Page 14 of And Forever (The Riders and Rings Duology #2)
CHARLOTTE
EVERS RIDGE, MONTANA — JULY
“ Y ou don’t listen to Murder, We Heard anymore?”
“It scares me too much now,” I throw over my shoulder to Wilder from the back of the large shed we’re currently using to sort supplies for tonight’s Fourth of July celebration. My phone sits on a table, an upbeat country tune helping to pass the time. “You know, with Winona and everything.”
“Don’t need to tell me.” Wilder catches another bag of marshmallows to add to the pile that will go out by the fire pits in a few hours.
“I had nightmares when you’d make me listen before, but now?
Is it normal to have perpetual thoughts of fear and concern all day long as a parent?
Because there are times it’s like Final Destination in my head. ”
“Absolutely. If I didn’t know it was a bad idea on about a thousand different levels, I’d bubble wrap that girl.
” I can’t help but laugh as I walk over to join him near the doors, nudging his shoulder in reassurance.
We survey our progress: skewers have been tipped with Styrofoam balls for safety.
The marshmallows are in an airtight storage tub to be opened at nightfall.
Graham crackers have been broken into squares and divided into bags for easy grab-and-go.
“Chocolate’s still in the mess hall kitchen, right?” he asks, closing the marshmallows after tucking in the last bag. I nod before picking up the extra, full boxes of crackers from the table to return them to the shelves.
“I can’t believe it’s the Fourth of July already,” Wilder ventures behind me as I stack the boxes.
There’s an uncertainty in his voice, and it matches the feeling I have in my stomach.
The contract for his position ends today, a reality made certain after Cooper arrived this morning.
We’ve danced around this for the last week.
An undercurrent to the swirling depth of attraction we deny, but that still hums between our every interaction.
It seems silly that we haven’t been able to discuss the possibility of him leaving after talking about nearly everything else.
I know about Wilder’s therapist and the work he’s put in over the last few years.
How he doesn’t drink anymore. He knows about my longing to ride again.
We never kept secrets from each other before, but there’s a deeper sense of trust now.
Which might be why we’re too scared to face the unknown of what comes next.
“Funny how it happens on the same day every year,” I deflect with a forced laugh.
When I turn to go back for another box, I run straight into Wilder’s chest. I brace my hands against the soft fabric of his shirt.
His pectoral muscles are thicker than I remember, and I can’t resist letting my fingers skim slightly to feel more as his hands come to rest on my hips, fitting easily into the grooves there.
His heat and his scent surround me. It feels more like home than the ranch has in all these years, and I can’t help but want to linger in it.
To sink into the security and the happiness that having him here brings. I flick my eyes up to him.
He’s ditched his ballcap. It lies discarded, next to my phone, behind him.
His hair has regained some of its length on top in the few months he’s been here.
A golden lock of it hangs in perfect disarray across his forehead.
I lift a hand to toy with it before brushing it back and trace the side of his face with my finger.
Wilder tilts into my touch, and when I flatten my palm, he cradles his cheek into it.
His own hand glides up the side of my ribcage, the backs of his fingers scorching a trail before he holds me at the junction of my neck and shoulder.
The grip isn’t firm, but the intention behind it sends tingling sensations racing up and down my spine.
With the smallest squeeze, he angles my head further back.
His other hand comes up to rest against the shelves, shuffling me a few steps until I’m bracketed in.
Time stops, stretching to capture everything unspoken in this moment, suspending all rational thought.
With a magnetism that feels like inevitability, Wilder bends toward me at the same time I lift onto my toes.
I can feel his breath ghost over my lips.
See the way his eyelids drop over expanded pupils.
Butterflies erupt in my belly, but there’s no hesitation.
My own eyes close, and I can practically taste him again for the first time in four years.
“If you look at my ass one more time Cooper, I’m going to drop you on yours. Charlotte, tell this guy?—”
Ada’s voice and accompanying footsteps approaching the shed are enough to break Wilder and me apart like teenagers out after curfew.
