Page 10 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

CHAPTER NINE

ivy

WYATT LOGAN IS GIVING ME WHIPLASH.

“Any man who fucks you good, the way you should be fucked, is damn sure opening your doors.”

I’m still struggling to recover from the encounter as I sit with his family and an entirely too large helping of spaghetti.

As if he didn’t just break my mind with his words, Wyatt casually saunters back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, bringing me a glass of tea, then sets off to make his own plate.

When he returns, the bustling group goes completely silent. He stares at the seat at the head of the table for a moment.

Isaac clears his throat. “It’s your seat now, Wy,” he says evenly.

Wyatt lowers himself into it and appears to shake off any discomfort.

After what Laurel shared with me yesterday about the loss of her husband, an educated guess tells me that I’m in his old chair and the seat at the head of the table was his dad’s. Now it’s his. All the responsibility for this ranch and this family is his now as well.

Without thinking, I touch his arm and give him a small smile. He meets my eyes with turmoil in his, but his lips lift a little.

It’s a moment. I feel it down to my bone marrow.

When it’s over, everyone is still staring.

“I need to grab the Parmesan,” Wyatt says, standing abruptly and leaving the dining room, coincidentally leaving only me for everyone to stare at. Like an animal on exhibit.

Willow clears her throat from beside me. She sweeps her long, dark hair aside as she turns to face me. “So, you’re from California?”

I nod. “Los Angeles,” I say.

“City of Angels,” Isaac offers with a grin.

I smile at that. “Yeah, not in my experience. More like the opposite.”

“Are you an actress?” Sutton asks. Her hair is the same length as Willow’s, but much lighter.

I shake my head. “Definitely not.”

Before anyone can ask any follow-up questions about what I do for a living, Laurel appears and snaps her fingers at her grown children. “Stop interrogating our guest.”

I’m about to tell her I don’t mind when Wyatt returns.

He sets a mason jar of shaved Parmesan cheese on the table and then glances down at me. “Have everything you need?”

I nod. “More than. Thank you.”

He notices his gawking family then. “What?”

Willow folds her lips inward like she’s containing a laugh. “We’ve just never seen you fix anyone else’s plate before. And, um, Wy, you made her a ranch-hand-sized plate, and she’s, like, miniature, so—”

“It’s fine,” I say with a laugh. “I’m actually going to be a ranch hand tomorrow, so it’s fitting.”

Isaac gapes at me. “He’s making you work tomorrow? Aren’t you here on vacation?”

He turns to Wyatt, but I interrupt. “I asked him to let me tag along tomorrow. I’m curious about the day-to-day on a ranch this size. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Blackmailed me into it, is more like it,” Wyatt mumbles under his breath.

Laurel claps her hands. “I think that’s a fantastic idea. I was thinking of telling Wyatt to give you a tour of the property. So, that’s perfect.”

Wyatt’s brow is furrowed, as if he doesn’t think it’s perfect at all. I’m tempted to reach over and smooth it for him.

I’m considering it just as Laurel asks if I want to say grace.

My stomach clenches. I haven’t ever actually said grace, only heard people say it on set and on television.

I panic because what if I say the wrong thing? Then I sigh—because of course I will. It’s what I do.

“I’d love to,” I tell her because it seems like the only acceptable response.

We bow our heads, and I’m startled when Wyatt takes my left hand and Willow takes my right one.

Inhaling sharply, I do my best to remember how this goes.

“Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for this day, for this meal, and for this precious family.” I pause, unsure of my next words.

But I’m a writer, so I can’t help myself.

I improvise. “Thank you for our many blessings. Thank you for leading me to this wonderful family and the perfect cabin in the woods, where there’s pie and no murderers. Amen.”

Willow and Isaac laugh out loud. Even Wyatt lets out a light snort that could almost be a chuckle.

The resounding, “Amen,” shared around the table seems to be the cue to dig into the food, so I do.

It’s delicious. The spaghetti is perfection, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think Laurel was Italian.

The sauce has to be made from garden-ripened tomatoes and fresh basil and oregano.

The explosion of flavor in my mouth is surprising.

It’s the best I’ve ever had. I tell her so, and she smiles at me with twinkling eyes.

“Actually,” Isaac says over the clatter of forks on plates, “our brother Asher could totally be a murderer.”

My eyes go wide, and he grins wickedly back at me.

“Nice, Isaac,” Wyatt mutters from beside me.

Isaac lifts his hands. “What? You know I’m right. I think he’s, like, a sniper or something. Not sure. But his location is always highly classified, and he won’t tell us anything about what he does.”

