Page 16 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

CHAPTER TWELVE

ivy

THE SUN ISN’T UP YET, and I’m shifting uncomfortably on the porch steps, staring down at the stiff leather cowboy boots that don’t want to go on my feet. Give me four-inch stilettos any day, but these I can’t seem to maneuver.

“Need some help there, Hollywood?”

The rumble of Wyatt’s deep voice startles me from my struggle. I gaze up at him in the glow of the porch light.

From the moment we met, it felt like he wanted me to leave. But he bought me boots—expensive ones. I’d looked them up online last night. They’re top of the line.

I sigh at where the boots lie on the steps. “I don’t think these boots like me very much. Maybe I need a bigger size?”

He regards me intently, then surprises me even further by dropping to his knees. He takes the right one in his hand.

“May I?”

I shift in his direction. “Sure.”

“Flex your foot a little.”

I do as I’m told. His hands, strong and callous, graze the bare skin of my ankle. My breath hitches as he takes hold of my calf, guiding one boot upward with practiced ease.

My foot slips easily into the cupped heel as if it were made for me. He repeats the action with the other boot.

“You’re better at this than me,” I murmur, feeling the warmth of his hand, even through my jeans.

“I’ve had more practice,” he teases, his voice low and smooth. “Though most folks around here don’t wrestle with boots like they’re wrangling a calf.”

Before I can remind him that I’m not most folks or from around here, he straightens abruptly.

“Stand and slide your feet forward. See how they feel.”

Still mesmerized by the sight of him kneeling before me mere seconds ago and the shifting of his shoulder muscles beneath his charcoal-colored shirt, it takes me a moment to follow the order.

But then I do as I’m told and am amazed at how snug yet comfortable they feel.

“Okay, yeah. Wow. They fit perfectly.”

He steps backward with a subtle smile. “They’ll continue to soften and shape to your feet over time. Getting them muddy and dirty actually helps with that.”

“They’re so pretty I almost hate to get them dirty.”

His gaze darkens. He mutters something that sounds like “know the feeling,” then shakes his head.

Standing on the steps while he’s on the ground brings me closer to his handsome face. I don’t know what comes over me, but I spring forward and hug him around the neck.

“Thank you,” I say softly next to his ear. “For the boots and for helping me get them on.”

His arms come gently around me. He’s warm, and it’s like hugging sunshine that heats you from the inside out. I want to cling to him for longer than would be appropriate.

“You’re welcome.” His voice reverberates against my chest, breaking the spell.

I pull backward, a blanket of awkwardness falling over me.

“Missed you last night,” I say before I can stop myself.

His brows lift in surprise. “Yeah?”

“At dinner,” I clarify. Trying to lighten the mood, I shrug. “I mean, I had to open my own doors, pull out my own chair, and fix my own plate. So, yeah . . . ”

He smirks. “Must’ve been tough on you.”

“Very.”

Only the cabin walls and I know that after he dropped the boots off like a reverse thief in the night, I let myself fantasize about what would’ve happened if he’d knocked on the door. And then lifted me in his arms and told me what a good girl I’d been, working so hard all day.

I barely touched myself and yet, I came harder than I ever had in my life with his name on my lips. Imagining how that coarse beard would feel between my thighs.

Then I wanted to hide under the covers in embarrassment, for fear the residents of the cabins nearby might have heard me.

For a moment, the world seems to shrink to just the two of us, the steady hum of the ranch fading into the background.

I try my best to remember to breathe and blink and swallow like an actual human.

“So, uh, what’s the occasion for these boots? Am I officially a cowgirl today?”

“Not quite,” Wyatt answers with a slight lift to his lips. “Just figured you needed your own pair. And I was thinking about seeing if you wanted to hit up a rodeo and bull auction with me tomorrow night. Me and Isaac, I mean. We’ve got two bulls to trailer and take to Bozeman.”

“A rodeo?” My eyes go wide. “Like bulls bucking people off and stuff?”

“Exactly like that,” he says with a soft chuckle. “People come from all over for it. I just need to show these two sires and get some cash for them. But there’s a fair, carnival rides and such. Thought you might enjoy it.”

I grin up at him, feeling like a little kid. He thought I might enjoy it. Which my brain heard as He thinks about me!

“I’d love to go,” I say, forcing myself to sound less excited than I feel. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Hollywood. We have work to do first.”

WYATT WASN’T KIDDING ABOUT the work.

