Page 38 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ivy

WYATT MUST HAVE brEWED A pot of coffee for me before he left at whatever ungodly hour he went to work. I drink a cup in the kitchen, staring out the window and thinking.

Of him. Of this place. This family. The way they all just fit together, soothing each other’s frayed edges. Even though I can see the signs that the ranch is struggling everywhere I look.

Words swirl in my mind, images accompanying them. A broken-down tractor, an old pick-up truck with an open hood, a gate falling off the fence.

It’s not quite the paradise promised in the Airbnb ad.

And yet, the sun is just starting to stretch across the field, golden paint strokes brushing over frost-tipped grass.

It’s quiet except for the distant lowing of cattle and the comforting hum of wind through the trees.

The air smells like woodsmoke, pine, and something else I can’t name but already associate with Wyatt.

This place is a writer’s dream. Cowboys, wannabe cowboys, honky-tonks, pool hustlers, bar fights, threesomes—it’s a playground of inspiration, and I’m as inspired as I’ve ever been.

It truly is paradise. A plane of existence I never knew and never would’ve known if I hadn’t come here.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more awake.

Not in LA after three double-shot lattes.

Not at some glittering wrap party with champagne in hand and compliments in the air like perfume.

Certainly not sitting across from Malcolm pretending I didn’t notice the way he flirted with other women when he thought I wasn’t watching.

My phone buzzes on the countertop where Wyatt must’ve plugged it in to a charger.

I glance at the screen and contemplate declining the call. Devyn Whitaker—Agent Extraordinaire is how I have her contact saved.

Answering it feels like dragging a silk dress through a muddy field, but I do it anyway.

“Hey, Dev,” I say, still watching the morning unfold over the ranch.

“Ivy. Finally.” Her voice crackles through the line, already laced with caffeine and exasperation. “Tell me you have something. Anything. The production company is starting to ask uncomfortable questions.”

“I’m working on something.”

“You were supposed to turn something in a week ago.”

“I know.”

She’s quiet for a beat, then, “Where are you?”

“Would you believe Montana?”

“And why exactly are you in Montana of all places?” Before I can respond, she continues.

“Actually, let’s start with why did I find out about your engagement being off by seeing pictures of Heidi Holloway plastered on Page Six with Malcolm at the freaking Chateau Marmont?

Ivy. Please tell me that girl did not steal your fiancé and now has the lead role in Captive? ”

My chest tightens but I suspected this would happen. “I don’t think anything is definite with Captive yet. I’ve been avoiding Malcolm’s calls. I, um, caught them together a week ago. ”

“Oh, honey.” Devyn sighs, softer now. “I’m so sorry. There’s a buzz around town saying she’s got the lead part. Probably her people putting it out there. From the looks of it, she’s also playing house with Malcolm.”

It should hurt.

But all I feel is . . . nothing.

Maybe not nothing. Maybe just the kind of clarity that comes from finally stepping far enough away from the chaos to see it clearly. From realizing you were never really in love—you were just convenient. Familiar.

I was Malcolm’s favorite new toy until the shine wore off.

I think about Wyatt’s hands. Rough, capable. The way he touches me like I’m too good to be true. It’s not a performance. I’m not merely an accessory to him.

I don’t miss Los Angeles even a little. But I know I’ll miss this ranch every day for the rest of my life.

I think about the smaller barn near my cabin. The one with the chipped paint and a sliver of sunlight pouring through the rafters. That’s where I want to sit with my laptop and work today.

That’s where my real story starts.

“I don’t care about Malcolm,” I say quietly. “Not anymore.”

Devyn is silent on the other end.

“I mean it,” I go on, firmer now. “Heidi can have him. And the part in Captive, which she doesn’t have yet because it’s in my contract that I have final casting approval, thanks to you.

And I haven’t approved shit. But I need to go, Dev.

I’m writing something else. Something new.

And it’s—God, Dev—it’s alive. It’s honest. It’s messy and real and it’s mine. ”

Malcolm will never touch this, never taint it with his bullshit.

