Page 46 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
wyatt
ONCE WE MAKE IT UP the mountain, Ivy shifts in her saddle beside me, tilting her head back to take in the view. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, lips parted, like she’s about to say something, but can’t quite find the words.
The wind tugs at her hair, loose waves dancing in the fading afternoon sun, and I have to look away before I do something stupid. Like lean across the space between our horses, pull her to me, and beg her not to leave in a few days.
Instead, I clear my throat and nod toward the valley stretching out before us. “So, this is it.”
“You weren’t lying. The ride was rough over the mountainous terrain, but it’s beautiful.” She exhales sharply. “One thousand percent worth it.”
That about sums it up.
We’re at the highest point on the ranch—the summit.
The place where the land rolls wide and untamed, the only place you can see the third river carve its way through the valley below before winding its way to meet up with the other two.
The place where my great-grandfather stood all those years ago and decided this was home.
Decided he’d stake his life and his family’s lives on securing it for future generations of Logans.
Up here I can feel it, the strength of the blood that runs through my veins. The connections to ancestors who were probably stubborn and determined like me.
Up here I remember why I work so hard to hold onto this place. Because if I falter, if I lose it, I know what that will mean for the land and for my family.
I watch Ivy as she takes it in, the way she soaks it all up, like she’s trying to memorize it. Like she feels a sacred connection to this place too.
“Triple Creek Ranch,” I say, nudging my horse forward a little so I can glance at her. “Now you know why it’s named that.”
“You can’t see the third river from down there,” she says softly. “Finally earned the ancient Logan family secret.” Her voice is full of reverence and I know Isaac was right about bringing her up here.
I nod toward where the creeks meet below us.
“Native Americans settled here long before my family ever did. They believed places where rivers came together held power. Connection. Something sacred.” I pause, watching the sunlight dance on the water.
“When my great-grandfather first saw this place, it had been deserted for years, was overgrown and over run with the wildness of nature. Everyone told him he was crazy when he put up every penny he had to purchase it. Said it would never be workable or profitable. But he said the rivers running through it reminded him of family—how people can go their own way, get lost for a while, but eventually . . . they run back together.”
Ivy is quiet for a long moment, her gaze locked on the valley below. When she turns to me, her eyes are downcast.
“What’s wrong?”
On an inhale, she forces her lips into an attempt at a smile. “I’ve never had that. Family. Connection.”
In her silence I hear the words she doesn’t say. But I’ve longed for it.
My stomach tightens with words I don’t know if I’m ready to say or she’s ready to hear.
My dad proposed to my mom up here, said he felt closer to the heavens this high up and he needed all the help he could get.
“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching for her hand.
She shrugs, like she didn’t just flay herself open.
“It was always just me and my mom. And even then, it felt like it was just me most of the time.” She forces a sad smile. “We moved around a lot. New town, new school, new shitty apartment every six months or so. I never really had a home, never had roots anywhere.”
Something solid with jagged edges wedges itself in my chest as she speaks.
“That’s why I was so intent on you making peace with Caleb,” she admits. “You have the family I always dreamed of being a part of. I envy you,” she says softly, turning back to the view. “Your family. Your connection to this place. To the land. To something real and tangible and permanent.”
I swallow hard, my throat thick. “I think I forget sometimes. Some days, all I can see is the burden, the responsibility of it all.”
She glances at me, brows knitting. “I get that too, now. It’s a lot of work, and you shoulder so much of it on your own.”
“But you’re right,” I admit. “I’m lucky.
After I lost my dad, I think . . . I don’t know.
I buried myself in work. Kept my head down, convinced myself if I just kept moving, kept working, if I stayed busy and exhausted, I wouldn’t have to feel the pain of the loss.
” I exhale a bitter laugh. “And then you showed up and made me realize I’d been so focused on keeping this ranch running that I’d been shutting everyone out. ”
She tilts her head, studying me. “You’re doing better.”
I look at her then—really look at her. At this woman who came crashing into my world and forced me to feel again.
“Because of you,” I confess. “I need to tell my family how much they mean to me. I need to stop taking what I have for granted. You’ve helped me see that.”
She watches me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind those hazel eyes. God, they’re gorgeous. The direct sunlight makes her look even more like an angel than she usually does.
She offers me a small, teasing smile. “Wow. Wyatt Logan. Look at you, getting all sentimental on me. Who would’ve thought?”
I snort. “Don’t get used to it.”
She grins, but it falters as she glances back out over the land. “Being here has made me the happiest I’ve ever been.”
My chest constricts, her confession squeezing the air from my lungs.
“In Montana, I mean, on the ranch,” she clarifies. “Though being up here is pretty amazing, too. Thank you for bringing me. It would’ve been a shame to leave before I saw this.”
Her words pierce my chest like a rusty knife. Because I believe her. She is happy here, hell of a lot happier than when she arrived. And yet, she’s leaving anyway.
You being here has made me pretty damn happy, too.
Tell her, I hear Isaac say in my head. Ask her to stay, tell her you don’t want her to go.
How that fucker became the voice in my head, I still have no idea. But there he is.
I’m starting to think it’s because he looks the most like my dad, and because he speaks his mind the same way our father always did.
Jack Logan was never afraid to say how he felt in a matter-of-fact way.
He believed in taking life as it came, accepting circumstances and people as they were.
His favorite sayings were, “All we can do is the best we can with what we’ve been given,” and, “if you want it, work for it.”
I squeeze Ivy’s hand, my fingers brushing over her knuckles.
She doesn’t say anything. Just stares at me like she’s trying to commit this moment to memory. She does that often, I’ve noticed—looks around like she trying to memorize everything.
I squeeze her hand again, then release it, nodding toward the trail. “We’d better get going or there won’t be any lunch left when we get back. You ready?”
She takes in the spectacular view once more. “I was kind of hoping we could just live up here forever.”
I laugh, nudging my horse forward even though she just voiced my feelings like she’s reading my mind. “Forever is a long time and it gets pretty chilly up here after sunset.”
“I am a little chilly and wish there was a coffee shop somewhere nearby. I’d do some pretty bad things for a latte about now.”
I grin over at her, one brow lifted. “How bad?”
She smirks, eyes dancing with mischief. “Downright criminal,” she answers.
“Well in that case, I know a place.”
Her smirk spreads to a smile. “Good because rewiring the robot rancher into an affectionate, sweet soul who feeds strays, rescues damsels from bunkhouses, and takes the day off for a scenic mountain tour, is thirsty work.”
I bark out a laugh. “Oh yeah? And are you expecting a reward for all this hard work? More shirts?”
She hums, pretending to consider it. “I think I’m good on shirts at the moment. But I could go for something warm. Cozy. Coffee, maybe a sweet treat. Then preferably something that involves getting me out of these jeans.”
Heat licks through me, pooling low in my gut.
“I think that can be arranged, but only if you stay at my place tonight.”
She grins over at me. “I’m getting pretty used to falling asleep with you.”
So am I.
And that’s the problem.
Because in a few days, it won’t even be an option.