He busies himself by idly moving things around on the shelves in front of him.
I take a breath and sidestep him, ready to throttle my best friend for her abysmal timing.
The murderous rage fades, replaced by a giggle when I find Ada at the doors with her jaw open and her eyes wide.
Cooper is a half-step behind her, an innocent, bemused expression on his face.
He tips the brim of his tan Stetson up with a finger and cocks an eyebrow.
“You must be Cooper,” Wilder breaks the awkward moment, striding forward with his long legs and extending his hand. “I’m Wilder, it’s good to meet you. You’ve really set a great work ethic around here with the staff.”
Cooper shakes hands with Wilder, and Ada slips around the men, coming to me. What the fuck , she mouths, and I just offer a shrug.
“Thanks,” Copper acknowledges. “I’m real grateful you were able to fill in for me this summer.”
“Hi, Coop.” I smile at my friend while swatting away my other friend’s not-so-subtle attempts to grab my hand. Ada’s surprise is still painted all over her face at breaking up my almost-kiss with Wilder.
“Hey,” Cooper replies. Wilder collects his hat from the table, pulling it over cheeks that hold the barest hint of a blush, and my stomach gives a little flip. “Hope you don’t mind, I came to steal Wilder to get caught up on things. Ada offered to finish things up here with you.”
“Oh, yeah, no problem.” I nod. Finally, Ada has found some modicum of control and is attempting to look busy by examining a package of marshmallows. She gives a thumbs-up in agreement.
“All right then, we’ll see y’all later at the campfire.” Cooper spins on his heel, heading back along the path he came from.
Wilder lingers just a breath longer, holding my gaze. He gives me a dazzling, secretive smile, his eyes full of longing before he winks once and jogs to catch up with Cooper.
“Start talking.” Ada wraps an arm around my waist. “Now.”
It’s been an evening full of lively music, sweet treats, and dazzling fireworks. The perfect midsummer celebration that has our guests buzzing with excitement and taking more photos than I thought possible.
The ranch hums with the energy of a magical experience, and I cling to the bubbly feeling as I make my way back to the campfire.
Getting Winona to bed was a little harder than usual after her two s’mores and the bright fireworks.
But the sugar crash coupled with a late bedtime finally caught up with her.
She’s currently sound asleep, Ada volunteered to sit with the monitor so I could come find Wilder.
I immediately find him.
The chatter of the others fades into the background when I feel his eyes lock on me.
Through the flames of the campfire, I can see the crystal blue of them, and it makes my breath catch in my chest. There’s the intensity I remember; the irrefutable certainty that for him, nothing else exists but me.
But there’s also a newness to the way he watches me, a tinge of darkness at the edges, and I think I’ve figured out what it is.
I rise from where I sit on a camp stool and slowly walk around the ring, stopping next to his knee.
His eyes never leave mine, and I drink in the possessiveness in them.
Wilder McCoy wants me.
I reach my hand out in offering. There’s no hesitation when his larger one encloses it, threading our fingers and standing from the chair.
I lead us away from the festivities and into the night.
With every step I take into the shadows of the barn and outbuildings, my pulse quickens.
I’m not giving any conscious thought to where I’m leading us; I’m just driven by the need to have this man all to myself.
No work between us.
No meddling family.
No child interrupting.
Slipping around another corner we near the small gazebo at the far end of the lake.
It was built one summer purely for the aesthetic of a couple who wanted to get married with it as a backdrop.
They paid for the entire thing, and the pictures became so successful on social media that my family left it up.
We make sure it’s in good shape, even if it’s rarely used.
A fact I’m grateful for as I take the two small steps into the octagonal-shaped space.
There’s enough ambient light from the main area and the near-full moon overhead to illuminate the small benches that ring the inside.
They’re sanded and sealed to be protected from the weather, and right now they have chocolate-brown plaid cushions covering them.
I guide Wilder past me and direct him to sit.
As soon as his back hits the railing, I hitch up the side of my summer dress to straddle his lap and wrap my arms around his neck.