She exhales audibly over the line. “So you’re okay and you’re definitely writing? Tell me the truth.”

“I’m okay and I’m writing,” I say. “But I need another week.”

“And you’ll have something for me then? For sure? I’ve got your back, Ivy, you know that. But I need you to be straight with me on this, so I don’t hang us out to dry at these meetings.”

“I know I will. You can tell the network it’s going to be amazing. Life changing.”

“Life changing? You’re sure?”

I look out at the mountains, glowing soft and gold under the morning sun. Somewhere Wyatt’s probably on a horse, working, grumbling about Jasper being loose again. The thought makes me smile.

“I’m sure.”

Because it already is.

THE REST OF THE WORLD FALLS AWAY the second I step into the barn.

Sunlight streams in through the battered roof and I position my laptop out of the direct rays to avoid possible blindness.

I grab a rough blue blanket from the work bench and drape it over the bales I plan to sit on.

I’d only meant to take a break from the cabin. Let my brain air out. But before I know it, I’m knee-deep in plot threads and pacing issues, nestled beneath the ladder to the hayloft like some kind of feral goblin.

My thermos is down to the dregs—strong, black, jitter-inducing—and I don’t think I’ve blinked in twenty minutes.

My wrists ache and my hands cramp, but the words flow uncontrollably.

Until his voice cuts through the barn.

“Hollywood, you planning on eating today or just typing ‘til your hands fall off?”

I nearly drop my MacBook. “Wyatt. Jesus.”

He stands in the doorway like something straight out of a cowboy thirst trap. The weathered navy trucker hat with the ranch’s logo on it is forward today, flannel shirt rolled up his forearms.

“Been called worse.”

“You should probably burn that hat,” I offer, closing my computer so he doesn’t see what I’m working on. That’s a difficult conversation for a different day.

He takes a few steps toward me in the deliberate self-assured way he has.

“Why? What’s wrong with my hat?”

“For your own safety.” I push my glasses up suddenly painfully aware of the fact that I haven’t looked in a mirror all day.

My sweatshirt hangs off one shoulder, my bun is coming loose, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure I have sticks of straw or hay or whatever it is in my bra somehow.

Probably from pacing around talking to myself and acting out scenes like a lunatic.

All part of my process. But if anyone saw, they’d have me committed.

Luckily none of my livestock audience can talk.

Wyatt’s brow creases as he pulls his hat off and examines it. “And how exactly is my worn-out old ball cap putting me in danger?”

I smile up at him. “Turn it around backward again and you’ll find out.” With a wink, I point at him. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He chuckles low, and damn him, rakes a hand through his hair and puts the cap back on. Backward.

Before I can say anything, he crouches in front of me, pulling a brown paper bag from behind his back like some kind of magician. “Sources report you’ve been in here all day without leaving. Have you had anything to eat or drink?”

I shrug. Turns out ranch hands are also spies apparently. “Mmm. . . coffee?”

“So no water whatsoever?”

I smile. “There’s water in coffee.”

“What about food?”

“Does a granola bar late last night count?”

He doesn’t answer. Just sighs and presses a cold bottle of water into my palm.

I take a drink as he sits beside me. For his second trick, he produces a sandwich.

A big one that appears to have bacon, lettuce, and tomato on it along with thick sliced turkey.

It’s wrapped in foil and still warm. It’s also as big as my head.

“I can’t eat all this myself.” I hand him half and we eat in companionable silence.

I don’t normally skip meals, but I’d gotten caught in the middle of a scene rewrite spiral. I don’t normally eat this much meat either, but I’m ravenous and grateful so I eat the turkey and the tomato slice.

“Thank you,” I say between bites. “This is really good.”

“Welcome,” he says, having somehow polished off his half in two bites. He snatches my discarded bread and bacon. “Can’t leave any scraps in here or Rowdy and Blue will fight over them.”

“Who?”

