Page 3 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

CHAPTER TWO

wyatt

Paradise Valley, Montana

“WE’RE TALKING ABOUT TWELVE MILLION dollars, Mr. Logan. Trust me when I say, we’re quite serious.”

The suit nods to the contract sitting on our family’s kitchen table after his response to my mumbled, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Why my mother agreed to this meeting is beyond me. As if my youngest brother, Caleb, hasn’t caused our family enough issues that I get to deal with daily, now there’s this guy wasting my time.

When I only stare at him impassively, he licks his thin lips and continues, “Think of what this money could do for your future children. And their future children.”

Little does this dipshit know, I’m not planning to have any children. And even if I were, I’d much rather see what my family’s land could do for them than a bunch of cash.

I already know all too well what money does to people.

“We’re not interested, Mr. . . whatever you said your name was. But thanks for dropping by. Watch the gate on your way out. It sticks.”

Don’t let the door hit you where the good Lord split you.

He frowns while inching his wire-framed glasses up his nose. “Surely, you realize how generous this is, all things considered. Mr. Black will be extremely disappointed that you aren’t willing to consider his offer.”

I hold the screen door to the porch open for him. “Send my condolences to Mr. Black.”

The suit moves to stand closer to me, as close as he dares anyway. I’m six feet four inches of solid, farm-made muscles in denim and flannel that probably already have blood on them, and he’s a wormy little thing in an expensive suit his mommy likely still takes to the dry cleaner for him.

“We know about your financial standing with the bank, Mr. Logan,” he says on his way out.

“If you’d prefer, we can just wait until they foreclose, and then he’ll buy your ranch at auction.

We both know it will go for much less in that case.

My employer is trying to do the right thing here.

Maybe you should think about what’s best for your family. ”

His parting words ring in my ears.

What’s best for your family.

Six months ago, my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the bull pasture. They declared his time of death to be approximately five fifty-four in the morning.

My life stopped at around the same time.

Maybe not stopped so much as shifted direction.

One minute, I had a decent-paying job as my father’s ranch manager. The next, I’m entirely responsible for my family’s eighteen-thousand-acre ranch that employs nearly twenty people. Meaning not only does my family suffer if this place goes under, but so do the families of all its workers.

It’s a heavy weight I don’t take lightly.

What’s best for my family—and the families of those who work this ranch— is all I think about.

Every morning since my father passed, my mind runs through the math of the upkeep on this place.

In addition to the cattle and horse barns, a fully operational livestock facility, a machine shed, and a large workshop, there’s a training arena, two sets of stables with attached paddocks, and—thanks to my brother Isaac’s expensive hobbies—a shiny airplane with its own hangar he insists is “for emergencies,” even though we all know it’s for joyrides.

That’s not including the nearly thousand head of cattle and dozen horses that have to be fed, watered, and vaccinated.

In addition to the main house—rebuilt around the time I was born after the original century-old place burned down—there’s the manager’s cabin I built myself and now call home.

A small guest cabin is tucked away near mine.

Near the stables is a cowboy camp for the wranglers and ranch hands that includes a weathered old bunkhouse held together with little more than luck and nails.

Antonio, our foreman, stays in the cabin out there so he can keep an eye on everyone.

Most of the buildings are long overdue for new roofs.

It all adds up to an enormous mountain I’m supposed to climb, and every day, I think I’m moving upward, but I’m not any closer to the top. I recently turned thirty-two, but I feel much older most days.

If it weren’t for my siblings, I don’t know if I’d be able to keep this place going.

My sister Willow, who’s only a year younger than me, is a horse trainer and certified livestock veterinarian and runs Triple Creek Equestrian Center.

She’s always helped with the horses, but she’s stepped-up big time and begun vaccinating the cattle as well since our dad passed.

It used to be a big deal—the vaccinations, tagging, and branding—something we’d have made a community event out of.

But now, like everything else since Dad passed, we’re just trying to get through it.

The walkie-talkie sitting on the table squawks to life.

Isaac’s voice blares through the speaker. “You done with the suit or what? I could use some help out here if you have time.”

Time is in short supply lately. Along with money and reliable ranch hands.

Once I check the cameras and ensure that the suit is off the property, I head out to see what Isaac needs.

Isaac is two years younger than me, and it feels like he’s always been a cowboy. He does everything—from repairing fence line to wrangling strays and branding cattle.

Since both twins no longer live here, Isaac works days as long as mine most of the time. He’s also the only one who keeps in touch with the twins and updates us on their whereabouts.

Asher and Caleb are twenty-six now and only identical in looks.

In every other aspect, they’re probably the two most opposite human beings ever to have lived.

Having never loved ranch life, but needing the structure and the discipline, Asher went into the Navy when he was eighteen and completed SEAL training when he was only twenty.

He’s a hell of a mechanic, and I wish he were here more often.

Then there’s Caleb.

Just thinking his name makes my temples throb with a tension headache. He’s arguably the black sheep of the family and has been for as long as I can remember.

Caleb hates rules, structure, boundaries of any kind. Every time Dad laid down the law, Caleb was determined to break it or sneak around it. By the time he was fourteen, he and the local sheriff were on a first-name basis.

Nearly a year ago, when the ranch began struggling after a hard winter, just as half the herd was taken out by Johne’s disease, Caleb came up with what he thought was a brilliant idea for replacing the income the ranch had lost. Unfortunately, it backfired in his face—in all our faces really—and had our father calling in every favor, taking out all available loans, even some shady ones, to pay attorneys to get our family out of the mess Caleb had created.

A few months after that, Dad dropped dead of a heart attack while mending fence in the bull pasture.

Dad’s funeral was the last time Caleb showed his face around any of us. Last time Asher was home too.

Caleb blames himself.

I blame myself for not putting a stop to it all before it began.

Willow and Asher blame themselves for not being here more often.

Sutton, the baby of our family, is nineteen and in college at the local branch of the University of Montana. Her tuition is covered by scholarships—thank goodness. But anytime she needs help with money for food, or a new laptop for school, she practically bursts into tears at having to ask.

Our once-happy family has turned into one big, sad bunch of self-loathers.

Mom holds it together the best she can, reminding us regularly that Dad wouldn’t have wanted us all sitting around, sulking and wallowing in self-pity.

That wasn’t his way. He believed in hard work being a cure for everything.

If that were true, I should be the healthiest motherfucker alive right now.

Summer is quickly coming to an end, and the approaching fall weather is cooling our evenings already. We’ll use the milder weather to work as much as possible. Winter will be here before anyone knows it, and it’s long, hard, and unforgiving for any rancher.

Particularly ones who are barely keeping their shit together as it is.