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Sally scrunches her brow. “Wait, Wyatt, are you not feeling?—”

“No. Yes. I’m not—fuck, I’m fine.” Only I’m not as I watch Joker nuzzle his nose into Sally’s hand. Christ, even my horse is in love with this girl. She’s relentless. “Sally, when have I ever told you no?”

“That mean we are invited?” Duke asks.

I slide off Joker. “No.”

“Aw, man?—”

“You got stalls to muck, don’t you?” I give my brother a pointed look.

His shoulders slump. “Whatever. Nice to see you, Sally.”

“I brought plenty, Wy.” She pauses. “It’s fine if he stays.”

But the hesitant way Sally says that tickles my sixth sense. She need to talk to me alone?

Something is up. Fuck, fuck,fuck, she did sleep with Beck, didn’t she? He hurt her?

“Nah, y’all really do need to go muck those stalls. And here, untack Joker while you’re at it. I’m gonna check in with the farrier.”

Sawyer nods at my horse, then turns to Sally. “Y’all enjoy the drink. Holler if you need anything, all right?”

“Sounds great. Thanks, Sawyer.”

He meets my eyes before he takes Joker’s reins and hands them to Ryder. Then the three of them disappear into the barn.

Go figure. Just when I’m ready to wring my brothers’ necks, they do me a solid and read the room for once.

Don’t know why Sally wants me alone. But I’m gonna find out—right now.

“Should we head down to the river?” I ask.

She runs her tongue along her bottom lip before taking it between her teeth. “Let’s do it.”

CHAPTER 6

Sally

LOVE ME LIKE A COWBOY

Despite the coolbreeze blowing through the ATV’s open windshield, I’m sweating bullets on the short drive.

I don’t think I was this nervous when I took the boards to become a certified veterinarian. Then again, I wasn’t sitting next to a broad-shouldered cowboy with thighs like tree trunks and eyes so blue that they seem to glow in the shade of the ATV’s roof.

I was doingsowell back there at the corral. I was fun, a little flirty. Totally confident. Wyatt looked so damn good on horseback that it was difficult for me to focus, and when he flirted back, my knees got wobbly. But I persevered. I convinced him to have a drink with me.

But now that we’re alone and the time to ask him to be my kinda-sorta fake date is suddenly right in front of me, my heart is in my throat. I run my clammy palms over my jeans in a failed attempt to dry them.

How much spiked cider is too much spiked cider before lunch? Asking for a friend.

“You all right?” Wyatt glances at me, brows lifted. “You seem a little…keyed up.” He says it so casually, like I’m not about to jeopardize our friendship and make a total fool of myself by asking for a wildly inappropriate favor.

Everythingabout Wyatt is casual. Cocky. He’s got one wrist draped carelessly over the steering wheel. His knees are spread, and they almost touch the dash because he’s that tall. That big.

He took off his hat—it’s on the seat between us—and now his long, shaggy hair lifts in the breeze. I detect the faintest hint of wintergreen in the air; Wyatt is addicted to gum. Not like I mind because he always smells fresh and delicious, except when he smokes.

“I, um…had an early morning.”