Page 34 of Tempting Wyatt

“You know, I was worried about renting the cabin,” Laurel says as she washes her hands. She points to the pot. “Keep stirring. Let me know when it boils.”

I nod. “I was worried it was a fake listing, and I was coming here to be murdered.”

Her smile widens. “Probably didn’t help that my oldest son greeted you with an axe.”

“It was a memorable experience, to say the least. He’s an intense guy.”

“He’s definitely something,” she mumbles.

I glance toward the window above the sink while still stirring. “He’s probably fine out there, right?”

Laurel watches me more closely than I’d like for a drawn-out moment. “I’m sure he’s okay. Just a workaholic. Like his father.”

Sutton indicated as much.

“Do you think him showing me around might have put him behind?” I don’t want to be a bother or cause him to have to miss dinner.

She sighs gently. “No, sweetheart. Wyatt isdealing with everything in his own way.”

I think about Sutton’s outburst earlier, about Isaac and Willow covering their pain with humor and sarcasm. About me fleeing here instead of facing Malcolm and Heidi.

“Guess we all do that,” I say just as bubbles of sugary goo splatter out of the pot. “Oh, it’s boiling.”

After I help Laurel get the jam into the warm jars and we seal them tightly, Isaac asks if I’m ready to head to the cabin.

Truthfully, I hoped Wyatt would make an appearance, but he’s still a no-show when Isaac and I climb into a side-by-side.

When he drops me at the cabin, he rubs his neck and gives me a sheepish grin. “Sorry everyone around here has been so touchy lately. Just been a rough couple of months.”

“I get it. And if I haven’t said so, I’m sorry for your loss.”

He nods as he walks me to the door. “You close with your parents?”

“Parent,” I correct gently. “My biological father was never in the picture. My mom is. . . we don’t really keep in touch. I’ve tried, but she was pretty grateful to have her life back once I was old enough to fend for myself.”

Which, in her opinion, was around the time I turned seven.

Isaac tilts his head like a confused puppy and gives me an odd look. With a mom like Laurel Logan, he probably has no clue what I mean.

“I was thinking,” he says as I open the door, “you shouldn’t have to wait on me or Wyatt to drive you around the ranch. How about, tomorrow, I teach you how to drive this thing?” He tips his head toward the side-by-side.

“I’d love that.”

I’d also love not feeling like an inconvenience. Though a strange sense of loss hits me suddenly. My stomach hollows, and I realize I’ll miss riding behind Wyatt on the ATV. My body has already started craving his body heat in a way I can’t make sense of.

I yawn, and Isaac grins.

“Looks like being a hand wore you out after all.”

“I feel like I could sleep for a week,” I admit.

And there’s a soreness between my thighs that’s new and not from the activities with his brother that he might assume.

“I’ll let you get some rest. We’ll have that driving lesson tomorrow,” he says, stepping off the porch. “Night, Ivy.”

“Good night, Isaac. And thanks.”

As exhausted as I am, it takes far longer for me to fall asleep than it should. Mostly because thoughts of why Wyatt missed dinner keep plaguing me. I don’t want to admit it, even to myself, but I’m equally upset about the possibility of him being dead as I am about him having hooked up with someone.