Page 34 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

carter

. . .

S he’s sitting between my legs, her bare back resting against my chest, her body’s so soft and warm it damn near undoes me. I drag the cloth along her shoulder, taking my time, pretending like I’m just washing her and not losing my fucking mind at how good she feels against me.

I dip the cloth back into the water, squeezing it out, lathering up more soap. My hands move over her like I have all the time in the world—because right now, with her, I do.

“Are you always this silent when you’re being pampered?” I tease against her ear.

She lets out a little laugh, the sound vibrating through her body, right into mine. “I mean, it’s not a massage at the Ritz-Carlton, but this will do.”

I smirk against her skin, brushing her hair away from the nape of her neck. That’s when I spot it. Ink. Tiny, black numbers inked behind her ear.

Five-five-five.

I trail my thumb over it, curious.

“What’s this, baby?” I ask, the pads of my fingers lingering there longer than necessary. “Why do you have random numbers tattooed on you?”

She shivers under my touch, goosebumps breaking across her golden skin.

“It’s not random,” she says quietly, “Amelia tattooed it for me. It’s my favorite angel number. Five-five-five.”

I raise a brow, grinning against the side of her neck. “Angel number?” I chuckle, teasing. “Baby, you’re gonna have to explain that to me. I’m old, remember?”

She giggles, and fuck, that sound—it sinks under my skin, rattling around inside my ribs. I feel her relax even more into me, like she belongs here.

“It’s about transformation and change,” she says, her voice softer now. “It reminds me that no matter how many times I’ve screwed up, I can start over. I got it during a time when I needed something to believe in.”

I run my fingers over the ink again, tracing it slowly, letting the silence stretch between us.

“And do you feel like you’ve been able to overcome those bad habits?” I ask. “Learned responsibility since being here? Grown into the woman you want to be?”

She goes quiet for a beat, then lets out a soft sigh.

“Yeah,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think so. I hope so.”

I wait, sensing she’s got more tucked behind that answer.

I don’t rush her. I just hold her, letting her set the pace.

She leans her head against my chest, nuzzling into the crook of my neck.

When she speaks again, her voice is even softer, like she’s trusting me with a secret she’s barely ready to say out loud.

“I think being here... I can confidently say I don’t want to go back to Los Angeles,” she murmurs. “I don’t mind working, getting my hands dirty. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fucking disgusting sometimes, but... It’s rewarding, you know? Earning money that’s actually mine .”

Her words hit me harder than I expected.

“No more Los Angeles, darlin’?” I murmur, teasing lightly to cover the way my chest aches. “What about your fancy lifestyle? What about Erewhon and designer handbags?”

She laughs against my skin. “No, no more Los Angeles,” she says, “and Erewhon?” She snorts quietly, glancing back at me, her eyes warmer than the sun slipping over the hills.

“God. I used to think it was the pinnacle of luxury. But now? I think I like Piggly Wiggly better. It smells like fresh cinnamon rolls, and no one cares if I walk in wearing yesterday’s mascara. ”

I let out a low chuckle, burying my face into her hair for a second, breathing her in—God, she smells like soap and sunshine, everything that feels like home.

“When I first got here,” she continues, voice growing heavier, “all I could think about was fucking leaving. I hated it. I didn’t belong here.

I was so used to... that other life. The parties, the spending, the bullshit.

I thought that was what made me happy.” She pauses.

“But now,” she whispers, “I don’t know. I feel like.

.. like I’m figuring it out. Figuring out who I am.

Not who everyone expects me to be. Not who my father tried to shape. Just... me.”

That feeling flutters through me again, stronger this time. I tighten my arms around her, closing my eyes, letting the storm raging inside of me settle for just a little longer.

I’ve seen the shift in her this past month. The way she stopped giving a shit about designer labels, and stopped whining about her overpriced singular fucking strawberry from that fancy-ass grocery store she used to rave about .

Her heels, bedazzled trucker hats, and bedazzled boots? Those are non-negotiable.

