Page 48 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

wyatt

IVY IS OBSESSED WITH THE SKY. I learn this when we return to my cabin and she insists on sitting outside for a few minutes to watch the sun set.

“It’s like a painting that changes every moment,” she says, watching the clouds transform from silvery lavender to orange to navy as the sun sinks further behind the mountains.

She turns to me with wide gleaming eyes. “The sunsets here are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Glad you like them,” I say, planning to use this to lead into my request that she extend her stay. I plan to ask for a week, then a month maybe, before I spring forever on her.

But before I can, she stands, turns to the front door and says over her shoulder, “Speaking of spectacular sights, if memory serves, a certain rancher promised to play strip poker with me.”

I laugh, realizing I laugh more with this woman than I probably ever have. “Can’t be over here breaking promises.”

We step inside, toeing off our boots in the mudroom. Before going to hunt up some playing cards, I stare at Ivy’s small boots next to my larger ones.

The sight does more to me than it should. Trying to shake it off, I offer her a drink.

She’s already pouring a glass of wine when I step into the kitchen.

“Make yourself at home,” I say, meaning it.

She smiles. “Already did. You want one?”

“Nah. I’m good.” I find the cards in my junk drawer and lead her to the living room.

Before we sit, she catches me off guard with a question. “What would you be if you weren’t a rancher?”

I contemplate this as I lower myself into the chair adjacent to her. Mostly because I haven’t thought about the answer to it since I was seven or eight years old and learned that it didn’t matter.

“When I was a kid, I thought I wanted to be a firefighter.”

“I could totally see that.”

I smirk at her. “And what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I’m twenty-six, you ass.”

She chucks one of the buffalo plaid throw pillows at me. I dodge it but snag it at the last second before it can fly into the fireplace. She covers her mouth when she realizes it almost met its fate by flames.

“Very adult of you,” I tease.

She laughs lightly, then shakes her head. “Just wanted to give you an opportunity to save something from the fire. Live out your childhood dream after all.”

“Nice. So writing, huh?”

She stretches her legs toward the warmth of the fireplace.

“As long as it pays the bills.” She glances around my house, a serene look on her face.

I built it myself a few years ago, with help from a contractor friend who owed me a favor.

It’s not a mansion, but it’s a decent-sized dark-wood homestead with a wraparound porch and an outdoor dining and fire pit area just off the river’s edge.

Despite being relatively close to the horses, it’s tucked well into the woods.

Due to an abundance of windows, the living room and master bedroom still feel like being outside.

“I keep meaning to tell you that you have a beautiful home,” she says, returning her attention to me. “I mean, the entire ranch is amazing, obviously. But this,” she makes another visual sweep of the space and smiles, “is gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” Relief floods my chest. It’s only now that I realize I care so much about her approval of my house.

“I don’t know what I expected, but you’re so serious all the time. After the axe incident the day we met, I thought there’d be more dead animal heads on the walls.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Her eyes drop slowly, lingering on my chest. Then lower. “Nothing about you is disappointing, Wyatt Logan. Not a single, solitary thing.”

Heat hits me, and it’s not from the fireplace.

It’s from knowing she saw my cock mere hours ago and rubbed herself against it like her life depended on it, and she wasn’t disappointed in the least bit.

I was rough in the hot springs, not romantic.

I have a feeling, when this heat between us becomes a raging inferno, I won’t be able to make sweet, slow love to her, like she deserves.

I’ll fuck her hard while whispering all the dirty details in her ear about how tight and fucking perfect she feels wrapped around me.

With our size differential, she should be terrified. But the gleam in her eyes tells me my girl likes a challenge.

My mind wants to fight it, the thought of her being my girl.

But the caged beast in me is rattling the bars, beating his chest, shouting, Mine, to every motherfucker in hearing distance.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, I glance across the worn wooden coffee table at the woman who’s frowning at the cards in her hand like they’ve personally insulted her.

“Thank God I showed up before you played poker with the ranch hands,” I say after beating her for the fourth time in strip poker.

She’s lost her shirt, jeans, bra, and socks. She’s down to a tank top and panties. The sight is mouthwatering.

All I’ve taken off are my socks in a round that I let her win.

She lifts her chin in defiance. “I can handle a bunch of cowboys.”

I snort. “No offense, sweetheart, but if you play poker in the bunkhouse, you’ll be donating your paycheck to a bunch of cheating ranch hands by the end of the night. Or taking off all your clothes—in which case, I’ll have to murder all my help.”

She narrows her eyes. “That bad?”

“That bad.” I deal her another hand. “Let’s go again.”

She picks up her cards, glancing at them for all of two seconds before looking at me. And there it is—her tell. The slight lift at the corner of her mouth when she’s got a good hand. The little crease between her brows when she doesn’t.

I smirk. “You’re showing all your cards, sweetheart.”

Her head jerks up, eyes going wide. “No, I’m not.” She tucks her cards tighter against her chest, looking offended at the accusation.

I shake my head. “Not literally.” I lean in, resting my forearms on the table. “Your face gives you away every time.”

She gets a little huffy. “Does not.”

I tilt my head, studying her. “It does, angel. You’re doing it right now.”

Her brows knit together. “Doing what?”

I chuckle. “That.” I tap a finger against the space between her eyes.

