Page 25 of Sweet Escape (Whispering Oaks Ranch #1)

“Come on, Angel.” I reach around her waist to lift her into my arms.

She nuzzles against my cheek, and whatever I had been about to say with regards to her grand theft breakfast evaporates.

“Next time, come and wake daddy, okay? How did you even get these off the counter?”

She points to where she’s managed to arrange her bathroom stool and her high chair like a little MacGyver, giving her access to the countertops.

I suddenly regret switching her over to a big girl bed.

It’s too easy for her to escape. I’m not sure if I should be proud or horrified.

It might be time to invest in a baby gate for the end of the hallway .

I set her down in her high chair and pushed it up against the island, pouring some of the Cheerios onto the tray. She squeals in delight, shoving fistfuls of them into her mouth.

“Woah. Slow down, Em.”

I gather her favorite sippy cup and fill it with milk, which she eagerly accepts when I slide it across the tray. With Emmy tucked into breakfast, I pour myself a cup of coffee and settle in next to her on one of the stools.

As I’m bringing the mug to my lips, my eyes catch on the black and white photo stuck to my fridge.

It still looks a bit like a cross between a gummy bear and an alien, and I’m awestruck at how that will eventually turn into another version of the ornery human currently scarfing down Cheerios like it’s her sole purpose in life.

She can eat with a spoon, but she prefers to be chaotic.

As a parent, I’ve discovered that it’s easier to embrace the chaos than to fight against it.

What would her mom think of this? I try to picture it—to hear her laugh—but I can’t remember what it sounds like anymore.

If not for the videos on my phone, I may not even remember the sound of her voice.

Jess is slowly fading out of existence, like she was never there at all, and that stings more than the memories do.

I glance back at Emmy, her tongue peeking out between her baby teeth as she extends her arm across the tray to gather the Cheerios that drifted out of reach. I dread the day she asks about her mom, and I take no solace in the knowledge that she doesn't remember her.

“What are we gonna get up to today, huh?” I ask, ruffling her bedhead.

She shimmies her shoulders, reaching for her sippy cup, passively ignoring my question in favor of her breakfast. It’s times like these I wish I had an adult around so I wouldn’t have to spend so much damn time talking to myself.

I love my daughter to pieces, but she’s not exactly a rousing conversationalist.

One thing’s for certain: when Emmy does start talking in fully enunciated sentences, she’s going to have some strong opinions on things, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I was raised by a strong woman, and I don’t expect anything less for my girl.

The phone chimes in my back pocket, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Griffin: Storm’s walking funny. Come down to the barn when you have a second.

Wilder: Be there in 15.

I rush around the kitchen, cleaning up Emmy’s disaster. I wish I had a dog to take care of the mess she left on the floor. Maybe that’s something we should look into.

I carry Emmy into her bedroom, replacing her footie pajamas with a pair of overalls and a simple white tee, and attempt to tame her wild hair as best as I can.

Independent as ever, Emmy tries to put her boots on by herself, but they end up on the wrong feet.

Once she’s all fixed up, we head out to the barn to check on Storm.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned.

It could be anything from an abscess to a fracture, and none of it is ideal for a pregnant horse.

When we arrive, Griffin takes Emmy into his arms, and they rub noses.

His long hair, usually pulled back in a ponytail, falls around his face like a curtain today. He looks a little worse for wear.

“You good? ”

“Yeah. Just came in to muck out some stalls and noticed Storm’s got a limp. Looks like her right front hoof, but she won’t let me get close enough to find out. Figured you might have better luck.”

He’s deflecting, and I’m too concerned about Storm to call him on it. “Thanks, Griff. You call Angie?”

He grumbles something unintelligible, then says, “Yeah. Said to keep her updated. She can be out here later today if need be.”

“Mind watching Emmy Lou for me?”

“Nah. I’ve got her. Wanna go for a ride, Emmy girl?”

Emmy’s face lights up, and she squeals in delight.

I nod my thanks and head off into the barn, checking that Storm’s stall is ready for her.

It looks like Griff laid down new bedding already, so I follow the path to the west pasture where she usually grazes.

She’s not far from the fence line when I approach, and it doesn’t take much coaxing for me to get her to follow me into the barn.

Storm and I have always had a connection, and I immediately notice the change in her gait.

Once I have her secured to the hitching rail, I run my hand down her foreleg, and she instantly lifts for me. The problem is evident fairly quickly as I spot the large quarter crack that extends through the coronary band. There’s no blood or discharge, and it’s a repair I’ve made hundreds of times.

“I’ve got you, Stormy girl. We’ll get you all fixed up in no time.”

She releases a somewhat distressed snort.

I run a hand over her shoulder, letting her nuzzle at my neck. “I’ll be right back.”

Returning with my apron and tools, I set her up on the hoof stand and start rasping and trimming the area around the crack.

Once the acrylic and fiberglass repair is in place, I set to work on installing a heart-bar shoe to redistribute the load and increase support to the affected area.

Storm tolerates everything l ike a champ, and I reward her with a couple of peppermints.

It can take months for the crack to fully heal, but with any luck, Storm will be back to her old self in no time.

