Page 9 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

wyatt

“YOU DID WHAT?”

I glare at Isaac from across the kitchen as the screen door slams behind me. My mother side-eyes us while stirring something in a pot on the stove. Probably preparing to break up a fight, like when we were kids.

Isaac sneaks a piece of garlic bread from a pan beside her. “I invited her to dinner. She just got here, Wy. Damn. You want her to starve?”

My pulse pounds in my temples as my heart rate amps up. “She has a car. She can drive. She could go to the diner or The Stillery.”

My mother frowns at me, disappointment etched in her delicate features. “She shouldn’t have to drive in an unfamiliar town and pay forty bucks for a mediocre meal, son, when there’s plenty of food here. She’s already paid for the cabin in full for two weeks.”

I hate disappointing my mom, but, damn, I don’t need this tempting woman at my dinner table. My siblings are perceptive. They’ll see the effect she has on me, and I’ll never hear the end of it.

I rub the back of my neck in a pointless attempt to relieve the tension that’s been there for half my life.

“She drives a Porsche, for fuck’s sake. I’m pretty sure she can buy her own dinner. An overpriced meal or two won’t break her,” I grumble, hoping my mom doesn’t hear my garbage language.

A small gasp from the open door behind me tells me my mom might not have heard my hateful words, but my unwanted dinner guest did. That’s what I get for not closing the door behind me when I came in.

Turning slowly, I see Ivy exiting the front porch quickly. She nearly trips down the stairs.

Well . . . fuck.

“Nice one, brother,” Isaac deadpans. “Really have a way with the ladies. No question why you’re still single.”

My mother watches Ivy out the window over the sink, then slaps my chest with her wooden spoon. Splatters of red sauce dot my black T-shirt. Like a crime scene.

“Go get her, Wyatt Everett Logan. Now.”

Isaac snickers. The use of my full legal name means there’s no sense in arguing.

“If she doesn’t come eat, you don’t eat,” my mother adds while stirring her famous spaghetti sauce.

Without much thought as to what I’m going to say, I make my way out the door and down the porch steps.

“Hey,” I call out as Ivy reaches her car in the driveway.

She ignores me, yanking the door open without looking up.

“Ivy, wait.” I jog over, catching the top of the door just before she climbs into the car.

She doesn’t look at me.

“Did you hear me?”

Wounded hazel eyes meet mine. “Yeah, I heard you.”

My eyes close and I inhale heavily. “I meant, calling your name. Asking you to wait.”

“Sounded more like an order than an ask.”

“I’m sorry. What I said was . . . rude.”

She arches a pretty eyebrow at me. “As opposed to all the polite stuff you’ve said since I got here?”

She’s got a point.

I consider my next words carefully. “I was—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupts with a wave of her hand. “You didn’t know I was standing there. I walked up so you wouldn’t have to come get me on that ATV thing. I’d already told Isaac I didn’t want to intrude on your family dinner.”

Hearing her say my brother’s name with familiarity makes my stomach tense. “You’re not intruding. I’m just . . . ”

She waits. I can see the ripples of restraint on her beautiful face as she barely contains the urge to call me a dick.

“Unprepared for company,” I say, hoping that’s explanation enough.

It’s not.

“And what does it take for you to be prepared?”

A cold shower, jerking my dick until it can’t move so it won’t stand at attention every time you breathe near me.

“Probably an etiquette class,” I tell her. “Occupational hazard of spending all my time with livestock. I forget how to function around beautiful women.”

There. Maybe the compliment will help.

She lets out a small laugh. “Whatever you say, rancher. It’s really no big deal. I stopped at a diner in town on my way here. I’ll grab some dinner there.”

With that, she lowers herself into her driver’s seat.

I glance back at the house, and my mother points her spoon at me through the window.

Fuck it. I jog around the front of the car and climb into the passenger seat.

Damn, it’s cramped in this car. To be so expensive, you think there’d be more legroom.

She gapes at me while cranking the engine. “What are you doing?”

I make a show of adjusting the seat to accommodate my large frame.

“Going with you. If you don’t come inside and eat, then I don’t eat.

We’ve both got to have dinner. So, the diner it is.

I’ll warn you though,” I say, turning to look at her while trying to ignore the vanilla and honey scent filling my head, “the tuna melt has been known to give people food poisoning. If you’ve got a sensitive stomach, I’d steer clear of that. ”

I wait for her to put the car in drive, but she only stares at me.

