Page 27 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ivy

IWAKE UP THE NEXT MORNING feeling more rested than I ever have. The delicious memory of Wyatt’s hand between my legs has me smiling like a lunatic but also nervous about seeing him again.

Before I can decide if I’m going to seek him out and give him a proper thank-you for last night, there’s a knock at the cabin door.

Rushing to freshen up in case it’s him, I brush my teeth at top speed. I smile at my reflection in the mirror when I see that my hair isn’t a wild mess.

Because Wyatt combed and braided it.

I’m breathless when I open the door to see Isaac on the porch. I’m disappointed he isn’t his brother, but I smile at him all the same.

“Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” he drawls. “Mom wanted me to let you know that she and Sutton are doing some baking today if you wanted to join. Making your favorite apple cake, I think she said.”

Excitement swells in my chest. “Um, yes, I want to join. I just need to get changed.”

He nods. “I’ll wait and drive you up in the truck. I’ve got some work to do up at the house.”

He parks himself on the porch swing, so I run inside and slip on some jeans and an older T-shirt that I don’t mind getting flour and eggs on. Feeling giddier than I should, I join Isaac on the porch and let him know I’m ready.

“Hey, have you seen my jacket?” He glances at the empty swing as he vacates it. “Could’ve sworn I left it here.”

I try to recall the last time I noticed it but can’t. “It was here. I remember taking it off inside. But I haven’t seen it.”

He shrugs. “It’ll turn up. You ready?”

“Definitely.”

He grins. “Let’s hit it then, Betty Crocker.”

AN HOUR LATER, I’VE BAKED ONE hell of an amazing apple cake. Sutton cuts out early, saying she needs to get in touch with her friends about a party tonight, so it’s mostly me and Laurel baking and chatting.

When she pulls out a family heirloom cookbook so I can snap a picture of the apple cake recipe, my mouth drops open.

“Oh my gosh,” I say, taking the overstuffed photo album–style scrapbook from her. It’s thick. And heavy. “This is beautiful. How many recipes are in here?” I stare at the gorgeous handwritten recipes. A few printed ones with notes scrawled in the margins fall out, and I slide them back into place.

She laughs softly. “I don’t actually know. But it’s been in my family for generations.”

She flips a few pages. A picture of her and Willow canning jam faces upward. Willow is standing on a chair and looks to be five or six.

“This is amazing. A work of art,” I tell her.

My heart thuds heavily in my chest. The love this family has passed down in this recipe book alone is more than I’ve felt in my entire life.

We sit at the table and flip through the pages. Laurel tells me she’s been selling her pies and jams at the general store and diner in town. When she mentions that she’s considered adding custom cake orders, she points out pictures of birthday cakes baked for the Logan siblings over the years.

My eyes lands on a little boy with a headful of dark, messy hair and a serious expression on his face despite a chocolate frosting mustache. I know exactly who he is. He’s tiny, but the eyes haven’t changed much.

“Is this Wyatt?”

She grins at the photo. “It is. How could you tell?”

“The eyes,” I say softly, running my fingers gently across the image.

An unfamiliar sensation hits me like a wave, and I’m lightheaded for a moment.

If he had a son, would he look like this serious-faced cherub?

Clearly, I’ve had too much sugar today.

Laurel watches me closely with an inquisitive expression that makes me nervous. I clear my throat and turn the page to a picture of a group of kids outside a church.

I can’t help but notice the stark differences between the identical twins.

Asher’s dress shirt is tucked in, and he stands up straight, hands clasped tightly in front of him.

Caleb’s shirt isn’t even buttoned correctly, much less tucked in, and he’s busy pulling Willow’s braid instead of looking at the camera.

“You could publish this,” I tell her. “Selling pies and jam at the market in town is great, but this is a gold mine, Laurel.” I point to the book.

“You could publish volumes of it. Comfort meals, celebration desserts, family favorites—whatever you wanted and were comfortable with. You could reach out to publishers, or some writers self-publish these days.”

She waves a hand at me as if I’m being ridiculous and turns to the apple cake recipe. “I’m not an author. I’m just a rancher’s wife.”

I gape at her. “Yes, and Ree Drummond is just a pioneer woman. Who built an empire.” I use the camera on my phone to snap a photo of the apple cake recipe.