She’s not clinging to her old life anymore.

When she started working at the bar, putting in the hours, earning her own damn paycheck, and slowly put it away. She started finding a purpose. Something outside of her father’s expectations.

She’s not just changing, she’s growing.

She nuzzles her head closer into the crook of my neck, her fingers tracing lazily over the tattoos inked into my skin, and something clicks inside me.

I think back to the bookstore she couldn’t stop talking about, the one I took her to.

I drove past it the other day, slowing my truck when I saw the ‘For Lease’ sign still hanging crooked in the window. That’s when the idea first hit me. Now, feeling her so soft and warm against me, like she belongs here, like she belongs with me—I know exactly what I need to do.

I drag my fingers along the side of her neck, feeling her shiver with my touch. I smirk to myself before speaking.

“I saw something the other day,” I say, voice low and teasing. “You probably don’t remember since you were entranced with your smutty books.”

She whips her head around, smacking my chest playfully. “Bury me with my filthy smut, I don’t care.” What did you see, cowboy? Alien smut? I know you’re into that.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, dragging in a breath, trying to hold onto the last shred of patience I have with her. “Jesus, Catalina... can you fucking listen for once?”

She smirks, that devilish glint in her eye as she turns back around, leaning into me again, as she rests her head lazily against my chest like she hadn’t just tested every one of my nerves. I slide my hand along her hip, keeping it there.

“That bookstore, Bell’s Books? The owner’s retiring. She’s renting the property out.”

It takes half a second for what I said to sink in. Catalina jerks her head back to look at me, wide-eyed, her mouth falling open.

And then—she screams. Not a little gasp, not a squeal, but a full-body, at-the-top-of-her-lungs, make-my-damn-ears-ring scream.

Water sloshes violently over the edges of the tub, splashing onto the floor. I can’t even find it in me to care. She could run me over with her car, and I’d still want her.

She scrambles around to face me fully, sitting on her knees in the tub, her wet hair sticking to her flushed cheeks, her hands gripping my forearm with an insane amount of force.

“Are you fucking serious?” she gasps, eyes wild with excitement.

I chuckle low under my breath, thoroughly amused by her reaction.

“Dead serious, baby.”

She throws her hands over her mouth, squealing behind them, and her whole body vibrates with raw happiness. She grabs my hands, beaming so hard it physically hurts to look at her.

“I know what I’m going to do,” she says, the words tumbling out fast.

I let her hands go, only so I can cup her beautiful, flushed face in my palms, running my thumbs along her cheeks. “Use the space to hoard your books?” I tease, cocking a brow .

She smacks my hand playfully, rolling her eyes like I’m the biggest idiot she’s ever met.

“No, asshole. I’m going to open my own bookstore, but with my flair.”

I grin, unable to help myself. She’s so damn proud already, even though she just decided it.

“Are you sure that isn’t a lot of responsibility for you, princess?” I tease, dragging the word out to get a rise out of her.

She shoots me a look that could level a grown man, narrowing her eyes in warning.

“You’re the literal worst, you know that?” she huffs, crossing her arms.

I lean in close, my lips hovering over hers, my voice dropping into a low baritone that I know she feels straight through her core.

“And yet, you’re still in the tub with me. Naked.”

She scoffs playfully.

I pull back just enough to see her face, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright and shining. She’s practically vibrating with excitement over her new dream, over the life she’s finally starting to choose for herself.

I tuck a damp strand of hair behind her ear, letting my thumb linger along her jawline, committing the sight of her to memory. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.

And happy.

Happier than I think I’ve ever seen her since she’s been here.

I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in, that faint scent of brown sugar and vanilla that somehow always clings to her. “I love seeing you like this,” I whisper, “I’d do anything to keep you this happy. Anything. ”

She doesn’t say a word. She kisses my lips ever so softly, the gentleness of her touch driving me wild.

I fucking meant every word, she just doesn’t know it yet.