I shoot off a quick text to Angie, letting her know the issue has been resolved, then search out Emmy.

I’m unsurprised when I find her in the greenhouse with my mother, elbow deep in potting soil, working on what looks like a makeshift sandcastle.

What I don’t expect to see is Olivia Sullivan right next to her wearing a set of Mama’s gardening gloves.

“What have we here?” I say.

“Daddy!”

“Hi, Angel. What are you two troublemakers up to, huh?”

“I plead the fifth,” Olivia says, holding up her hands in surrender. “She was already working on the turrets when I showed up. I was just helping her refine the moat.”

I throw my head back, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “What am I going to do with you?”

Olivia smirks and says, “I have a few ideas.”

The innuendo isn’t lost on me, and my cock doesn’t miss it either. The last thing I need right now is to pop a boner in Mama’s greenhouse.

Bull testicles, horse shit, abscesses. That’ll do it.

“You’re looking a little rough, Big Guy,” Olivia says. “Long day?”

“Not too bad. Had to get Storm’s hoof all fixed up, so I’ve been in the barn a while.”

“Oh no. Is she okay?”

“She will be. What brings you out to the ranch?”

She sighs. “I was stress baking again. I brought some of the extra cupcakes and cookies over. Then Emmy asked me to play, and there’s no way I could say no to that face.”

“Don’t I know it. You wanna come inside and get cleaned up? I was gonna scrounge up something to eat. ”

Liv plucks off her gloves and places them on the potting table nearby. I hoist Emmy into my arms and plop her beside the utility sink, helping her clean the dirt off her hands. Once she’s decent enough, Mama takes her up to the big house.

Olivia eyes me warily from the doorway as I approach, caging her against the table laden with trays of unpotted perennials and seed packets.

“You’ve got a little smudge…” I swipe my thumb along her cheekbone, and her eyes dip to my lips.

Everything around us stills.

The birds stop chirping. The air grows thick. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart as I gaze at her perfect mouth.

I shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t want her, not while part of me is still clinging to the past. With each day that passes, I’m growing more attached to Olivia, no matter how hard I try to fight it. I’m caught between desire and defense, and I just might let desire win. To hell with the consequences.

We lean in, our lips brushing in a featherlight touch. She slides her soft hands into my hair. Months of pent-up longing come crashing down around me as she steals the last threads of my resistance.

Her lush body melts into mine, every soft curve pressing into me.

I slide one hand down to grip her waist, the other cupping her jaw.

Her mouth opens on a sigh, and I take that opportunity to slide my tongue against hers.

She tastes like peppermint. The kiss is slow and deliberate, and not nearly enough.

Too soon, she pulls away, her fingers tracing where my mouth had been. “What are we doing, Wilder?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to stop.”

“I don’t either, but?—”

“Then let’s not overthink it for now.” I hold out my hand, and she takes it, following the cobblestone path to the house. Emmy’s voi ce drifts out through the screen door, and everything about this moment feels right, somehow. I can’t describe it, I just know I want more.

When we step inside, a few of our ranch hands are already standing around the island, stuffing their faces with Liv’s baked goods. “There she is,” Mama says. “We were just talking about you.”

“Good things, I hope?” Liv says, but her smile doesn't waver.

“Great things. I’m Clint.” The younger of the two offers his hand in greeting, and it’s all I can do not to slap it away. It’s unlike me to be so possessive, but something about Liv is bringing it out in me.

Clint’s a good-looking kid with black curls and tan skin covered in tattoos.

He’s about ten years my junior and closer to Liv in age.

His hand engulfs hers, and I don’t miss the way he eyes her up.

I make a mental note then and there to make it clear to everyone around here that Olivia Sullivan is off limits.

“This son of a bitch is Hank,” he adds, jutting his thumb over his shoulder at the other ranch hand who’s got a cupcake halfway to his mouth.

He pauses and tips his hat in her direction, then finishes the sweet treat.

He’s a newer addition to the ranch, slightly closer to my age, with ginger hair and freckles.

He’s one hell of a hard worker from what I’ve seen.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Liv says.

“Not as nice as it is to have you around here, darlin’,” Clint says, licking a smear of frosting off his thumb. “Nice to have somethin’ pretty to look at.”

Unable to stop myself this time, I step up behind Liv and snake an arm around her waist, settling my palm protectively over her belly. “How are you feeling, honey?”

Liv glances over her shoulder with a sweet smile meant only for me, and my heart gives an involuntary squeeze. “We’re good.”

Mama quirks a brow in my direction, catching onto my intentions without saying a word. “What can I get y’all for lunch? I have to head into the office in an hour, but I can fix something up real quick.”

“I’ve got it covered, Mama,” I say. “You can go do whatever you need to do.”

She pats my shoulder and smiles at everyone as she passes, heading toward the primary bedroom. “I’ll see you Sunday for family dinner, Liv,” she calls from halfway down the hallway.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she responds sincerely.

I kiss her temple and pull out a seat at the island for her, but my eyes are spearing into Clint and Hank, who both have shit-eating grins on their faces.

Without uttering a single word, I just staked my claim on Liv, and they’ll spread the word around the ranch faster than wildfire. Olivia is mine.