After a few deep breaths, she sighs and meets my stare. “What will it take to get you out of this car?”

I huff out a breath. “The Jaws of Life probably.”

She isn’t amused. “Seriously though.”

I rake a hand through my hair. Other than ranch hands or my siblings, this is the most conversation I’ve had with anyone in .

. . a while. “Look, my mom is big on hospitality. Me? Not so much. Which I’m sure you’ve noticed.

But I can’t go back in there without you.

So, we have two choices. Go inside and enjoy Laurel Logan’s famous spaghetti.

Or head to the diner and eat something greasy of questionable origins. ”

She pins me with an exasperated expression on her pretty face. “Why do you dislike me so much? Did I do something to piss you off? Do I look like an ex who burned you or something?”

I almost choke on my own tongue. “I don’t know you well enough to dislike you. And you damn sure don’t look like any woman I’ve ever seen around here, Hollywood.”

She waits silently.

“The ranch . . . my family . . . things are complicated right now. I didn’t know my mom was renting the cabins. You caught me off guard.”

Her full lips quirk up at the corners. “I didn’t notice. You were so welcoming, what with the axe and all.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I say quietly. “It’s not personal.”

She nods. “Okay. I forgive you.”

“Just like that?”

She shrugs. “You apologized. You seem like you mean it.”

“I do,” I say, surprised at how much weight is lifted off my chest by her accepting my apology. “So, you’ll come in and eat dinner with us? Mom’s spaghetti really is famous. You can check with the locals.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her voice is lower, softer, when she says, “I have some issues with being where I’m not wanted. I think I’m still going to eat at the diner tonight. But please thank your mom and brother for the invite. Maybe another time.”

She shifts the car into gear and waits for me to exit her vehicle.

I don’t move.

I get it. She’s stubborn.

But so am I.

“If you’re going to the diner, I’m going with you. There’s no reason for you to eat dinner alone.” And I’m buying, but I leave that part out for now.

Her brow creases. She turns in her seat. I glance down as her quads flex. Fuck, she’s wearing a deep burgundy dress that looks like a long T-shirt, and her toned, tanned legs are begging to be touched. Her skin is bronzed silk that makes my mouth water.

“I was raised by a single mom who worked odd hours. I’ve eaten lots of dinners alone. And I recently went through a breakup. I need to get used to eating alone again anyway.”

She nods toward the door, dismissing me.

This woman just went through a breakup, rented a cabin to get away, and has been met with the likes of me. That . . . fucking sucks.

“Tell me what it will take for you to come inside and eat dinner with me. With us, my family and me, I mean.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Swear on everything holy, I am not getting out of this car unless you do. So, either figure out what level of groveling you need me to do or just drive us to the diner already.”

She tilts her head, regarding me curiously. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Anything I want?”

This could go in a dangerous direction. “I’ll beg if necessary.”

I will hand-fucking-feed this woman at the dinner table if that’s what it takes. Now that I’ve been this close to her, I can’t seem to tear myself away.

The thought of her eating alone at the diner because I was an asshole makes my chest ache.

“Tomorrow, will you show me how the ranch works?”

My brows dip inward as I contemplate her unexpected request. “As in, the whole thing?”

She nods.

I smirk. “You want to get dirty, Hollywood?”

Her face breaks into a grin, and it nearly takes my breath away. “So much.”

My cock hears her and taps twice on my jeans to make sure I caught the innuendo.

I got it, buddy. Thanks.

“So, let me get this straight. If I agree to let you work with me tomorrow, show you the ropes, so to speak, you’ll come inside and eat?”

She nods excitedly. How she manages to make childlike excitement seem sexy, I’ll never know. But I’m done questioning it.

“Deal. But no complaining.”

She opens her mouth to argue, and I place a finger over her soft, plump lips.

“You complain, you’re fired from ranch-hand duty. Got it?”

This should be easy. Hollywood here won’t last five minutes. Then she’ll go home, and I can get back to my regularly scheduled life.

She stares at me with laser-like focus until I lower my finger from her lips.

“Want to make a bet?”

“About?”

She chews her lush lower lip thoughtfully. “About how long I’ll make it without complaining.”

I almost laugh out loud. This will be like taking candy from a baby. “Sure. What terms do you have in mind?”

Her inquisitive gaze rakes over my face slowly. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I could swear there’s a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“I make it the entire day without complaining, you spend the rest of the week showing me the ins and outs of the ranch. All of it. The good, the bad, and the ugly.”

