a long moment, the only sound was their own harsh, ragged breathing.

Jed slowly straightened up, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. Cole stood by the door, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his dark hair plastered to his skull. His usual infuriatingly calm expression was gone, replaced by a grim tension that mirrored Jed’s own. The air in the cabin became thick, a pressure cooker of animosity. It was charged with the raw, masculine scent of their wet denim and shared, unspoken history. They were trapped, two wolves in the same cage, and as they began to circle each other in the dim, claustrophobic space, the storm brewing between them felt far more dangerous than the one howling outside.

The storm outside was a living thing, a beast of wind and water clawing at the flimsy walls of the cabin. Inside, the atmosphere was just as volatile. The air, already thick with the scent of wet denim and pine, now crackled with the ozone of pure, unadulterated fury. Every insult they hurled was a lightning strike, every dredged-up family grievance a peal of thunder that shook the foundations of their fragile truce.

“Your father was a cheat who stole water rights from my grandad,” Jed snarled, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the wind’s shriek. He advanced on Cole, crowding him back against the rough-hewn wall.

“And your grandfather was a stubborn old fool who thought his name was enough to own the whole damn mountain,” Cole shot back, his chin jutting out, refusing to give an inch. His eyes, the color of the sea just before a storm, flashed with defiance. “Some things run in the family, I guess.”

That was it. The final, unforgivable barb. The tension that had been coiling in Jed’s gut for years—for generations—finally snapped. With a roar that was part frustration and part something he couldn’t name, he lunged. His hand fisted in the front of Cole’s damp chambray shirt, and he shoved him hard against the wall. The impact sent a shudder through the wooden planks and knocked a cloud of dust from the rafters.

Jed drew his other fist back, every muscle in his arm screaming to connect with the smug, arrogant line of Cole’s jaw. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? To silence him, to put him in his place, to end this. But his arm faltered, frozen in mid-air. His gaze was locked on Cole’s face. There was no fear there, only that same infuriating, defiant glint. And his lips… they were parted slightly, damp from the rain, with a surprisingly soft curve that seemed utterly out of place on his hard-edged face. A jolt, sharp and unwanted, shot through Jed, a raw awareness that was so potent it stole the air from his lungs. It wasn't just anger anymore. It was something else. Something hot, and dark, and hungry.

The world narrowed to the space between them. The howling wind faded to a dull roar. All Jed could feel was the frantic beat of Cole’s heart against his knuckles, the heat of his body seeping through the thin shirt, the way Cole’s gaze flickered from Jed’s eyes down to his mouth.

A curse, low and guttural, tore from Jed’s throat. It was the sound of a man losing a war with himself. He didn’t release Cole. He didn’t strike him. Instead, he crashed his mouth down onto his.

It wasn't a kiss; it was a collision. An act of aggression meant to punish, to dominate, to erase the bewildering surge of desire. It was rough and bruising, teeth scraping against lips, the taste of salt and rain and fury. But Cole didn't recoil. For a heart-stopping second, he was rigid with shock, and then he answered with a fire of his own. His hands, which had been braced against Jed’s chest to push him away, fisted in Jed’s jacket, pulling him impossibly closer. He met the brutal pressure of Jed’s mouth with his own, turning the assault into a desperate, greedy duel.

Jed’s anger dissolved, burned away by a ferocious, undeniable need. He groaned, the sound swallowed by their kiss, and his hand slid from Cole’s shirt to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his wet hair, tilting his head to deepen the angle. This was madness. This was the enemy, the man who represented everything that threatened his family's legacy. But his body didn’t care about legacies. It only cared about the scrape of stubble against his own, the yielding softness of Cole’s lips, the way Cole’s body arched into his.

Their frantic movements sent them stumbling sideways, and they fell against the dusty bunk. The fight for dominance continued, but its nature had changed. It was a frantic clawing for purchase, a desperate attempt to get closer. Jed’s calloused rancher’s hands were rough as he tugged at the hem of Cole’s shirt, his knuckles grazing the strip of warm, smooth skin above his jeans. The contact was electric, a brand of heat that made him shudder.

Cole’s breath hitched, and his hands were just as desperate, fumbling with the buckle of Jed’s belt with a shocking urgency. The metallic click was an obscenely loud sound in the charged silence between their ragged gasps. Buttons gave way, fabric was pushed aside, and then there was just skin on skin—the shocking heat of it, the contrast of Jed’s rough palms on the taut muscle of Cole’s back. It was a messy, frantic exploration driven by years of repressed animosity that had finally found its true, terrifying expression. It wasn’t about anger anymore; it was about a hunger so profound it felt like starvation.

They moved together in a tangle of limbs on the narrow cot, a storm inside mirroring the one outside. It was a raw, almost violent claiming, a release that was as much about surrender as it was about possession. It crested quickly, a blinding flash of sensation that left them both shuddering and breathless, their bodies slick with sweat.

For a long moment, the only sound was the drumming of the rain on the roof and their own harsh, ragged breathing. Jed pushed himself up on one elbow, the cool air hitting his flushed skin. He looked down at Cole, whose eyes were wide with a dazed, mirroring shock. The animosity was gone, replaced by something far more complicated and frightening. The line between them hadn’t just been crossed; it had been obliterated, leaving them stranded together in the wreckage.