Page 5 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

carter

. . .

W hen Vartan called me and told me that his daughter needed to learn responsibility, I thought he was calling me to vent.

I guess he had other plans. He shipped his daughter, whom I’ve met once when she was too young to remember, to my ranch.

I’m so fucking thrilled.

She’s from a completely different world than mine.

Everything about her screams luxury, from her designer clothes to the way she stands like she’s allergic to dirt.

She showed up in a black sweatsuit, for god’s sake.

A matching set, no less. She walked in here with an attitude in one hand and entitlement in the other.

I haven’t had a woman live with me since my fiancé left me years ago, for another man.

Fuck love. Fuck relationships. Fuck it all to hell.

I head into the kitchen to wash my hands, the water sputtering to life before running cool against my skin. I focus on the feeling, letting it center me—until my eyes flick up, catching sight of her through the doorway .

She’s sprawled across my damn couch. One leg tucked under her, the other draped lazily off the side, eyes glued to her phone like she’s waiting for someone to save her from this rural nightmare.

Her fingers move across the screen with practiced disinterest, like everything around her is background noise.

I can’t stop myself from staring, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Of course she has to be fucking stunning.

Her long brown hair tumbles in soft waves from a high ponytail. Hidden between the strands, I catch flashes of blonde, barely there, just enough to shimmer like gold when the sun hits it right. It’s subtle, the kind of detail you don’t notice unless you’re staring.

And God knows I’m staring.

Her face is too perfect. All high cheekbones and sharp angles, like she was carved by some arrogant celestial artist who knew exactly what the fuck they were doing.

Her mouth, fuck me. Full, plump lips painted in some soft pink gloss, the kind that makes it impossible to think straight. Fuck it was maddening.

It was fucking impossible not to be captivated by her.

God, she’s beautiful.

So fucking beautiful.

I force my eyes down back to the sink, pretending like washing my hands is the most important task I’ve got going on right now. I scrub harder than I need to, like maybe if I focus hard enough, I’ll forget the way she makes my chest flutter.

That’s Vartan’s daughter, my best friend’s kid. A walking fucking line I shouldn’t even be looking at, let alone tempted to cross.

I snatch the towel off the counter and dry my hands. My boots creak against the old wooden floor as I make my way into the living room. I drop down onto the couch across from her, watching her, waiting for her to react. She doesn’t glance up, still fully absorbed in her phone.

Typical .

Her mouth moves now and then, but the longer she ignores me, the more my patience starts to fray. I reach over, swiping the damn thing right out of her hands.

“Hey! I was literally about to get to the spicy scene in my book, you asshole!” She glares at me, her nose scrunched.

“Since you’re gonna be living here,” I say, pocketing her phone, “we’re gonna have some rules. Workday starts at five in the morning and ends when everything’s done. Which could be four, could be later.”

She blinks, stunned silent for a beat. “Five?” Her voice pitches. “In the morning?”

She stares at me, her eyes vast and dramatic as hell. Large chestnut eyes with green threaded through the middle, which makes them utterly impossible to ignore. The sunlight hits her face just right, and for a moment, I forget what I’m even saying. But then she opens her mouth again.

“That has to be a fucking joke,” she laughs out, throwing her head back against the couch cushion. “I don’t even roll over before ten, noon if it’s cloudy.”

She sighs dramatically and starts talking with her hands. “And what about Wi-Fi? Do you guys have that out here, or do I need to send up a fucking smoke signal? What about AC? A skincare fridge? A plug for my Dyson? Because my hair will riot.”

I stare at her. God help me, she’s dead fucking serious.

“There’s no beauty sleep here, princess,” I mutter, standing up and turning on my heel before I say something I’ll regret.

She lets out another dramatic sigh. “Jesus, what are you, you pushing eighty? Need to be up by sunrise to drink your morning coffee and scream at the cows? There’s nothing wrong with sleeping in like a normal person.”

I stop in my tracks, slightly turning my neck to glare at her. “I’m thirty-four.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, and I’m the fucking Tooth Fairy. I’ve barely met you, and you walk around like there’s a stick up your ass. Lighten up.”

My jaw ticks. “And you walk around like the world owes you something. Let me guess—eighteen and haven’t worked a day in your damn life?”

“I’m twenty-three, jackass,” she snaps back.

I grunt, choosing to ignore her. I grab her designer luggage, dragging it toward the stairs. The wheels catch on the edge of the rug, resisting like even her suitcase doesn’t want to be here.

What the fuck did she pack in here, boulders?

I don’t say a word as we make our way upstairs. She trails behind me, probably pouting, definitely glaring daggers at the back of my head.

Since I’m such a gentleman, I made sure the guest room was livable before she got here.