“You’re thinking too hard. Feeling too much.

” I lean back, stretching my legs out under the table until my foot brushes hers.

“Your emotions are all over your face, darlin’.

It’s cute. But it’s also why you’re gonna lose. Every single time.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t pull away. “So, what do I do, oh wise and all-knowing card shark?”

I grin. “You bluff.”

She lifts a brow. “Like lying?”

“Like playing poker.”

I give in and kiss her pouty lips. She tastes like the crisp sweet wine she’s drinking. “Remember when we met and you were shaking in your designer shoes, but you jutted that cute little chin out at me and puffed up like a feral kitten so I wouldn’t know I’d intimidated you?”

She frowns. “Yeah, so?”

“You bluffed. This is just like that. Act like you’ve got this, like you know you’re good, no matter what shitty hand you’re dealt.”

She smirks. “Feels like I’ve been doing that my entire life.”

I don’t think I’ve ever related to a human being more.

I kiss her again. “You should be a pro then.”

I deal her a new hand, and this time, when she picks up her cards, she doesn’t react. Just keeps her face carefully blank. Impassive. Unbothered. Smiles sweetly at me.

Damn. She catches on quick.

We play, both of us bluffing and raising the stakes until we can’t any longer.

I smirk. “All right, angel, let’s see what you’ve got.”

A loud knock on my front door stops her from laying her cards down.

“Who the hell could that be,” I mutter, standing and telling her to stay put since she’s half naked.

The playful way Ivy watches me and the relaxed warmth of moments ago fades into the background as I open my front door to find Joe Talbot standing on the porch.

“Wyatt,” he says, offering an apologetic smile. “Sorry to drop by unannounced. I tried calling.”

Instead of inviting him in, I step out onto the porch and close the door behind me.

“I’ve been meaning to return your calls,” I tell him. I’d been putting it off until I had enough money saved to make a payment.

He nods. “I think it’s about time we have a chat.”

I exhale sharply, shoulders rolling back. “Didn’t realize the bank made house calls. Little late, isn’t it?”

“Wish I could say it was just a friendly visit.” He adjusts his tie, like even out here, in all this wide-open space, it's strangling him.

I lean against the railing, arms crossed. “Let's hear it.”

Joe hesitates, gaze flicking to the mountains in the distance before finally settling on me. “It's about the ranch.”

My jaw tightens. I don't move. “Figured. Go on.”

He exhales hard, setting his briefcase down, pulling out a folder like it holds my fate. “You're more than thirty days behind on two of your mortgage payments. Property taxes are past due. You've got thirty days to come up with ninety grand, or the bank forecloses on you.”

The words hit like a kick to the ribs.

“Thirty days,” I repeat, my voice rough. “To come up with ninety grand?”

“I know.” His tone softens, but it doesn't do a damn thing to lighten the weight pressing against my chest. “I pushed for more time, but the higher-ups are cracking down. You're on their radar. There's a lot of interest in this land.”

This I already know.

I glance out at the land stretching past the fence line, past the barns and the fields, all the way to the mountains that have stood here longer than any of us. My family built this ranch with their bare hands, bled for it, sacrificed for it for generations. Losing it isn't an option.

“And if I can't get the full amount?”

Joe sighs. “The property tax from last year isn't fully paid. Thirty grand of what you owe is back taxes. Not paying the full amount isn't an option if you want to keep the ranch.”

Jesus. Might as well be a million dollars. Between the money still owed to the lawyers, the hit from losing half the herd to disease, and the skyrocketing cost of upkeep and feed, I’m barely keeping my head above water as it is.

Joe shifts, running a hand through his neatly combed hair. “Look, Wyatt, I hate this. You're a good man, just like your father was. This ranch, it's your family's legacy. I get that. But my hands are tied.”

I breathe in deep, forcing my frustration down. Joe's not the enemy here.

“You got any advice, or you just come to deliver bad news?”

He sighs, then straightens. “There’s a livestock auction in Three Forks next week then another soon after, across the state line in Wishing, Wyoming.

They're paying premiums. Market's strong right now. Selling off some of your heard and maybe some yearlings could get you a portion of what you need.”

“Sell more of my herd?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Pretty soon, I won't have anything left to ranch with.”

Joe doesn't argue. “Maybe there’s another way. Investors, a partnership—something to buy you time. If you need help navigating it, you know where to find me.”

I nod, but I don’t answer. The vultures who want to “invest” or partner with me would just as soon cut my throat in my sleep.

Joe steps off the porch, walking back to his truck, the crunch of gravel beneath his feet loud in the quiet.

“I'll check back in with you in two weeks.” He glances toward the mountain range, then gives me a sad smile. “I got them to agree to wait thirty days to take action, but that’s the best I could do.”

“Take action, as in begin the foreclosure on the property that's been in my family for generations?”

He nods solemnly. “I'm sorry, Wyatt.”

With that, he leaves. And I’m left to watch as he drives off, dust kicking up behind his tires.

Then I stare out at the ranch, at everything my family built, the nearly full moon painting the fields in silvery light.

Ninety grand. Thirty days.

Fuck me.

I grip the railing, watch my knuckles go white. I’ll figure something out. I have to.

Because losing this place isn’t an option.

But it’s beginning to feel like a very real possibility.