Page 29 of Tempting Wyatt

Her eyes skim over me, slow and considering.

And then she smirks. “You seem. . . undecided. Like you could be a bachelor forever. But never say never, Wyatt Logan.”

It’s the way she says my full name that does it.

Like a challenge. Like she sees something in me I don’t see in myself. And she’s not done.

“Is not being able to hang onto the ranch a possibility?”

I sigh, uninterested in going down that path with her before I’ve got food in my stomach. The coffee wore off long ago.

“For every rancher. Yes. Enough with the questions already.” I shift in the saddle, clearing my throat. “Let’s get you some lunch before you pass out from starvation and fall off your horse.”

“I could eat,” she says with a grin.

We ride toward the cowboy camp, where our ranch foreman, Antonio, is talking to a few hands as they inhale what looks and smells like barbecue burritos. I didn’t plan on bringing her near these guys—they get rowdy, and Ivy’s the kind of woman who’d rile them up fast. But I’ve got to feed her, and Miss Lottie’s cooking is not to be missed. Hopefully, the food will keep them occupied and they won’t notice her.

Hell, who am I kidding? Any man with eyes and a functioning dick would notice her. I keep myself positioned between her and the young bucks. They avoid me most of the time, which I don’t mind at all.

If I’m being honest with myself, I want Antonio to meet her. I do my best not to think about why.

But the truth is, the ranch foreman was my dad’s right-hand man for over twenty years. And I’m curious what my dad would’ve made of her. If anyone would know what my dad would’ve thought of the Hollywood princess who’s pulling her weight today, it’s him.

“That’s our senior foreman, Antonio,” I tell Ivy. “Follow me over, and I’ll introduce you.”

Antonio has been with Triple Creek Ranch for somewherearound twenty-five years. He was my dad’s closest friend as far as I know. Besides maybe his Navy buddy Mick O’Malley, who owns The Stillery.

“What does a foreman on a ranch do?” she calls out from behind me.

“Everything,” I answer honestly. “Handles anything I ask him to, manages all the ranch hands, hiring and firing, and everything in between.”

She rides up beside me as I slow Jameson to a walk. “Doesn’t exactly sound like a cushy gig. Hope it pays well.”

Not lately it doesn’t. But Antonio hasn’t complained.

As long as I’ve known him, he has been loyal and fiercely protective of our ranch and family. He had a ranch hand once who was sneaking around, trying to catch glimpses of Willow and Sutton. Antonio said the guy had pictures of them swimming in the pool on his phone when he found him. They hadn’t posed for them. They had been taken without their knowledge.

I never saw that guy again. I don’t think anyone else did either.

Thankfully, Ivy’s getting more comfortable on Sunny and slows to a stop beside me. Tomorrow, I might put her on Lady, my mom’s horse, who I know will be gentle and won’t get spooked if Ivy gets nervous. But Lady can handle a little quicker gallop than Sunny.

God,tomorrow.

I didn’t expect her to make it to lunchtime, much less another day. I’ve waited all morning for her to complain, and she hasn’t. So, I’m guessing she’ll still be here tomorrow. I’m oddly relieved about this.

Antonio greets me with a handshake. I introduce him to Ivy, and he is all smiles for her. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen this man smile so wide.

“Well, darlin’,” he drawls. “You’re a hell of a lot prettier than the ranch hands I usually deal with. I can see why he’s kept you all to himself.”

She blushes. “I’m mostly just tagging along. Not sure I’ve done much besides slow Wyatt down today.”

I don’t correct her. I say nothing. Because if I open my mouth to admit I’m enjoying her company, I might also admit that the only thing slowing me down is my own inability to think straight around her.

I’m barely admitting the shit to myself.

After Antonio and I catch each other up on what we’ve finished today and what’s left to be done before sundown, he glances at Ivy and then smirks at me. “Enjoy your afternoon, boss.”

The word slams into my chest like a freight train.