Page 22 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

wyatt

IREGRET brINGING IVY TO THE AUCTION before we even get there.

I thought she might enjoy the rodeo and the fair, but I am not enjoying how close Isaac is sitting to her in the truck.

We’re hauling my least favorite bull, Ballbuster, and Antonio is driving Hothead in the trailer behind us. I’m hoping to fetch a decent price for both of them to get some of the operations bills paid. I was also hoping Isaac would ride with Antonio.

No such luck.

Antonio brought two of the hands to help with the bulls, so Isaac jumped in with us.

I ignore the itchy feeling I get when my brother begins chatting Ivy up about him teaching her to drive the side-by-side.

What I can’t ignore is the smooth stretch of her bare legs showing below an olive-colored wrap dress that brings out the green in her hazel eyes.

She’s wearing the boots I bought her. The pride that swells in my chest at seeing something I paid for on her body fills me with the ridiculous desire to replace her entire wardrobe.

My eyes stray from the road so often that I hit a pothole and probably piss Ballbuster off a whole lot.

That makes two of us.

“Caleb is going to be here,” Isaac announces once we exit the highway. “I told him we’d try to catch up with him. Maybe grab some dinner.”

As if my blood pressure isn’t high enough.

“I didn’t know you’d been in touch with him recently.”

Isaac shoots me an odd look. “You haven’t?”

“Been busy,” is all I say. Busy cleaning up Caleb’s fucking mess.

There’s still over thirty grand owed to a team of attorneys that I have to figure out how to pay before they sue the shit out of us.

The ride isn’t long, but Ivy asks lots of questions—about the bulls, about the auction, and even about the rodeo. Isaac answers most of them before I can. I focus on driving. And the sound of her laughter in the enclosed space. And her honey and vanilla scent. And her legs. But mostly driving.

By the time we reach the fairgrounds, my knuckles are white, and I’m as agitated as Ballbuster.

Ivy watches from a safe distance as we retrieve the bulls from the trailers and lead them over to the barn designated for the auction.

Kent Wilder—a rancher from Canyon County that was friendly with my dad—and his oldest son Noah, stand with the auction coordinator.

He steps over and shakes my hand, then Isaac’s, offering his condolences about our father before the coordinator interrupts by giving us an iPad to fill out the information on the bulls we’re submitting.

Isaac introduces Kent and Noah to Ivy while I roughly tap my way through the entry forms. It’s a wonder I don’t crack the screen.

Once I’m finished, I do my best to avoid Ivy’s bright, excited eyes and the way my brother keeps making her laugh.

Isaac is the golden boy—always has been.

Smooth, charming, exceptionally good at just about everything.

I played high school baseball before a shoulder injury took me out.

I was a decent pitcher but nothing special.

Isaac was the quarterback of the football team and took them to state two years in a row.

If it wasn’t for the skirt-chasing and the ranch, he could’ve played college ball, maybe gone pro.

He’s practically a celebrity when we go into town even though he graduated almost a decade ago.

My fists clench as I pass Isaac and Ivy.

I’m in a shit mood, so I say nothing. Just head toward the arena to watch the rodeo that’s about to begin.

I don’t check if they follow. Isaac will probably take her to the fair and win her some ridiculously huge stuffed animal that will take up too much room in the truck.

“Hey,” my brother calls out after me. “Caleb texted me back. He’s here already.”

I glance around at the growing crowd. “Yeah? Him and about a thousand other people.”

With my thoughts already so dark, Caleb is the last person I need to see. What he’s doing here is beyond me. Probably fucking around, chasing stray buckle bunnies, if I had to guess.

“Good point. How the hell are we going to find him in this crowd?” Isaac glances up at the full grandstands and then at the people milling around.

“Um, guys?” Ivy wraps a petite hand around my bicep and tugs my arm while using the other to point toward the giant LED screen across the arena. “Is that him?”

I’m momentarily distracted by her soft touch, so it takes me a second to figure out what she’s pointing at.

Isaac and I stare at the image of a bull rider on the screen. Our last name is in giant letters above the blue-and-black outfitted rider. Apparently, he’s currently in third place.

Isaac and I speak at almost the exact moment. “What in the actual fu—”

“He’s lost his damn mind,” I grumble. “The hell is he thinking?”

Ivy’s eyes are wide. “Does that mean he’s in third place in the world?”

Surely not. “No. I’m sure it just means this rodeo.

” My eyes land on the giant logo at the top of the screen.

It’s a silhouette of a bull in mid-buck, with a lone star on its shoulder.

Frontier Bull Riding Federation event then.

They’re relatively newer, started by some retired rider from Canyon County ten or so years ago, but growing.

Lost a couple ranch hands to them last summer. “Must be mostly amateurs here.”

Isaac clicks a few buttons on his cell phone, then stares at it, slack jawed. “It looks like he’s ranked on the pro circuit.” He holds up a YouTube video titled Bull Rider Shows No Fear at Lone Star Showdown. “Check this out.”