The room’s lined with warm, weathered wood, walls still carrying the scent of cedar and clean linen. There’s a handmade rug on the floor, earthy colors pulled into soft patterns. The bed’s solid, reclaimed wood, neutral tan sheets, and a few shelves on the wall for her endless shit.

I glance back at her as I set her luggage down. “Is this up to your standards, princess?”

She exhales sharply, rolls her eyes, and shoves past me like I’m the inconvenience in her life. Her suitcase slams into the wall with a heavy thud as she tosses it through the doorway, and slams the door shut behind her.

I stare at it for a beat, running a hand over my jaw. This is going to be a fucking nightmare.

I don’t know what the fuck I expected when I was forced to house my best friends daughter. It’s barely the first day and she’s given me a damn headache already.

She slammed the door so hard in my face, I’m surprised the hinges didn’t explode off.

Fucking brat.

“Such an entitled little thing,” I grumble as I pull a skillet from the rack. “Like I fucking begged her father to be here.”

I chop up some potatoes, throwing them in the pan with butter and rosemary, then grill some chicken. She can side-eye this meal all she fucking wants, this isn’t a five-star fucking resort. I’m not about to whip up some masterpiece to appease her Los Angeles tastebuds.

When everything is ready, I plate two meals and, against my will, walk to the bottom of the wooden stairs.”

“Food’s ready!” I shout.

Nothing.

I wait for a beat whilst wiping my hands on a towel. “Catalina!”

Still nothing.

Then, loud music pours through the upper deck of the house .

What the actual fuck is that noise?

It starts as a low hum, then this ungodly sound hits. A distorted bass drop so aggressive I feel it in my goddamn spine. A high-pitched screech follows, like a UFO’s getting ready to land in my living room.

I freeze in place at the bottom of the stairs, eyes squinting at the ceiling because what the actual fuck.

What kind of fucking music is this?

I march halfway up the stairs, shouting at the top of my lungs. “You can’t just sit up there and starve, you need to eat something!”

The music blasts louder in response. Her voice shrieks through the beat, singing off-key, screaming whatever lyrics are blended within the track.

“I WANNA RUN AWAYYYY-I WANNA RUN AWAYYY-ANYWHERE OUT THIS PLACE-”

Oh for fucks sake.

I climb the stairs in two angry strides, barreling down the hall, and shove her door open with a growl caught in my throat. My eyes land on her on the bed in her fucking designer sweat set and that infuriating lavender bow, jumping like a damn orangutan without a care in the world.

She turns to me mid-chorus, screaming the lyrics right in my face like I came up here to join her.

“I WANNA RUN AWAYYYY!”

I press my lips into a thin line as I stalk over to her, planting my palm on her forehead, and shove.

She topples backwards with a screech, bouncing onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and attitude.

“What the actual fu?—”

I reach for her phone on the dresser, pressing pause on whatever the fuck type of music that was .

“Get the fuck out of here!!” She scrambles back up, ready to throw a pillow at me.

I lean down, meeting her glare with one of my own, smirking.

“Eat or starve, princess.”

I was halfway through my plate when the whole house began to shake from the loud stomps down the stairs. She finally appears in front of me with the same matching sweat set, and her hair in that irritating high pony and fucking bow.

She’s standing there, her face twisted in eternal irritation, those pretty eyes locked on me like she’s trying to burn holes straight through my fucking skull.

“What the fuck is that? Is that even edible?” she snaps.

I don’t even bother looking up at her.

“I’m eating it, aren’t I? If you’re that offended, there’s premium alfalfa out back with your name on it.”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust, sliding into the chair across from me, eying the plate like it’s prison food.

“I’m sure this slop impresses the ladies.”

I scoff, the fucking nerve.

“Good thing you’re not someone I’m trying to impress,” I say flatly, shoveling in another bite. “You get the same slop I feed the cows.”

She stabs a potato with unnecessary force, damn near shattering the plate. “God, you’re so irritating,” she huffs, shoving the potato in her mouth.

I shouldn’t be looking, but I do. The way her lips part as she chews grabs my attention.

Those plump lips.

Fuck.

They’re the perfect shade of pink, and all I can think about is what they’d look like wrapped around my co -

God damn it, shut the fuck up.

I finally meet her eyes. “You’re so fucking dramatic. Ever heard of an inside voice? You don’t have to scream like King Kong every time you open your mouth.”

She scoffs, muttering something under her breath.

I bite back a grin, the fiery attitude on this one, I’m going to have fun pissing her off.

“Eat up,” I say, leaning back in my chair with a lazy smirk. “You’ve got a long day of cleaning up horse shit ahead of you.”

She flips me off without looking up at me.

I chuckle into my iced tea, letting the satisfaction settle in. She can throw her attitude at me all she wants.

Fuck, I think I like it.