Page 51 of Tempting Wyatt

But I do.

The stables smell like horses, hay, and leather—earthy and familiar, grounding in a way I can’t understand since I don’t spend a lot—or any—amount of time around horses. A hoof scrapes against the dirt floor, the rhythmic sound echoing through the quiet space, announcing my arrival.

Even the horses seem to sense Wyatt’s dark mood. That tight pull in the air, thick and unsettled, has them as restlessas I feel, all of us somehow affected by his anger simmering beneath the surface.

His back is to me, broad and stiff, muscles moving as he dismantles something I can’t see on a workbench. Frustration rolls off him in waves so strong that they push at me like a warning.

I ignore it.

Leaning against the doorway, I watch as he yanks the cinch on what appears to be a saddle, his movements sharp and punishing.

“You were pretty hard on your brother,” I say, my voice cutting through the stillness.

The memory of the tense encounter makes my stomach twist. It was brutal to watch.

The pain ricocheting between them, shrapnel hitting everyone in spitting distance.

Wyatt stills for half a second before resuming his work. “Not as hard as a bull stomping his skull or snapping his spine in half would be.”

I move closer. “True. But he’s a grown man. He knowsthe risks. According to the scoreboard, he did really well. You didn’t even congratulate him.”

A sharp, humorless snort escapes him as dark eyes pin me where I stand. “Right. My bad. Guess I should’ve told himgreat job not dying today. I’ll send him a text later.”

His breathing is heavy, filling the space between us like a storm rolling in. He moves to the tack area, shoving a saddle into place with too much force.

“I know it’s not my place,” I start, softer now, “but he’s your brother. I get being scared for him. I was worried, and I hadn’t even met him yet. But maybe try being happy for him too. I could tell he wanted to make you proud.”

Wyatt’s silence is suffocating.

Watching Caleb looking so proud to hand his brother that prize money—only for Wyatt to turn his back on him—was like watching something splinter apart right in front of me.

“You’re right,” he says finally. “It’s not your place.”

Okay then. He’s still pissed.

I should let it go. I should turn around and walk right back to my cabin.

But I don’t.

Because I know he’s hurting. And for some reason, I can’t bring myself to walk away from that.

I take another step closer. “Maybe it’s not, but I’m saying it anyway. Even an outsider like me can see that your brother is doing this to prove something to you. He looks up to you, Wyatt. It was written all over him.”

He doesn’t move at first. Then, slowly and deliberately, he takes a step toward me, the muscles in his jaw flexing visibly.

“He didn’t tell us he was riding bulls. But that’s how he’s always been. We find out when it’s too late and there’s a mess to clean up.” His voice is clipped, the words bitten offlike they taste bad. “He’s gonna get himself killed, doing dumb, dangerous shit, instead of putting in an honest day’s work.”

I exhale, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I get it. But he’s still your brother. Don’t you think it’s worth?—”

“No. I don’t.”

He comes so close I almost take a step back.

Almost.

His glare heats my skin as the fight or flight response kicks in.

His eyes are darker than usual without the sun lighting them. Shadowed beneath the brim of his worn navy trucker hat. And for the first time since I met him, I see the kind of anger that cuts. Not the quick, surface-level kind. The deep, old kind. The kind that’s lived inside him for so long that it probably fills the cracks in his bones.