“Border collie and a blue heeler. You’ll see them around at some point. Usually with Isaac.”

“I thought I saw dogs down by the bunkhouse when we went by there during my driving lesson.”

“That would be them then,” he says, standing to throw his garbage in a nearby barrel with a lid. “Maybe take a break soon, yeah? It’s getting dark out. Looks like a storm might be rolling in.”

“That’s rich,” I said, finishing off my tomato slice with my next bite, “coming from the guy who works himself into the ground every day.”

“Woman, you’re over-caffeinated, under-hydrated, and I happen to know you didn’t sleep much last night.” He raises an eyebrow, stands and straightens just enough to tower over me. “I take care of everything on this ranch, angel. That includes you.”

Heat blooms under my skin. Not just from his words, but the way he says them. The concern in his voice is foreign to me.

“I must look rough,” I say, “because you look worried.”

He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering just a second. I lean into his touch without meaning to.

“You look gorgeous. The glasses are very ‘sexy librarian’ and I’m into it. Though I am curious about what’s got you out here working so hard.”

Isaac’s words about keeping my career to myself—unless Wyatt outright asks—come back to me.

“My, um, boss called. Reminded me of a deadline I’m a little behind on.”

“Deadline?”

I nod. “A project I’m working, um writing.”

“So, you’re a writer of some kind?”

“Of some kind. Yeah. Trying to be anyway.” I inhale as much air as my lungs will hold, bracing myself in case this is about to be The Conversation.

“Guess I should’ve figured that with as much as you talk. Words seem to be your thing.” He winks. Damn that backward hat. I can’t even be annoyed at his honesty.

I scowl at him. “You saying I talk too much?”

Wouldn’t be the first time someone said this. My mother. Malcolm. It shouldn’t sting, but it does.

Wyatt watches me closely. “Not saying that at all. Just that you’re good with words. Me, not so much.”

“Most people just tune me out after a while.”

“Don’t think I could tune you out if I tried.” His brow dips inward. “I’ve listened to every word you’ve said since you got here.” His eyes stay on mine, and I know he means it. Wyatt Logan doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.

“You keep being so sweet, a girl might get the wrong idea.”

He stands up a bit straighter. “How’s that?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you have a crush on me, rancher,” I tease.

“That right? Finally figured me out, have you?”

I tilt my face upward to his. “It’s like with Jasper. You pretend we bug you, but secretly, you look forward to spending time with us.”

His mouth twitches as if he’s fighting a smile. “You and Jasper both have some mighty high opinions of yourselves.”

“I think he’s my spirit animal.”

He lets out a snort like a horse. “The stubborn jackass is your spirit animal? No wait, that tracks.”

“Hey,” I cry, launching myself at him.

He catches me easily, spins us in a circle and then backs me up to the wall of the barn.

“What are your plans tonight?”

This close to him, I nearly lose the ability to form complete thoughts.

“Um, no plans.”

“I’ve got to ride the property with Isaac. Looks like some bulls might’ve gotten loose. Shouldn’t take long, but I’ll miss dinner. Go up to the main house and eat an actual dinner. Please.”

“Okay. Since you commanded me so nicely,” I tease. A pang of worry strikes me unexpectedly in the chest. “Be careful.”

He nods. “Speaking of being careful, let’s carefully get you out of this barn before you meet Ricco.”

“Who’s Ricco?”

“Snake that likes to hang out in here occasionally.”

I cling tighter to his arms. He wraps them around me with a chuckle.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

He grins. “He’s friendly. But riles the animals up from time to time.”

There are no such thing as friendly snakes in my book. “Smart animals. I think I’m ready to go.”

“Thought that might do it.”

I glance at my things, wanting to retrieve them, but I’m deathly afraid of snakes.

“I need my computer,” I tell him. “But now I’m just picturing a giant snake attacking me if I grab it.”

“I got it, baby,” he says, pulling me in to kiss my forehead before carrying my belongings back to his cabin.