With a sigh, Willow turns to me with an eye roll. “Asher is a Navy SEAL. Not a murderer.”

The youngest sister, Sutton, has light features, like Isaac. She picks at a piece of garlic bread and huffs out a laugh. “Jeez, Isaac. Way to scare her off.”

Willow turns her attention from me back to Isaac. “Speaking of, have you heard anything from Asher lately?”

Isaac updates everyone on Asher, telling them what was in the last letter he received a few weeks ago. Apparently, he still can’t tell them exactly where he is, but he sends letters when he can, and they send care packages through the Red Cross.

“If you want to add anything to the next package,” Isaac informs his siblings, “I’m sending one at the end of this week.”

I can’t imagine what life must be like for Asher. I’m sure he misses everyone here. “Does he like to read?”

Isaac looks thoughtful. “I think I saw him pack some murder mystery–type books last time he left.”

Willow nods. “Harlan Coben probably. Maybe some Stephen King.”

“Can you send electronic devices? I have an extra Kindle I bought, but never opened because I’m old-fashioned and I prefer paperbacks.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Isaac says. “The only thing we’re not supposed to send is perishable food.”

Wyatt regards me strangely, but I don’t have time to ask what’s up with the look on his face before Sutton starts peppering me with questions about living in California.

Once I answer her questions in a way that seems to satisfy her curiosity for now, my focus drifts to the empty chairs at the table.

I’ve already deduced that I’m in Wyatt’s old seat and he’s in his dad’s. So, the two remaining empty ones must belong to the missing brothers.

Asher and Caleb.

So Asher is deployed and Caleb is off being Caleb—whatever that means.

Throughout dinner, I notice Laurel’s eyes drifting to the empty chairs often. I can’t imagine being a mother. My own mother always seemed to hate it. Motherhood was a burden she struggled to bear. One she was glad to be rid of as soon as I could fend for myself.

Sitting here with this family makes me wonder what it would be like to have one of my own.

After everything with Malcolm, it seems even less likely that I’ll ever have children.

I’m twenty-six, so there’s time, but it feels so far out of my reach.

I can’t even imagine trusting someone that much again.

Much less getting into a full-fledged relationship and reproducing.

Malcolm wasn’t wrong about no one having friends in LA. I certainly don’t. The closest thing I had to a friend was Heidi or maybe my agent. If I don’t turn in some semblance of a screenplay in the next two weeks, my agent is probably going to drop me—as a client and as a friend.

I can’t help but observe Wyatt while he listens to his siblings.

He’s a good man from what I can tell. He runs this insanely huge ranch, is sweet to his mom, eats dinner with his family. He also opens doors, pulls out chairs, and chops his own wood, for goodness’ sake. I’ve never met anyone like him before, and suddenly, my time here feels too short.

I asked to see the ranch, and that’s what the writer in me wants. But the woman in me wants more time with this mysterious man.

I attempt to engage him in conversation about tomorrow, but he only gives one-word answers. As if he’s noticed his family watching our interactions, he’s mostly silent, focused intently on inhaling his food.

Sutton and I talk shopping for several minutes before Laurel serves something called apple cake with homemade vanilla bean ice cream for dessert. There’s warm caramel sauce drizzled over the whole thing.

I moan at my first bite. I think I’ve died and gone to dessert heaven. Wyatt tenses beside me, but Willow laughs.

“It’s so good when it’s warm, right?”

“I’ve never had anything like this before. I could eat the entire cake myself,” I admit.

Laurel’s face lights up at the compliment. “I can teach you to make it. If Wyatt doesn’t wear you out too much tomorrow.”

Isaac chokes audibly on his apple cake. He jerks upright when Wyatt kicks him under the table.

“Working on the ranch,” Laurel corrects before playfully throwing a blue-and-white gingham hand towel at Isaac. “What is wrong with you, son? Did I raise a pervert?”

“My bad,” Isaac says, grinning. He winks at me.

Willow returns to discussing something about horses with her brothers.

Or maybe they’re talking about cows. I honestly can’t tell the difference with the terms they’re using.

Sutton asks me about clubs and celebrity sightings in LA without missing a beat, but my face is hot, and I’m pretty sure it stays red for the rest of dessert.

After everyone is finished, I offer to help with the dishes, but Laurel waves me off. Wyatt joins her in the kitchen, as if he’s anxious to escape the scrutiny of his siblings.

Deserter.

“We should play Spoons,” Sutton suggests.

Willow glances at me. “You ever played Spoons, Ivy?”

“Never heard of it,” I admit.