Page 12 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

carter

. . .

I watch her as I lean against the barn door. Catalina is huffing and puffing as she finishes cleaning the stalls. Her movements are stiff, her back hunched from the strain, but she doesn’t stop.

Not once.

I can tell she’s exhausted.

I’ve been around long enough to see people break down under pressure, but Catalina? She doesn’t crack, not even when I commented on her stupid show; it didn’t faze her. She keeps pushing forward, like she’s trying to prove something.

But prove what? My curiosity wants to delve deeper into her mind, to get to know her better. I can’t deny that there is something about her that interests me.

When she finishes, she barely glances at me. She grabs her thin sweater and walks toward the shed without a word. I think she’s trying to hide it, but I see the way she moves, slow and careful, like every muscle is screaming at her.

I hate that I can’t do anything to make it easier for her.

It’s quiet in the barn for a while after she leaves, the only sounds are the shifting of the horses and the creak of the wood in the breeze.

My thoughts drift back to her father’s muffled voice, still ringing in my ears like an alarm.

She tensed when he raised his voice at her and retreated into herself, fighting back the tears.

That shit made my blood boil.

I’ve seen it before, lived in her situation with my deadbeat father, but he didn’t last long until he left my mother behind, leaving her to raise three boys on her own.

For some reason, with Catalina, it seems to hit harder. Maybe it’s because she’s not like the others; she’s not pretending to be something she’s not.

My fingers move slowly through my hair, trying to shake the thoughts loose. I scoff, tucking that thought back into the deep parts of my brain as I head for the shed, where she’s probably waiting. Oblivious to how deep she’s already under my skin.

I haul the mower out to the far pasture and watch Catalina drag her feet across the grass, grumbling under her breath the whole way.

She’s wearing some ridiculous designer T-shirt, tiny denim shorts, and an attitude big enough to flatten a bull.

I smirk to myself. The fancy clothes has to be a shield. All of it—the sass, the stilettos, the mouthy attitude—it’s a defense mechanism. A wall she’s built between herself and the world so no one can see how fucking scared she is underneath it all.

Fuck, if I don’t want to be the one to crack her walls down.

We’re out in the pasture, and the hot Tennessee sun burns down on us. The mower hums low as I work the far rows. Catalina’s supposed to be helping, supposed to be picking up rocks and debris before I run over it, but it’s clear she’s only half paying attention.

She’s far behind me, walking lazily, swatting at her hair. Probably muttering complaints about bugs, dirt, and how this entire place is ‘barbaric.’

A high-pitched shriek splits through the breeze. I quickly hop off the mower, whipping around just in time to see her throwing herself across the grass toward me, eyes wide with terror.

“Get it off me, GET IT FUCKING OFF OF ME!!” she shrieks, waving her hands frantically through her hair.

Before I can react, she launches herself at me, slamming into my chest so hard I stagger back a step, and catch her out of pure reflex. My hands automatically grab her waist to keep us both from crashing to the ground.

The heat of her—the scent of her—hits me like a punch to the gut. Peach shampoo, and that undercurrent of brown sugar and vanilla that drives me fucking insane.

“Jesus, Catalina,” I growl, my hands finding her waist, my fingers curling hard against her bare skin above the waistband of her shorts. “It’s just a bug.”

“No, it was a fucking mutant spider, I swear to GOD it had fangs the size of my head!” she gasps, clutching at my shirt.

I brush my hand down her bare arm, nothing. I tangle my fingers through her hair, nothing. Just warm, soft skin under my rough palms and her smooth, silky strands falling through my fingertips.

Her thighs squeeze tighter around my hips, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts against my throat.

Fuck, the friction.

The feel of her wiggling as she’s pressed flush against my cock, which, is now getting harder by the goddamn second.

She shifts slightly—trying to balance herself—and her center grinds against the thick, aching length straining against my jeans. My jaw tightens so hard it’s a miracle my teeth don’t crack.

Fuck me. I’m gonna die right here in this field.

Her chest heaves against mine, her lips parted, her pupils blown from the adrenaline. Her thighs flex again, grinding herself against me just enough to make my head drop back with a guttural curse.