Hours later, I’m struggling to keep up with his long strides as we cross the open field near the river, my new boots sinking into the damp earth with every step.

It’s nearly noon, but the air is still cool and crisp, carrying the scent of pine and fresh hay.

Despite my best efforts, I’m already winded.

Wyatt, on the other hand, moves like he was born to walk this land.

“You’re dragging a little today, Hollywood,” he says, glancing back at me, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

That’s because I was up all night, getting myself off, thinking about riding all your body parts.

“Just pacing myself,” I counter, adjusting my grip on the bucket he handed me earlier. It contains something he called range cubes, which I’ve since learned is just a fancy name for cattle treats. “I didn’t realize being able to lift fifty pounds was a requirement for this job.”

Wyatt lets out a soft snort. “It’ll be good for you. Hard work builds character.”

He stops at the fence line, resting his forearms on the top rail as he surveys the herd of cattle spread out in the pasture. They’re huge hulking animals with multi-colored coats, and despite his assurances that they’re “mostly gentle,” I’m still not convinced.

“You see that big one over there?” Wyatt nods toward a particularly stocky bull standing off to the side, watching us with a lazy sort of curiosity. “That’s Duke. He’s the oldest and our herd sire. That’s why he’s out here with a few young bulls instead of in the main bull pasture.”

I check out the bulky black animal, grateful he’s a safe distance away. “Herd sire. That means what exactly?”

“He’s in charge of making sure we’ve got new calves every spring,” Wyatt explains, reaching into the bucket and tossing a handful of cubes over the fence.

A few cows perk up, ears flicking toward the sound as they amble over.

I glance at Duke again. He doesn’t look like he has the energy to repopulate a herd.

“So, basically, he’s the ladies’ man of the ranch?”

Wyatt grunts, but his lips lift on one side. “I think that’s Isaac. But Duke is a close second.” He steps aside and gestures toward the bucket in my hand. “Go on. Your turn.”

I hesitate, then scoop up some of the feed and toss it over. The moment the pellets hit the ground, more cows start moving in, their heavy hooves stirring up dust. One gets a little too close for comfort, and I instinctively step back, bumping into Wyatt’s solid chest.

“You’re fine,” he murmurs, steadying me with a hand at my waist. His voice is softer now, lacking the teasing edge from before. “They’re just curious.”

I exhale slowly, nodding. “Okay. I can handle curious.”

Wyatt’s fingers linger for a second longer before he steps back.

My breath is coming in short bursts from the contact. I try to focus on anything other than where his hand was mere seconds ago.

“Don’t they make, like—I don’t know—automatic feeders for this or something?”

His eyes go hard. “Had one. It’s down at the moment.”

I don’t want to pry, but from what I’ve seen, this man already has a million things to do every day. He doesn’t have time to hand-feed hundreds of cows.

“Can it be fixed?”

He nods. “Yeah. Just expensive. May have to replace it. If Asher were here, he could get it up and running in no time.”

There’s a twinge of sadness in his voice that I suspect comes more from missing his brother than it does from wishing he had a mechanic on hand to replace a feeder.

“Asher—he’s the one in the military?”

Wyatt jerks his chin once, keeping his eyes trained on the cows. “Yeah.”

“Does he get to come home much?”

“No. Not really.”

He turns to face me, and I see it. The pain in his eyes, pain he hides because he’s committed to this strong, silent thing he’s got going for him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s difficult, not knowing where he is or being able to get in touch with him.”

His jaw tics as he helps me empty my bucket. “You’re better at this than I expected you to be.”

I narrow my eyes at him, recognizing the intentional subject change. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?

“Just an observation,” he says, flashing me that infuriating grin before grabbing the empty bucket from me. “Come on, Hollywood. We’re burning daylight.”

And just like that, he’s off again, moving like this land belongs to him—because it does.

As I watch him, I can’t quite figure out if the land belongs to Wyatt Logan or if he belongs to the land. I’m beginning to believe that it’s both somehow.

By the time we finish feeding the cattle at the next stop, my arms are aching, and I’m pretty sure I’ll have hay in my hair for the rest of the day. Wyatt doesn’t seem the least bit affected. If anything, he looks more in his element than ever, like this is what he was born to do.

“All right,” he says, dropping the buckets off in a nearby metal tub. “Time to check on the horses.”

I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the soreness. “Do they need range cubes, too, or is that just a cattle thing?”