Page 47 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

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Three Months Later

O h. My. FUCK.

I sink back into the neutral-toned cushions on my bed, my legs crossed as I try to get comfortable. The ceiling fan spins lazily above me, doing little to push back the thick Tennessee heat, but I barely notice.

My comforter is a disaster zone—littered with folded receipts, wrinkled notes, and the neatly stacked piles of cash and deposited checks I’ve been hoarding for six months.

I double-count everything. Then triple-count it. Holding my breath each time I reach the final number. It was all there, every fucking dollar.

A sharp, disbelieving laugh escapes me as I slap my hand over my mouth to hold back a sob.

I did it. Holy shit, I actually did it.

My whole body feels like it’s vibrating. Like every cell is charged and weightless, my chest cracks open in the best way. The usual ache in my chest—grief, fear, pressure—is replaced by something brighter.

A giddy squeal escapes before I can stop it, and I throw myself into a ridiculous celebration, bouncing on the bed like a baboon, limbs flailing, cash flying everywhere. I land in a heap, breathless and laughing.

I have to tell Carter.

I scramble off the bed, scoop up bills, and stuff them back into the drawer I’ve been using as a makeshift safe. My hands are shaking, my heart still hammering in my chest, and I don’t even bother throwing shoes on as I bolt out of the room.

I dash across the lawn, past the porch, barefoot and free-spirited.

The sun sinks low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the fields in shades of burnt honey and red-orange.

The air carries the scent of fresh earth and sweet hay, accompanied by the faint hum of insects buzzing in the golden hour light.

The ground feels warm beneath my feet, with cool, damp patches of grass where morning dew still lingers.

It tickles my ankles as I run, my heart pounding in my chest as if it might burst from all this joy.

Each stride sends a rush through my veins, the breeze sweeping through my hair, and the warm sun wrapping around my shoulders.

Daisies and buttercups blur in my periphery as I sprint across the field, my lungs drawing in air that tastes like freedom.

I spot him near the stalls, brushing down Toffee. His sports cap is turned backward… sweet Lord, have mercy. That backward hat is a fucking crime. The sleeves of his Henley are pushed up, his tattooed forearms flexing with each pass of the brush.

My legs nearly gave out.

“Carter!” I yell, flailing my arms in the air like a lunatic.

He looks up slowly, his eyes locking onto mine. That crooked grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, the kind that hits me straight in the chest like a sucker punch. “Yeah, darlin’?”

I skid to a stop in front of him, breathless, my cheeks tinged with red from running like a beast. “I fucking did it. I have enough. For rent. First, last, and all the damn months. I counted it like… five times. It’s real. I can actually do this.”

His expression shifts, softening in that way that always undoes me. That private look he reserves just for me. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, pride thick in his voice. “Put it in an envelope. I’ll take it to Linda tomorrow.”

My smile falters as my brows knit. “Wait, why can’t I do it? I want to pick up the keys myself. I want it to feel official.”

He shakes his head and walks past me, leading Toffee by the reins as she clops steadily beside him, heading for the barn doors and back to her stall.

“You’re being a fucking weirdo.”

“Only for you, baby,” he says, clicking Toffee’s stall shut behind her.

“No, like yo-.”

I don’t get the chance to finish. His hands are suddenly on my waist, spinning me around with effortless force until I’m flush against his chest. The suddenness steals the breath right from my lungs.

His hand braces the barn wall, as the other runs a slow, deliberate path over my lower lip before gently tilting my chin up.

“Stop questioning me and kiss me, darlin’,” he says, his voice sweet like honey.

Toffee lets out a sharp neigh, stomping her hoof like she’s personally offended by the lack of attention.

Carter smirks and glances over his shoulder. “Hold on, Toffee,” he drawls, “let me kiss my girl first.”

She huffs again, but he’s already turning toward me .

I smile, but it barely lasts a second before he leans in, capturing my mouth with his. His lips drag against mine with purpose, his tongue tracing the curvature of my mouth until I give in, melting into him like I always do. My fingers grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

He lifts me, hoisting me up and pins me effortlessly against the barn wall in one smooth, practiced motion. His hips press between my thighs, holding me there. A soft moan slips out of me, muffled against his mouth, but just as quickly, he pulls back.

He gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, brushing it back with a tenderness that makes my chest flutter, and rests his forehead against mine.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, searching his face.