“You sure it’s gone, cowboy?” She whispers, breathless, and so fucking innocent it makes my cock ache.

I lower her gently, my hands still gripping her waist like I’m not ready to let go—because I’m not. Her chest brushes mine, rising and falling in short, shallow breaths, and fuck if that bow on top of her head doesn’t make her look like trouble wrapped in temptation.

“There’s, uh...” I clear my throat. “There’s no spider, you’re good.”

She lets out a long breath. “Oh, thank god. I thought I died for a second.”

I nod once, backing away. “Yeah,” I mutter, “no spider.”

The drive to Tractor Supply is a hell of a lot quieter than I expected. I figured after the shitshow in the pasture, she’d bounce right back into her chaotic little mood of hers. I thought for sure she’d crank up that EDM shit she loves, maybe sing too loud to piss me off .

Instead, she’s dead silent, curled up against the door, as she scrolls on her phone absently across the screen without really reading anything.

I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, stealing glances at her every few seconds, trying to piece together what’s going on in that pretty little head of hers. She’s probably still chewing on that brutal call with her old man.

Fuck, I’m still pissed about it and I don’t even know what he said to her. Her body language alone, the way she tensed, made me want to kill any motherfucker who has ever made her feel that way.

This mask she wears, the tough little act she leads on, but underneath it, I know there’s more. I know there’s a woman who’s been fighting like hell just to be seen.

And for some stupid fucking reason, I want to see all of her, even the messy parts.

I’m lost in thought when I catch her glance at me. The second our eyes almost meet, she drops her gaze back to the window.

Every time she sneaks a look, it stirs something within my heart that I thought was long dead. I haven’t had a woman look at me like that since before my whole life went sideways, since my fiancé left me for greener pastures and I buried myself in work, becoming a recluse.

Catalina looks at me with a spark of curiosity in her eyes, like maybe I’m not so broken after all. Like maybe, just maybe, she sees a man still worth getting to know.

A man still worth something.

I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.

My fingers tap harder against the steering wheel when, all of a sudden, her voice cuts through the silence.

“I think my friends would like your brothers,” she murmurs, “but I could be way off. ”

I blink, surprised she’s talking at all.

“Your friends?”

She nods, still staring out the window like she can’t quite look at me yet.

“Amelia and Layla. They’re... different from me. We’re an odd bunch. But God, I love them.”

She fidgets with her fingernails as she speaks again.

“I think they’d love it out here. I think…” she trails off, voice even quieter. “I think I’m kinda starting to like it out here too.”

The words hit harder than they should.

She likes it out here? After all the bitching and stomping around like the princess of California?

She’s not being sarcastic or running her motor mouth. She’s being real .

Holy fuck, it floors me.

It’s like she cracked open a door she didn’t mean to, and for the first time, she’s letting me see the woman underneath the designer sunglasses and attitude.

Just like that, I’m fucking gone.

She keeps going, her voice gaining a little more life now.

“Amelia’s a tattoo artist in the city,” she says, a smile tugging at her sweet lips. “She’s covered head to toe, total bad bitch energy. But really, she’s the softest person I know. You’d never guess it unless you broke through that shell first.”

I chuckle low under my breath, picturing what my brothers would make of that.

“Maverick would lose his damn mind over her,” I say, smirking.

Catalina snorts—this soft, unexpected sound that punches straight through my chest.

“Mmm. Amelia would eat him alive,” she grins. “She likes her men a little more... dangerous. Maverick seems like a giant golden retriever.”

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, at that bright little smile she’s trying so hard not to let loose.

Fuck, if she doesn’t look beautiful.

“What about Layla?” I ask.

Her whole face softens. “Layla’s pure sunshine.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, pretty enough to kill you but crazy enough to bury the body afterward.

She’s a content creator. Paints, vlogs, whatever else she feels like.

She’s the kind of person who’ll give you the shirt off her back and then talk shit about you behind your back. .. lovingly.”

I can’t help the grin that secretly pulls at my lips. “Sounds like someone Reed would either fall head over heels for or strangle.”

She laughs, and for the first time since we’ve started this drive, the tension between us breaks a little.