“Call it Recipes from the Rancher’s Wife if you want.

But you are so much more than that, and I’m positive people would fall over themselves to get these recipes.

I think this apple cake changed my life. ”

I’m not exaggerating. I haven’t forgotten the heat in Wyatt’s eyes when I moaned through a mouthful of warm caramel.

She brushes the topic off, and we check on the cakes in the oven. But there’s a gleam in her eye, and she asks a few more questions about my publishing knowledge. I give her the name and contact info for a literary agent I know, just in case.

Once we pull the cakes we made out to cool, I excuse myself to wash up. Isaac is working on a plumbing issue in the bathroom near the kitchen, so Laurel directs me to the one upstairs.

I’m excited to see more of the gorgeous, lodge-style farmhouse, but the sound of sobbing is audible as soon as I reach the top of the stairs. It grows louder when I head down the hall.

I have two choices. Pretend I don’t hear Sutton crying, mind my business, and go to the restroom, or barge in her room and ask if she’s okay.

I stand outside her door for a full minute. When the sobbing becomes heavier instead of fading, I knock gently on the door.

A loud sniff, then, “Yeah?”

I push the door open a few inches and step partially inside a room decorated for someone much younger than her.

“Hey. Sorry to disturb you, but I came up to use the bathroom and couldn’t help but hear you crying. You okay?”

She wipes her tear-streaked face and sighs heavily. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.”

I take a few more steps into the mostly pink-and-white room and lower myself onto a plush chair at the vanity beside her bed. “Cute room.”

She scrunches her nose. “I think it’s been this way since I was ten.

” She glances around, her eyes softening, as if she forgot what the room looked like.

“My mom was so excited to make this room girlie for me. I didn’t have the heart to change it.

And now I mostly live in the dorms. I’ll get an apartment after graduation, so it seems silly to bother redecorating it now. ”

I nod my understanding even though I can’t imagine wanting to live anywhere else if I had a home like this one.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re having a great night. Anything I can do? I’m an excellent listener. And I’m certain there are lots of great places to bury bodies on this property.”

Sutton’s lips quirk just a fraction as she looks wistfully at her phone.

“My boyfriend and my best friend both turned their locations off at the same time tonight, and neither of them is answering my calls or texts.” She inhales deeply.

“We used to all hang out together, and sometimes, I’d get this weird vibe between the two of them.

Lately, they’ve been hanging out without me and getting super defensive when I ask what they did or where they went. ”

Internally, I cringe at the reminder of my fiancé and my friend on my living room floor.

I’m about to tell her that I completely get it, but she hugs a pillow to her chest and wipes a few more tears.

I hand her a tissue from the box on the nightstand as her gaze lands on a picture of her with a group of friends.

“I’ve been super busy since I decided to add special education to my art degree.” She gives her pillow a squeeze. “And since my dad died, I’ve been distant, I guess. They both mentioned that I’ve been kind of a drag lately.”

I want to throat-punch these assholes. “First of all,” I begin, knowing I’m in danger of subjecting this poor girl to a rant, “people who love and care about you are supportive when you suffer a loss and don’t call you a drag.”

Her watery eyes meet mine. “Yeah?”

I nod. “Definitely. And secondly, your boyfriend hanging out with other girls, then being a dick about discussing it with you? Also not okay.”

I reach out and touch her hand.

“I’m twenty-six and single, so I’m probably not the best person to give you relationship advice, but you’re kind and beautiful and brilliant, Sutton. Keep your heels, head, and standards high.”

Sutton smiles. “I love that.”

“Coco Chanel said it, and I try to remind myself of it often.”

Her eyes brighten. “I think I need it on a T-shirt.”

I toss her a wink as I stand. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Maybe I’m overreacting,” she mumbles, glancing at her silent, dark phone beside us. “Every time I say anything, they both tell me I’m being ridiculous and tell me not to be insecure and jealous.”

I shake my head. Gaslighting little shits. “Doesn’t matter if they’re hooking up or not. If you’ve conveyed to them both that this behavior hurts you and they’re still doing whatever they’re doing regardless, I think that’s a pretty good indicator of how little they value your feelings.”

She swallows thickly, and a small hiccup escapes.

“That’s pretty much what I left on both of their voice mails.