He shakes his head, his voice soft and full of something that makes my heart tighten. “I’m just really fucking proud of you.”

My lips part like I’m about to speak, but I shut them again just as fast. He’s proud of me. If that doesn’t scream daddy issues, I don’t know what does—but I don’t fucking care. I need this.

God, I needed to hear that.

My throat grows thick with emotion, but I swallow it down. Still, I manage to meet his eyes. His expression is soft, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, those light blue eyes crinkling at the edges.

His eyes search mine, waiting for an answer.

I release a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Thank you,” I whisper. “You have no idea how much that means to me. That reassurance… it matters. It matters more than I want to admit.”

He gently sets me back on solid ground, pulling me closer into the heat of his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat hums against my ear, lulling the nerves under my skin.

I push up onto my toes, cupping his jaw in both hands.

He leans into my touch without hesitation, like it’s second nature now.

“I-I finally feel happy,” I say, the words coming out like a confession. “Truly happy. I don’t need my dad’s money. That crutch he held over my head for years, it’s gone. And now I know I can stand on my own and still thrive. My mommy… she’d be so proud of me.”

His hands come up, his fingers thread between mine as he leans his forehead to mine again. He doesn’t say anything as he holds me there, his breath warm and even against my skin.

His silence speaks louder than anything; his presence is like a safety net beneath everything I’ve worked for.

For the first time in years, I feel free.

All the nights at the bar, the blisters, the aching feet, and the nights I cried myself to sleep thinking I’d never be more than a fuck-up… It’s led to this. To me, standing here, in his arms, on the cusp of something that’s mine.

Not borrowed. Not given. Mine.

Even now, with a dream in reach and the man I love holding me like I’m something sacred, I’m not entirely free.

Not with the weight of my father still shackled to my wrists.

The thought of him makes my body rigid. Carter feels it and pulls me even closer, as he presses a kiss to my forehead like it might melt the tension away.

“You should talk to him,” he whispers, “say what you need to say. And if he doesn’t listen, if he doesn’t care? Then you don’t owe him a damn thing. Blood or not.”

I shake my head against his chest, my voice barely a whisper. “He won’t care, Carter. He never has. I’ve always just been a pawn in his game. And the worst part is… some sick part of me still doesn’t want to let go.”

He lets out a deep grunt, his chest vibrating against my cheek. He doesn’t say anything else or try to change my mind. He simply wraps his arms around me tighter, as if he’s shielding me from everything outside of this moment.

“I care,” he says softly, his lips brushing my hair.

For me, that’s enough.

Carter’s got the windows down, his hand gripping the wheel, as the other rests comfortably on my thigh, his thumb brushing lazy circles over the denim of my jeans.

The wind rips through the cab of the truck, whipping strands of my hair around my face, but I don’t care.

I’ve got my infamous playlist blasting—the one Carter always claims to hate but weirdly hasn’t turned off yet.

My current hyperfixation song comes on, and I don’t even hesitate. I belt out the chorus like a shrieking baboon, off-key and overly dramatic, throwing in some wild hand gestures for emphasis like I’m a headliner at Electric Daisy Carnival.

“COME AND FIND ME OUT WHERE THE SKY BEGINSSS!” I scream-sing at the top of my lungs, my voice borderline feral as I throw my head back dramatically.

“WHERE THE SUN CRASHES INTO THE SEA—” I belt out, my arms out like I’m performing for a crowd of thousands instead of just one very grumpy cowboy.

“THERE’S A WALL MADE OF SOUND, AND IT’S CAVING IN! YOU’LL BE LIGHT YEARS AWAY FROM MEE!”

I pause for dramatic effect.

“COME AND FIND ME OUT WHERE THE SKY BEGINSSS!”

I glance over, mid-head banging, expecting him to be scowling or rolling his eyes.

But he’s not. He’s smiling again.

A slow, lazy smile stretches across his lips, so rare that it actually makes my breath stutter. That sharp jawline of his softens, and his lips twitch up into the kind of grin that punches me straight in the chest. His eyes stay on the road, but every part of him feels tuned in to me.

God, he’s beautiful when he smiles like this.

He lets me be. Le’ts me sing too fucking loud and off-key.

Let’s me throw my hands around like I’m on stage and not in his truck.

He doesn’t make me feel small or try to mold me into something quieter.

He lets me be big. Bold. A little messy.

He creates space for all of it, without ever asking for anything in return.