“And if you lose? What will you show me?” The running list in my head is inappropriate for polite company.

“I’ll leave,” she says simply. “No refund necessary. If I can’t hack it for one day, doing what you do, I’ll pack up and head back to California. I won’t ever bother you again.”

Somehow, that doesn’t sound like a win for me. Though, yesterday, it was all I wanted.

I weigh the proposed wager carefully.

“Why would you want to know about the inner workings of the ranch? You planning to buy one out in California?”

Something about her request sets off alarms in my head. Mostly because it surprises me, and people rarely surprise me.

This woman, with her Porsche and her designer shoes, hardly seems like someone who’d be interested in how a ranch operates.

She looks wistful for a moment. “No. Probably not. I’m curious, is all. It’s huge, and I’ve never been on one this big before.”

The masculine urge to add, that’s what she said, is overwhelming. But that’s more of an Isaac or Caleb comment, so I keep it to myself.

Seems like a valid answer, but also like she’s hiding something. Clearly, Caleb’s bullshit and the whole Nina ordeal are still plaguing me. Nina Berkowitz had done a number on my family. Apparently, she’d left more than just debt in her wake.

I shove the irritating memory to the back of my brain.

“Okay then. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

We shake on it, and once again, I’m hyperaware of the vulnerable softness of her tiny hand in mine. A surge of something powerful and animalistic flares in my chest at the contact. Her eyes meet mine, and I’m certain she feels it too.

She won’t make it until lunchtime tomorrow. Then she’ll be gone. And I can get back to work and stop being so twisted up over this random woman who appeared out of the damn blue. I should be relieved. Maybe I’ll feel it once she actually leaves.

I maneuver myself out of the tiny car the best I can, then jog around to open her door for her as she shuts off the engine. She’s quick though and obviously not used to anyone opening her door for her.

Her eyes widen in alarm as I hold the back door to the house open for her as well.

The kitchen is empty when we step inside the house, but my mom and siblings quickly rush in from the dining room and start plating food. They were watching the exchange from the window then. Great.

“Ivy, you’ve met my mom and Isaac,” I say, nodding to each of them. “This is my sister Willow and the baby of the family, Sutton.”

Ivy smiles at the girls as they pause preparing their food to greet her.

“Asher is currently serving overseas, and our other brother Caleb is . . . off being Caleb somewhere.” I brush off the discomfort the mention of Caleb causes and gesture toward the food. “I hope you like spaghetti.”

Ivy nods and forces a smile.

I made her feel unwelcome with my dickhead comment earlier, and I can see it in the way she shrinks back, offering only a soft, “Hey,” when everyone greets her.

Her words come back to me.

“I have some issues with being where I’m not wanted.”

She’s wanted here—too wanted—which is my issue, not hers. And I need to figure out how to stop being such an ass to this woman.

At least for one more day.

I grab a plate for her and begin filling it with salad, spaghetti, and garlic bread.

I hand her some silverware and lead her to the empty seat where I usually sit.

Willow is on the other side of her. They smile warmly at one another as I place the plate on the table and pull Ivy’s chair out for her.

She nearly trips over it, then thanks me softly without meeting my eyes.

“Really need to get used to people holding the door and pulling out your chair for you if you’re going to hang around here,” I tell her.

Once she’s seated, I bend down, leaning close to her so my family won’t hear what I’m about to say. “I’m glad it didn’t work out with whatever jackass you were dating back in California.”

Wide hazel eyes meet mine. “You are?”

I nod. “You clearly aren’t used to a man opening your doors or fixing your plate. Or even pulling your chair out for you. Whoever he was, he didn’t know shit about how to treat a woman. You can do better.” I give her a wink, hoping I haven’t overstepped my bounds.

A flash of heat I’m not expecting darkens her gaze.

Then she lifts her chin and shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe I was just in it for the sex.”

Willow smirks from beside her. She likes her already. Figures.

But Ivy is lying. I can see it in the way she detaches when she says it. Her gaze goes far away. She’s remembering. Whoever he was, he hurt her.

I’d give my black soul straight to the Devil today to take her pain away. She’s so close that I can practically taste her.

I chuckle, low and dark, giving her petite body a full perusal before whispering in her ear, “My guess is, he sucked at that too. Any man who fucks you good, the way you should be fucked, is damn sure opening your doors.”