I wave his phone away. I don’t want to see the full video. “Dad is rolling in his grave as we speak.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised. Fucking Caleb. Since birth, he’s been determined to do the very things he was asked not to.

Isaac makes a sound of agreement while he and Ivy watch the video.

If a bull doesn’t kill my brother today, I might.

Our entire lives, Dad had one hard rule. For us and the ranch hands.

No bull riding.

That was all he asked. He’d had an older brother who got paralyzed riding and then took his own life soon afterward.

Uncle Luke.

Dad rarely said his name. But we’ve known the story of his short life for most all of ours.

“Wow,” Ivy says softly, returning her attention to where I’m contemplating hog-tying Caleb to get him out of here before he breaks his neck and our mother’s heart. “I don’t know much about bull riding, but it looks like he knows what he’s doing.”

Isaac clears his throat and meets my gaze. “He’s good, Wy. Like, damn good. Fearless. As solid of a rider as I’ve ever seen. According to the stats online, if he scores high enough today, he’ll qualify for the semi-finals at the end of the month.”

The world spins too quickly around me. The people, the sounds, the smell of funnel cake, beer, and animal shit.

I can’t comprehend how this is happening.

Pro riders train for years, attending camps, and have world-famous coaches from the time they’re kids.

Other than on our ranch, Caleb wasn’t ever allowed anywhere near a bull.

Hell, none of us were. But this is Caleb we’re talking about.

He’s basically a walking, talking middle finger that tends to do exactly what everyone tells him not to.

He’s always been impulsive. Fearless, as Isaac said.

Reckless, in my opinion, and we’ve all paid a price for it.

I can only hope that maybe he’ll pull his head out of his ass before he ends up in a wheelchair.

Or a casket.

CALEB STAYS ON FOR eight and gets a decent score. Ivy cheers loudly for him and spills beer on herself. She laughs while Isaac helps her clean up, and I consider removing his hands—permanently. If I didn’t need his help on the ranch, I would.

Caleb finishes in second place and, according to Isaac, scores high enough to qualify for the semi-finals in Vegas.

Figures. I’ll be here, doing my best to hold on to every inch of our family’s legacy with my fucking knuckles bleeding, while Caleb is out, partying it up and risking his damn life for a good time.

The auction goes as well as could be expected. Ballbuster gets us about what I hoped for, but Hothead falls a little short. I have to let him go anyway.

My mood is as black as my shirt by the time it’s all said and done.

“I told Caleb we’d wait for him by his trailer,” Isaac informs me as I’m finishing up the paperwork on the sale.

My molars grind together.

“I’m in no mood for Caleb. This shit”—I wave my hand toward the arena—“is going to get him killed. Or, my luck, injured within an inch of his life until we have to sell the ranch to pay his medical bills.”

It’s a dick thing to say, and I know it the minute it’s out of my mouth. But Ivy’s surprised expression cuts me deeper than my own regret. If anything happened to any of my siblings, I’d sell my soul to help them. But, damn, Caleb sure knows how to push everything to the limit. Me mostly.

My chest constricts, and I think about Dad.

I’m probably well on my way to a heart attack before thirty-five at this rate.

Between everything on the ranch falling the fuck apart, Asher serving overseas, and Caleb riding these murderous beasts, my blood pressure is sky high.

Throw Isaac hitting on the one woman who gets under my skin into the mix, and I’m a walking cardiac emergency.

I’m attempting to calm my rising heart rate when Caleb saunters over, sweat-covered, still in his chaps, with a smirk on his face. A few buckle bunnies linger in his wake, watching him with hungry eyes.

He’s grinning like a maniac by the time he reaches us. “Well, what’d you think?”

“I think you’re a fucking idiot, little brother,” I snap through gritted teeth. “What the hell are you thinking, Caleb?”

The hurt flashes across his face, and for a moment, I remember when he was about six or so and tried to jump off the rope swing at the summit. Because Isaac and I had done it. He broke his collarbone. But he’s not a little boy anymore, and that hurt quickly flashes to anger.

“I’m thinking this, Wyatt. Here.” He thrusts a small rectangular piece of paper toward me.

I glance down. It’s a check. Sighing, I take it and read who it’s made out to. Him. And it’s for ten grand.

Ivy and Isaac watch the exchange like a tennis match.

“That’s fantastic,” I tell him. “You’ve decided your entire life—or at least the ability to walk—is worth ten grand to you.”

“The ten grand is for you, you dick,” he bites out. “For the ranch. To put toward my debt.”

My jaw flexes. I try to hand him the check back and he holds his hands up, refusing to take it.

“Don’t act like you’re doing me a fucking favor. This will barely make a dent, Caleb. And even if it would, it’s not worth what you’re out here risking.”

Unwilling—or hell, maybe unable—to continue this conversation any longer, I storm back to the truck without waiting for Ivy or Isaac. Angry storm clouds swirl in my chest, and I don’t know what the hell I’ll do if I have to watch their bullshit flirting for another hour.

I text Isaac that they can enjoy the fair and ride back with Antonio.

Because much like these bulls, I’m fit to be fucking tied.