Page 30 of Resisting Isaac

He regards me intently for a moment, then his mind seems to ease.

“Good,” he finally says. “‘Because Willow’s already texting me nonstop about working with Eli James. Says the guy’s more scared of horses than a long-tailed cat at a rocking chair convention. So that’s adding some stress to Ivy’s plate too.”

I’m an Eli James fan but I’ve only seen him play action heroes. I wrack my brain but no scenes involving a horse come to mind. A small huff of laughter escapes me. “The guy’s supposed to play a rancher?”

“Right?” Wyatt mutters, shaking his head. “I told her to handle it by any means necessary but if she ropes him and drags him behind a pony cart, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Guess I’ll have to keep an eye on both of them.”

“Yeah? And who’s going to keep an eye on you?”

I force a grin, but my chest is tight, and the lie is a rock in my throat.

Because I can’t stop thinking about last night. Abouttwenty minutes ago. The way Elena looked at me when she thought everything was crashing down. The way I made her feel better and how happy it makes me to have helped. About the way she fits against me like she belongs there.

Elena Ortega is as off-limits as off-limits gets.

I promise my brother I won’t cause trouble.

I just hope to hell I can keep that promise.

Because every time I remember the sound of her laugh or the feel of her body beneath mine, I know—trouble’s already here.

CHAPTER TEN

elena

Isleep through the Logan family dinner.

Someone, either Ivy or Isaac most likely, brought two heaping plates of food and put them in the cabin’s fridge while I was passed out.

I should be freaked out that they let themselves in, but I’m too grateful to care. In the middle of the night, I woke up and feasted on steak, potatoes, and some type of vegetable medley I was too hungry to inspect thoroughly. The second plate contained cookies, so many varieties of cookies. The chocolate chip ones were so good they made me want to weep. I think there was caramel and coconut in them.

The cookies lead me to believe it was Isaac who prepared and delivered my food. I should feel anxious about him having been in the cabin while I was passed out, probably snoring and drooling from exhaustion. But knowing he’s already seen me in every vulnerable position possible and the fact that the food was too damn good for me to complain or care, has me smiling.

I plan to thank him discretely when I can. And let him know that if Cowboy Door Dash is a thing here, sign me up.

But the moment I step outside the cabin, the heat sucks all thoughts from my mind.

The sun is punishing, high and unrelenting in the Montana sky, and I regret my wardrobe choices immediately.

Cowboy boots. Skinny jeans. A sheer button-up I thought looked appropriately “ranch chic.”

I’d give my left ovary for a sundress and a functioning breeze.

But as I walk toward the arena, it’s not the heat that makes my skin flush.

It’s him.

Isaac Logan.

Hat low. Shirt sleeves rolled. Forearms tanned and hands flexed around a clipboard. He’s laughing at something Ivy says near the fence, and it does something dumb to my stomach. Like someone tipped over a box of bees in there and locked the lid.

I try to focus. Members of the cast I should probably introduce myself to chat beside me. The faint whinny of horses comes from the nearby stables.

But my eyes keep drifting.

He hasn’t looked at me yet. Not really.