If they cared about me at all, they’d let me know immediately if they had some kind of feelings for each other or whatever, not just put me in this shitty position by going behind my back. ”

I nod. “Smart girl. See, you got this.” I smile warmly at her. “Actually, a similar situation brought me here. Sounds like I could’ve used your advice a few weeks ago.”

Her aquamarine eyes widen. “Somebody cheated on you?” Before I can confirm this, she continues. “But you’re, like, insanely gorgeous. When you got here, I figured you were an actress or a model.”

I want to hug this girl. And laugh because if she saw any actual models in LA, she’d realize I’m not model material.

“People suck sometimes, Sutton. And if you check that mirror, you’ll see that you’re insanely gorgeous.

Some people are just cheaters, no matter who they’re with—at nineteen or at thirty.

I wish I could tell you it gets better, but it only gets better if we hold ourselves to the standards we deserve. ”

“Feels like everyone cheats these days,” she mumbles. “You should ask Willow what her dickhead of an ex did.”

I have to admit, I’m curious. Willow seems very self-assured. I can’t picture her letting anyone break her heart. But I’d be far too intimidated to ask Willow much of anything. Though I do plan to take her up on the offer to visit the equestrian center.

“I think there are some good guys left,” I tell Sutton before I leave. “Look at your brothers. They seem like solid, honest guys.”

Wyatt’s steely gaze flashes in my mind. I know at that moment that he’s one of the good ones. Maybe I’ve known since the minute we met.

“Hey, Ivy,” she calls out as I head toward the door.

“Yeah?”

“Could I maybe have your number? You know, in case I ever get to visit California. Or just to talk sometime. My sister is great, but she’s busy and hotheaded, like my brothers. She’d be out looking for Brad and Cara right now if I told her what was going on.”

“Of course.”

When I put my number in her phone, I see the picture of her hugging a dark-haired guy in the background. Her gaze drops to the screen as mine does.

I wrinkle my nose. “Eh, he’s cute. But you can do better.”

She bites her lip. “I’m beginning to think you’re right.”

“Focus on your goals, precious girl,” I say. “The right guy will come along when the time is right. And only if he’s worthy.”

“I’m glad you came here,” Sutton says softly. “I wish you were staying longer.”

I only smile as I close her door behind me, but my heart changes rhythm at her words. As if to say, Me too.

After I locate and use the bathroom, I return to the kitchen just as my phone buzzes in my back pocket. Expecting some nonsense from Malcolm that I still have no intentions of entertaining, I’m surprised to see a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: I came by the cabin to see how you’re feeling today, but Isaac said you’re up at the house.

I smile because even though I’m not sure how he got my number, I know it’s Wyatt. I save his contact as Rancher.

Me: Who is this? Because you’re kind of giving stalker vibes . . .

His response is immediate.

Rancher: Cute, Hollywood.

Me: I try.

Rancher: Have fun baking today?

Smiling to myself, I consider pointing out that this is further evidence to support my stalking claim.

Me: I really did.

Rancher: Good. It’s been a day. You know, catching up on the work you made me stop doing yesterday because you’re a bad influence. But I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.

Me: I truly am. And also, I’m a fantastic influence. If you miss me, just say you miss me . . .

Bubbles appear, as if he’s typing. Then they disappear. Then reappear.

Finally, a message comes through.

Rancher: You were a better ranch hand than I expected. You still sore?

I debate with myself for a solid minute before replying.

Me: Only in one spot.

I think I’ve stunned him until I get his response.

Rancher: Without knowing where that spot is, I may need to come by and check on you when I finish up tonight. I’m thinking full body inspection.

I chew on my lip, trying to decide how to respond.

Me: I do have a fantastic homemade apple cake currently in my possession. If you’re a good boy, I might save you some.

Rancher: Fantastic is a bold claim. I may have to come taste it for myself.

My heart pounds in my chest.

Me: Are we still talking about cake?

Rancher: Do you want me to be talking about cake?

Me: You’re a mess, Wyatt Logan.

Rancher: I think I could be convinced to get very messy with you, Hollywood. It might be eight or so by the time I finish up and shower. That okay? Not too late?

Me: I think we’ve established that you and I have very different definitions of late.

Rancher: I’ll try to finish up as early as I can.

Some very dirty responses about where and when he’ll finish flit through my mind but I decide to behave myself. For now.

Me: See you tonight, rancher.