I’m up before the alarm even thinks about buzzing. The coffee maker gurgles, the rich scent of espresso filling the air. I grab two mugs down from the cabinet, pouring Catalina’s first. Two sugars, splash of cream. Exactly how she likes it.

I’m setting her cup down on the counter when I hear soft footsteps padding across the floor. I turn. Fuck me—there she is.

Catalina stumbles into the kitchen looking like an absolute trainwreck.

Her hair’s a wild mess, eyes half-lidded, and she’s wearing an oversized distressed tee that says ‘How the fuck we feelin’ baby’.

It practically swallows her whole. Still, even like this, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

She groans, rubbing her face. “I hate mornings.”

I grab the coffee and walk it over to her. “Drink up, princess. Big day today, gotta check on the heifers.”

She glares at me over the rim of her cup, taking a long sip. “Ugh, I forgot. Do I have to touch them?”

I chuckle low in my chest, ruffling her hair as I grab my hat and tug it low over my brow. “No touching required. Just looking, mostly.”

She narrows her eyes like she knows I’m full of shit.

I just chuckle, draining the rest of my cup, setting it down with a heavy thunk. “Finish your coffee, princess,” I say, tugging on the brim of my cap. “You’re about to earn your honorary ranch girl badge today.”

Out in the pasture, the early morning sun burns off the last of the mist. We check the pregnant heifers, and walk the fences, making sure none of them are lying wrong or in distress.

Catalina sticks close at first, her arms crossed tight, wrinkling her nose at every squish of mud under her boots. When we get close to one particularly swollen cow, she edges backward like the thing might explode at any second.

“She’s looking at me funny,” she hisses, tugging on my sleeve.

“She’s chewing her cud, darlin’. Relax.”

“She’s plotting my death. I can feel it.”

I snort, shaking my head, turning back to finish tagging the gate. When I glance up again, she’s wandered off, barefoot somehow, into the tall grass near the fence line. I stop what I’m doing, my hands falling to my sides.

Catalina is a few yards away, kneeling in the grass, her fingers plucking wild pansies from the earth. The morning light catches her perfectly, her hair loose and wild, brown waves rippling in the breeze.

The oversized tee she refused to change out of slipped up a little, riding just above her hips, giving me a dangerous glimpse of skin. She’s barefoot. In my pasture. Picking wildflowers like she’s lived here her whole life.

Fuck.

A rich girl like her should be cursing about the bugs, the dirt under her nails, the smell of cow shit lingering in the air. Instead, she looks like she belongs here—Like she belongs with me .

I lean against the fence, drinking her in. She plucks another flower, tucking it behind her ear, tilting her head back and letting the sun kiss her cheeks.

It hits me so hard, I swear I stop breathing for a second. She’s not the same woman who stormed into my life, raising hell in designer heels. She’s real, and fuck me, she’s fucking radiant. She’s my angel with a loud mouth and bedazzled boots.

She’s gonna be my wife. Whether she knows it yet or not, she’s already mine.

She catches me staring and flashes that smug little smile that never fails to make my chest flutter.

“Like what you see, cowboy?” she calls out, twirling a purple pansy between her fingers.

I smirk, pushing off the fence. “Just shocked you’re not screaming about the bugs yet.”

She gasps, hand to her chest. “I’ll have you know, I am basically a professional outdoorswoman at this point.”

“Professional, huh?” I tease, stalking toward her.

“Mhm.” She hums, tucking another flower behind her ear proudly. “I’m a cowgirl now.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, darlin’. You nearly passed out last week when you saw that garden snake.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “First of all, that was an anaconda . ”

“It was six inches long, tops.”

“It had fangs the size of my arm.”

“It had a mouth, Catalina.”

She mutters under her breath, turning back to her flowers, but not before I catch the small, secret smile tugging at her lips. I stay standing there like a fucking fool, watching her. Watching the way she fits perfectly here, with me.

She unknowingly buries herself deeper and deeper into my heart. I think to myself, as sure and steady as the rising sun—I’ll do whatever it takes to keep that smile on her face.

For the rest of my life.