Page 11 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

I soon learn that it’s a lively card game involving passing cards quickly around the table until you get four of a kind, then grabbing a spoon as discreetly as possible.

Once someone grabs one, everyone has to grab one, and there’s one less spoon than players, like musical chairs, so whoever doesn’t get one is out.

I go out in the first round, then watch the girls gang up on Isaac.

Willow and Isaac are in a heated debate about her placing the spoons closer to her when Wyatt steps back into the dining room and clears his throat.

“We need to get you back to the cabin,” he tells me. “We start early in the morning, and you’ll need some rest.”

The sun has long set, and I realize it’s a few minutes before nine. Still early for me—I usually write until after midnight—but he’s right. Tomorrow will be a long day.

I stand and tell everyone good night.

As we’re leaving, Laurel surprises me with a hug.

“Thank you for the amazing dinner. And dessert,” I say as I follow Wyatt toward the back door.

“Try not to wear her out too much, brother,” Isaac calls out, earning a burning glare from Wyatt.

I bite my lip to hold in my laughter. I’ve determined that Isaac is secretly a fourteen-year-old boy, trapped in a man’s body.

But when Wyatt places his hand on the small of my back, I can’t suppress the responding shiver. I feel like a nervous teenager myself.

“Cold?” he asks as we step outside.

“I’m good,” is all I can manage.

He climbs onto the waiting ATV and cranks the engine. I climb on behind him, and for a second, I contemplate placing my hands on the handles behind me. But it feels more natural to wrap my arms around him, so I do.

He stiffens, and I worry that I made a mistake and am making him uncomfortable. But when I start to pull my hands away, he grips them with his, keeping them securely against his torso.

“Hold on.” The low rumble of his voice vibrates through his back, and I feel it in my chest.

He’s warm and solid. My body gravitates toward him the entire ride down the dark trail.

The earthy scent of the woods only adds to the experience that ends all too quickly.

Maybe I imagine it, wishful thinking and all, but it seems like he takes his sweet time—unlike the first time he drove me down here, when he seemed to be in a hurry to escape.

When we reach the cabin, he helps me climb off the machine and walks me to the door.

The energy between us is different now. Still as electrically charged as it’s always been, but there’s an intimacy that wasn’t there before. Maybe it was the dinner or the conversation in my car earlier.

“I had a great time tonight. Thank you.”

Suddenly, it feels like we’ve been on a date, even though it was the furthest thing from it.

“Yeah? Sutton might try to follow you home when you leave.” He smirks, but something dark passes in his gaze.

I laugh softly. “She’s welcome to visit anytime she likes.”

He holds my stare. “Better not tell her that.”

I can’t help but smile. Is this banter? Does my axe-wielding, rugged rancher do banter?

Makes me wonder what else he does. I shiver again.

It’s at that moment I remember I left my vibrator behind in California. That’s . . . unfortunate.

“Let’s get you inside before you freeze,” Wyatt says, gesturing at the door.

I don’t correct him. Better for him to believe I’m cold.

I open the door with the code Laurel gave me. But when I step inside, Wyatt doesn’t follow. He remains rooted on the porch and appears to be battling himself.

“You want to come inside? I have coffee.”

Interest flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.

“It’s getting late,” is all he says.

I smirk at him because he isn’t old enough to think nine at night is late. In LA, people are just now heading out to grab dinner.

“Late for people who get up at four thirty in the morning,” he clarifies. “Which you will be tomorrow. Get some rest. I’ll pick you up here at five.”

“Wyatt,” I call out before he’s off the porch.

“Yeah?”

“Your mom told me about your dad passing. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss. Seems like it was unexpected and there’s a lot on you right now.”

All Laurel said was that her husband had passed six months ago.

His jaw clamps shut, and a muscle near his temple flexes. His whole body goes still.

Then, voice low and measured, he says, “Yeah, it was. Heart attack. In the bull pasture.”

The weight of his words settles heavy on my chest.

Inhaling sharply, I take a step toward him. “I’m also sorry if my being here is making it life harder for you.”

The words leave my lips without thought. Because I am sorry. Because I can feel his grief in the space between us, heavy and heartbreaking.

Knowing everything just fell on him as the oldest son six months ago makes his cold behavior at my arrival much more understandable.

Explains the chair ordeal tonight and the thick air of sadness and grief that lingers even though it’s clear the Logan siblings love each other and their mother very much.

“It’s fine.” He shifts, looking away. And I don’t think. I just reach out, fingertips skimming his jaw, trailing over the rough stubble of his beard.

His eyes meet mine, and for the first time since we met, I see vulnerability there. He’s hurting. But he hides it. For the sake of his mother and his siblings, he keeps it all in, keeps it all together.

My soul recognizes his pain so acutely that I can taste it. I’ve lived most of my life keeping everything in. Hiding how I feel so I don’t upset anyone else.

“You’re doing an amazing job here,” I say softly. “You don’t have to show me around tomorrow if you don’t have time. I can only imagine how difficult managing all the responsibility you’ve been handed has been.”

At the word responsibility, his head jerks upward out of my reach.

Awareness bordering on anger flashes in his eyes, like he just returned to himself in the middle of this intimate moment with a stranger and doesn’t know how he got here.

The connection shatters like glass between us, leaving shards at our feet that we’ll have to navigate like land mines.

“Speaking of responsibility,” he says gruffly, reaching into his back pocket, “I need you to sign this.”

I blink, disoriented at the abrupt turn of events. Taking the folded paper, I scan it quickly. It’s a waiver. A legal document saying I won’t sue them if I get trampled or thrown or—oh, lovely—dismembered on the property.

“Right. Um, I’ll have to grab a pen.”

But when I turn, his hand catches my elbow.

“If I’d known she was renting out the cabins, I would’ve sent it over earlier. Just give it to me in the morning.”

I nod, feeling like an idiot for thinking we were having a moment when all he was thinking about was liability.

“Not a problem,” I say, voice clipped.

“Be ready at five.” His voice is sharper now. Detached. “I have time to show you around but I also have a lot to do tomorrow. If you’re not outside when I get here, I won’t wait.”

And just like that, he turns, climbing back onto the ATV like he can’t get away from me fast enough.

I watch him go, my heart still pounding in my chest, my eyes narrowing at his abrupt retreat.

Oh, Wyatt Logan, what an interesting creature you are.