Page 65 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

ivy

I’M ON THE PHONE WITH WILLOW, explaining why I can’t come by the equestrian center—that it’s too hard and maybe Wyatt wasn’t wrong about a clean break. It’ll only hurt worse the longer I linger in town—when I see him.

A crazed maniac riding a familiar black horse up Main Street. I’m about to pull out of the gas station parking lot across from the diner when he comes barreling in my direction. I’d know that backward ball cap and messy hair anywhere.

Wyatt.

I pull my car over and get out to gape at him as he approaches.

“Will, I have to go,” I say into the phone. “Your brother is here, um, on a horse.”

“Which brother?”

I inhale deeply, gathering my strength. “The, um, broody one.”

She mumbles what sounds like “oh, thank God,” before she hangs up.

I pocket the phone just as Wyatt brings Lucifer to a stop right in front of me. Patrons of both the diner and the gas station stop to stare.

“Have you lost your complete mind?”

He’s panting as he climbs down off Lucifer while holding onto his lead line. “Yeah. Think so.” He holds a hand up. “Give me just a second to catch my breath.”

Part of me, okay several parts, wants to launch myself into his arms. Some other parts want to punch him in the throat.

He’s the light, the warmth I’ve been missing since the moment I left the ranch. I ache for him, for the comfort I know being wrapped in him will bring.

But it’s not worth the pain. Being locked out of his house triggered the most painful parts of my past.

“You locked me out,” I say quietly. My eyes drop, the weight of a lifetime of being shut out weighing on my heart.

“Now you’re chasing me down. I’m confused.

” I lift my head in defiance, vowing never to make myself small ever again.

“And frankly, I’ve had enough of the emotional whiplash for one lifetime. ”

His fingers reach out and gently cup my chin until I meet his gaze. The pain in my words is reflected in his stare.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

I step back, out of his reach. “Great. You’ve apologized. You can go now.” He reaches for me, but I hold my hand up, using every ounce of self-control that I have left to maintain an invisible barrier between us. “No.”

Not this time. Even if he did ride a horse all this way to apologize or explain himself, his words won’t fix what’s broken inside me. Only I can fix that. I see that now.

I keep shaking my head, because my whole damn life I’ve let it go when people hurt me. Forgiven and forgotten because that was easier . . . for them. I didn’t want to be too much trouble, didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, or ask for more than they were comfortable giving.

No matter how much I suffered as a result.

I won’t do that to myself anymore. And I won’t sell myself short, giving my trust and love and my whole fucking heart to people who shut me out, who can’t give me the same in return.

I’d rather be alone. I’m used to it.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I keep my hand up and shake my head to stop him. I’m the one who needs a minute now because it hurts, this hurts so much it’s painful to breathe.

“I’ve always sucked it up,” I tell him, swallowing hard and hearing the tremble in my voice but no longer caring.

“Always been the bigger person, let it go, left the past in the past. Accepted every shitty thing everyone ever did to me because what was the alternative? Cry? Admit I was human and had feelings? Then they’d turn me over to foster care, leave me home alone, break up with me, cheat on me.

Find someone who’s less trouble, less complicated, less messy. ”

I pause when I run out of oxygen in my lungs.

“You can be messy, baby,” Wyatt says evenly. “Yell at me. Throw shit. Tell me I’m a fucking asshole. I deserve it. Get it out, angel.”

His words threaten to break through the wall I’m currently constructing around my heart.

When I speak again, my voice is barely above a whisper.

“I can’t be the little girl on the wrong side of a locked door anymore.”

Never again. Because now? I’m keeping my promises to myself. My eyes fill with moisture and his broad frame blurs before me.

“I will remove the damn lock as soon as I get back to the ranch. I’ll remove every single one of them. My door is your door, angel. My home is your home.” He steps closer. “My heart is your heart.”

Damn this man.

I do not cry in front of anyone ever. A lesson hard-wired into me from the time I was a child. But my traitorous tears fall. Instinctively, I wipe them quickly because I’m still more comfortable hiding the hurt.

Wyatt grips my wrists, pulling my hands gently from my face. “Leave ‘em, cowgirl. You earned ‘em.”

His words only cause them to fall faster.

“What if you’re too late?” My voice is barely audible.

He takes a step closer, then stops, still respecting my space. Which I both appreciate and hate at the same time.

