Page 53 of Tempting Wyatt

But being alone? I understand that extremely well.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ivy

I’VE JUST FINISHED GETTING READY for ranch hand duty when Isaac shows up at my door instead of Wyatt. I’m a little disappointed but not surprised.

Isaac gives me another driving lesson in which he keeps his promise about making me drive through the mud near a creek bed. After that, I ride Sunny again, following Isaac around while he and the hands rotate cattle, then we help Willow herd the last few cattle pairs for vaccinations and tags.

Wyatt hasn’t said a single word to me since our discussion about Caleb. But I can’t help but watch him.

He makes an excellent muse, the way he takes care of everyone and everything on this ranch. Though I suspect he isn’t taking care of himself for shit. I catch glimpses of him throughout the day and my entire body takes note of the sharp cut of his masculine jaw and the flex of those thick forearms.

It’s nearly seven when Isaac drops me off at my cabin. I need to shower but I don’t quite have enough time before dinner. The light is on in the barn where the side-by-side is parked, so I head inside.

Since I already made him mad yesterday, I decide to push my luck. It’s not like I have anything to lose. He already isn’t speaking to me.

But when I step inside, I don’t know whether to laugh or melt into a puddle at the sight in front of me.

Wyatt Logan—my broody, rugged, perpetually scowling rancher—is crouched near a stack of hay bales, gently tearing what looks like sliced turkey into small pieces and holding it out to a tiny, scrappy-looking kitten.

I freeze where I stand.

Because this is a plot twist I did not see coming.

The kitten is gray-and-white striped—nothing like the larger orange one I’ve seen darting around and keeping its distance. It eyes him warily, but it must be starving because after a few seconds, it creeps forward on dainty paws and nibbles the turkey from his fingers.

Wyatt exhales, slow and careful, like he’s afraid any sudden movement might scare it off. “There you go. That’s a good girl,” he murmurs.

Good. Girl.

The slow, deep rumble of his words rolls through my entire body.

I might pass out from shock. Also, I might be a little jealous.

“I knew it,” I say softly so as not to startle the kitten, stepping forward before I can stop myself.

Wyatt jerks upright and turns toward me. His weathered trucker hat is turned backwards, and it does something miraculous to the most feminine parts of me. Suddenly, it’s much hotter in here than before.

His glare is immediate. “Knew what?”

Country music plays low from a speaker on the workbench. A slow song about burning something down switchesto one about being delighted. He lowers the volume casually, then turns to me.

I cross my arms over my chest, biting back a grin. “That you’re secretly a softy.”

His dark brows lower. “The hell is a softy?”

I watch as the kitten climbs over his boots. Probably staking her claim on the man who fed her. She knows his secret now, too.

“Someone who feeds strays because he cares.” I glance pointedly at the kitten—who, to my absolute delight, is now winding herself around his boot like she owns him.

“Who says I care?”

“So, what, you just casually hand-feed stray animals out of the goodness of your cold, dead heart because youdon’tcare?”

His scowl deepens. “She was hungry.” He looks down at her. “Weren’t you, Mittens?”

She purrs loudly while pressing her head against the denim of his pant leg. I notice she does have white front paws, so the name makes sense. I can barely contain my grin.