“Probably both,” she chuckles, “but she’s the best. They’re both amazing people, I can already see them annoying the fuck out of you.”

The warmth in her voice, the way she talks about her friends, makes me feel like I’m seeing a different side of her. It’s not all about proving herself to everyone.

At least with her friends, she can be herself.

“God, if they’re anything like you,” I huff. “I’m already irritated and I haven’t even met them yet,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road.

“Whoa, don’t get your panties in a bunch, you act like me being here isn’t the most excitement you’ve had.” She replies, her voice snappy now.

There she is.

“They’re like sisters to me, sisters I so desperately wanted growing up. They keep me grounded and have been there for me through it all. They are my ride or dies. My people. My family .”

I nod, silently appreciating how she’s opening up, even if it’s just a little bit. I pull into the Tractor Supply parking lot, the engine rumbling low as I park the truck.

She gives me a questioning glance. “I thought you were taking me for a celebratory matcha for cleaning up horse shit today.”

I shake my head, cutting the engine. “Huh? No, we gotta grab some feed. And while we’re here, you’re picking out a proper pair of boots, princess.”

Her mouth drops open in outrage. “What the hell’s wrong with my shoes?”

I smirk, leaning over just enough to make her squirm. “You mean your heels? You need proper boots to work on the ranch, not designer heels.”

She glares at me.

I climb out of the truck, tossing her a wink. “Move your ass, princess. You’re in ranch country now.”

I watch her stomp into Tractor Supply like a woman who’d rather be anywhere else but here. She walks into the store with her little arms crossed, face scrunched up as her eyes scan every item like it’s something beneath her.

I smirk to myself and nod toward the back. “Over here.”

She drags her feet the whole way like a damn kid, and comes to a dead stop in front of the wall lined with work boots.

Ariat. Carhartt. Wrangler. Wolverine .

All brands that fucking last you a lifetime doing manual labor.

She glares at them in pure horror.

“What the hell are these ugly boots,” she mutters under her breath.

I bark a short laugh and grab a pair off the shelf, jerking my chin toward the bench.

“Sit.”

Her glare sharpens, but she listens, dropping down onto the bench, her arms folded tight like she’s daring me to piss her off even more.

I kneel in front of her, tossing the boot onto the floor with a heavy thud, tapping her ankle.

“Foot.”

She hesitates, just long enough to make me grin. I reach out as I grab her calf and haul her foot up onto my thigh without a second thought.

Her whole body stiffens.

Good.

She should be tense. She should be fucking terrified of what happens if I stop pretending I have a shred of restraint left.

I drag her designer sneaker off, slowly, my knuckles graze up the inside of her ankle, just to watch her squirm. The second she’s free, I shove the heavy boot onto her foot, tugging it up snug around her calf. My thumb brushes over the sensitive skin just above the leather, not by accident.

Her whole body jerks the tiniest bit, barely enough for anyone to notice.

I lift my head, letting my gaze lock onto hers, and hold it. She’s staring down at me like she doesn’t know whether she wants to slap me or strangle me .

“What’s wrong, princess?” I rasp. “Something bothering you?”

She blinks fast, trying to get her footing. “Your hands are fucking filthy,” she snaps, but her shaky voice betrays her.

I can’t help the slow, cruel smirk pulling at my lips. I lean in and tighten my grip on her calf just enough to make her feel it.

“Careful, darlin’,” I say with a slow drawl, tilting my head. “That attitude of yours is real cute—until I decide to do somethin’ about it.”

“You fucking wish,” she scoffs, “you can forget that pleasant conversation we had in the car, byeeee.” She shoves at my chest hard enough to make me laugh as I let her go.

I push off my knees to stand, chuckling to myself as I watch her storm off.

“Pick your damn boots,” I call out, jerking my chin toward the wall. “And while we’re here, pick out some new clothes too. Welcome to the wild side, darlin’.”

She glares up at me, her chest heaving, color high on her cheeks. I know I’m under her skin, and hell if I don’t love it.

I shove my hands in my pockets to hide the fact that they’re itching to haul her over my shoulder and show her exactly what a real cowboy can do.