“I tried, baby. I rode Lucifer like hell, going as fast as I could to catch up to you.” He leans toward me, and I inhale his earthy, woodsy scent. His fierce gaze presses into mine. “I tried to beat the third act break up, angel. It was never supposed to be part of our story.”

More tears fall at his words, at the sincerity in them. I almost laugh. He really did listen to every word I said—even the rambling everyone else ignores or tunes out.

“I get it. You were hurt and angry. I deserve that. You have a right to your reaction, and I won’t deny anyone their feelings because I haven’t been allowed to have any for most of my life.

But you locked me out. That’s your reaction when you’re upset or angry or disappointed.

I can’t handle that, Wyatt. I can’t. I won’t. ”

We both know I’m not just talking about literally. Though that was pretty fucking awful.

I need someone who will let me in the way I let them in, and I don’t know if Wyatt will ever fully let his guard down.

His voice is solemn when he speaks. “I will never lock you out again, Ivy. Not from my house and not from my heart. It’s not my life anymore.

I realized that the moment I knew you’d driven out of it.

This is our life now. If you’ll have me.

Everything we do, we’ll do together, because angel?

I don’t want anything in this life without you. Not even the ranch.”

His words hold the weight of wedding vows. They shatter the bricks around my resolve.

“I wanted to help.” My voice is still low but gathering strength. “And you shut me out, Wyatt. After forcing me to admit my feelings for you. I can’t just. . . It hurt. You hurt me.” I’m embarrassed at how my voice breaks, but it can’t be helped.

His jaw flexes as he absorbs the truth in my words. “I know, sweetheart. You told me you had trouble being where you weren’t wanted. And I’d been making you feel unwelcome since day one.”

I nod, thankful I’m regaining control of my head movement and my breathing.

“You barely know me,” I tell him, realizing the words feel untrue as I say them.

His gaze presses hard against mine. “I know you. I know you can’t stand for people or objects to block exits and the smell of smoke triggers your panic attacks.

” He steps closer and I don’t back up this time—allowing myself to bask in a small amount of his warmth.

“You like coffee in the morning and tea in the evening. You do yoga to relieve stress because it makes you feel strong, and in control of your body, after growing up feeling weak and powerless. Every time you experience something new, you try to memorize it so you can work it into your writing later. You get so lost in your stories when you’re writing, you lose track of time and forget to eat.

You haven’t had a pet since Mr. Bojangles when you were nine, but you want one.

Badly. You’re scared to death of snakes.

And you have a Henry Rollins quote tattooed on your left side.

It says, ‘Someday I would like to go home.’”

He cradles my face with the palm of his hand, and I can feel the love seeping into my skin when his forehead rests on mine.

“I looked it up,” he says softly. “The quote. I read it a hundred times. I was trying to figure out how to ask you to stay, how to tell you that you were already home.”

Well, there goes the control of my breathing. The onslaught of emotions clogs my throat as I struggle to process everything he’s saying and what it means.

“You’re more observant than I realized,” I whisper into the small space between us. “But that doesn’t me we should—”

“Baby, I asked for two things.” One side of his mouth lifts as he holds up the fingers to count them off.

“That you stay out of the bunkhouse, and don’t go near Lucifer.

Where did I find you?” Now he’s full on smirking.

“Hand-feeding that mean ass horse and two seconds from playing strip poker in the bunkhouse.”

“Those were orders not asks and the only person I played strip poker with was you,” I break in but he stops me with an exasperated laugh.

“You’re stubborn, you talk back, and you don’t listen for shit,” he says with a grin.

“But you’re mine. Because you fucked me up, Ivy Anderson,” he confesses.

“From the moment I laid eyes on you and every second after.” His chest moves with his inhalation of breath.

“I started doing things I’ve never done.

Whistling. Smiling. Fuck, laughing. Out loud. ”

At that, I smile. “The horror.”

He gifts me a small grin. But those dark eyes are still heavy with sadness. The line between his brows deepens.

“So yeah, I paid attention to every beautiful detail. And none of that fucked me up as much as falling in love with you did. Because I did not have that on my bingo card, baby.”

My eyes go wide. This man who barely speaks in full sentences seems determined to pour his heart out all over Main street.

I pull back to look at him. “Did my grumpy axe-wielding rancher just say he’s in love with me?”