Page 30 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)
Blake
“ H arper knows how to plan a party.” I say to Whitney as I staple the bright orange paper to one of the bulletin boards on the street.
She stopped by this morning to give us some fliers to help promote the karaoke bar this Friday.
I turn to Whitney. “It’s been like, what?
A day? And I’m pretty sure she bought out the convenience store’s party supplies. ”
Whitney chuckles. “Sounds about right.”
“Hey, I’m headed to the Ranch to see Wyatt during break. You want to come along? We can grab something on the way back.”
We both grabbed a rather large breakfast together this morning, so I’m sure she won’t mind putting off lunch. Her nausea has been kicking her ass lately too, so I doubt much sounds good right now. “I’m down. I could use some fresh air.” She wrinkles her nose. “My car, or yours?”
“We can take mine.”
***
Whitney and I finally hit the entrance to the ranch shortly after she agreed to join me.
The drive here was fairly quick, considering how small the town is.
Whitney and I spent the trip placing bets on who will be the most shit-faced by the end of the Harvest festival.
My money's on Ana, but she's betting on Haden.
I don't know much about Haden's drinking habits, but I know Ana could rival a frat boy on spring break.
I notice on the drive down just how quickly the weather is changing. Green leaves transform into various shades of reds, oranges, and yellows. The breeze feels just a little bit harsher with the windows rolled down. I’ll have to check out the boutique for some cold-friendly outfits here soon.
A “Buddies’ Ranch” sign swings overhead as we approach, and what I assume is one of the ranch hands swings open the entrance gate.
I’ve seen it before, but I don’t really remember it.
We didn’t spend much time here as kids. Most of our days consisted of hanging out at the bar or one of our mom's houses.
Wyatt was here more often than not, though.
“Holy, shit. This is huge.” I speak.
“Yeah.” Whitney replies as she looks out the window. “He holds a few rodeos here and there. But not as often anymore.”
I hum. “Wonder why?”
“Beats me.” She sighs.
We pull to a stop when we see Wyatt standing near one of the gates where some horses are being worked on. As we step out, Wyatt comes around to greet me. I give him a quick hug, and his smile falters a tad when he sees whom I brought.
“Whitney.” He says, a bit shocked, it sounds like. Some tension that I remember from the first day in the coffee shop makes an appearance again.
“I asked her to tag along. Hope that’s okay.” I cut in.
“No problem at all.” He gives us a tight smile before motioning with his head for us to follow. I turn to ask Whitney a question but find that she’s no longer at my side. She’s stopped at a gate where a man is whipping a large, black horse.
“He’s being a bit rough with her, don’t you think?” Whitney asks Wyatt, but he just shrugs.
“She’s stubborn. Gives us all a real hard time. I’ve had my fair share of difficult ones, but she hasn’t budged. This guy was on the list of people to call if all else fails.”
She cocks her head at him, and I just wish I could understand what’s going on inside that head of hers. Then she hops over the gate.
“Whitney!” I shout and lounge forward. At the same time, Wyatt grits out, “Don’t you dare!”
She rode quite a bit when we were younger, competed in competitions, and whatnot. So, it’s not that I don’t think she can handle it. But she’s pregnant, for God’s sake.
“Oh, stop it!” She snaps over her shoulder. "I'm pregnant, not helpless."
That stops Wyatt dead. He turns to me. “She’s pregnant?”
I peek at him shyly. “You didn’t know?”
He shakes his head as he watches her. Something like wonder on his handsome face. Then he mutters, “The damn horse is scared of men.”
“What?” I ask confused, but then I turn my head and see Whitney petting the horse’s nose as it nuzzles its head into her side.
From the way the man with the whip tucks his tail and runs, it seems like she scared him off fairly quickly, and I’m a bit down at the fact that I missed it.
I take another glance at Wyatt. “Careful. You’re drooling, Conway. ”
He rolls his eyes. “I am not.”
I give him a look that says you’re not fooling anyone.
“Who’s the dad?” He asks, quiet enough so that she can’t overhear us.
“Your guess is as good as mine. She won’t talk about it much.” He doesn’t respond. His face is scrunched in confusion. So, I decided to change the topic instead. “I’ll have to bring Elain down sometime. She’d love this.”
“Yeah. Yeah, tell her to come down whenever she wants. Y’all are always welcome.” But his response is half-hearted. He’s so focused on the woman before us, I’m not sure he’s seeing or hearing anything else.