Page 18 of Wild Rose (Blue River Springs #1)

“Nah. These guys aren’t like that. It’s just that things are a little rocky here these days and I don’t want to give them a reason to doubt us. Our integrity.”

I frown, wanting to ask him how I can help more, but am thrown off when he pulls up to the beautiful cottage.

He hops off and holds out his hand for me. “What are we doing back here?”

“This is where you’re staying,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“Wilder.”

“Cabin four is no longer available,” he says tightly. “You’re staying here .”

I suck in a breath and hold it as he lowers me off the horse. I’m on fire until he lets go—almost too quickly—and turns toward the house.

I follow and race to beat him to the door, then twist to face him, blocking his entrance. “I can stay with my brother.”

“Rose.”

“Wilder, I .?.?.”

His hands are back on my hips like he can’t help himself. Like he’s been itching to touch me since he stopped.

This can’t be all in my head.

“It’s OK. I promise you he doesn’t mind it. This was Millie’s, yes, but for the rest of the summer, it’s yours .”

I bite my lip, looking up at him. “Not the whole summer, just six weeks, right?”

He smirks, pulling his hands off me and sliding them into his pockets. “If you start making it into work on time, I might consider letting you stay the rest of it.”

I purse my lips. “You sure you can handle the bruises from my clumsiness?” My eyes drop to his chest.

“You’ll have to hit harder if you’re tryin’ to leave a mark,” he rasps out, his breath just above me.

I look up like I might have misheard, but the flirtation in his gaze is unmistakable. “All right,” I breathe out. “I’ll stay.”

“Wise choice. Come on. All your stuff is already inside.”

I follow behind, ignoring the daunting name above the mailbox as I walk through the ocean-blue door.

He flicks the light on, and I blink at the brightness as I follow him inside. It’s an open floor plan, with a white kitchen and marble countertop, dark hardwood floors with blue and grey oriental rugs.

The décor is right out of a farmhouse magazine. Ivory couch and loveseat, oakwood furniture, plants .?.?. everywhere . It’s as beautiful inside as it is on the outside.

“Wilder, this place is so adorable.” I step into the kitchen, looking up at the high ceiling. “Is that a skylight? I love those.”

He laughs softly as he leans against the counter. “Yeah. We rebuilt it a few years back. There was a small fire in the kitchen. It was no big deal. Millie had a .?.?. mishap.”

“Oh no, was she all right?” It feels awkward to ask that now.

He smiles at the memory. “She was fine. Dallas teased her for weeks, claiming she just wanted a new kitchen.” He swipes a finger against the marble. “Didn’t stop him from comin’ in here every day to build it for her.”

I avoid asking questions about Millie, even though I want to know everything. Not just about Millie, but Dallas and Silas too.

About Wilder.

Their parents. I know their dad is still around, but no one talks about their mother.

He clears his throat. “I’ve got to get going, but there’s a fully stocked fridge and cabinets of fresh groceries.”

“Really?”

“I raided The Shack earlier. When your brother started asking questions, I told him I was moving you in here tonight.”

“What’d he say to that?” I ask as I pop open the fridge.

“He was annoyed. Said he had a bet going with his sous chef on how long you’d make it in a cabin. His money was on you not lasting a week.”

I laugh. “Surprised you didn’t take that bet.”

He doesn’t laugh with me. “I wouldn’t. I wanted to bring you back here sooner, but knowing how you feel about this being Millie’s place, I .?.?. had to clear some things out first.”

“Wilder—”

“It had to get done,” he says quickly. “Not like my brother was going to do it.” I watch him until he turns to leave. “Anyway, I’ll let you get settled.”

I follow him out the door. “Wilder,” I call until he stops and turns back around. “You’re busy enough. You didn’t have to come back here and prep this house for me.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, maybe it was for selfish reasons.”

“How do you figure that?”

His eyes roam my face. “Maybe now you’ll get some sleep and get to work on time.” He offers me a small smile. And for once the word “sleep” doesn’t sound so evil.

“I sleep plenty,” I lie, feeling compelled to prove normalcy.

He scoffs. “No, you don’t.”

“How can you tell?” I ask, and it’s painful because it feels like I’m admitting a flaw.

He looks down at me, his voice equally low as he tucks my hair back, his touch light but deliberate. “How could someone not?”

There’s a thick moment between us as I stare back at him. And this time, I know he feels it too.

His arms flex as he pulls back, slipping his fingers back in his pockets, that white shirt looking like it’s going to tear off his body as he does it.

“The cottage,” I start quietly. “Raiding your staff kitchen just to stock mine. Not firing me for coming in late. And then there’s that whole H.R. issue we were talking about.” I point a finger at him. “People are going to start claiming favoritism.”

He steps closer, a smirk playing on his lips. “Now why would people get the idea that you’re my favorite? ’Cause you got boobs?”

“So you’ve noticed.”

He grunts. “Hard not to when you keep pressing them against me.”

Heat curls in my stomach. “By accident .”

He cocks his head. “Yeah.”

It totally is. But I’ll play his game. Holding his gaze, I risk the question. “Why would I do it on purpose?”

It’s a risk not because he’s my boss—that’s temporary. But because he’s Wesley’s best friend. And that’s forever.

I know enough about bro-code to know the kid sister is almost always off-limits.

I might instigate trouble for myself, but am I willing to risk their friendship?

The immediate answer is no.

Still, eyes locked on his, an imaginary kiss hovering in the space between us, I find myself waiting for Wilder’s response. One that just might admit.?.?. there’s something here.

I watch him consider it. See the conflict slowly die out as he lowers his gaze to my lips. Then something hardens in his eyes, and I know.?.?. he’s changed his mind.

“Good night, Rose.” He starts down the porch steps.

“Wait,” I call and follow him, because there’s no way I’m letting that one go.

He doesn’t turn back as he reaches his horse. Throwing one arm in the air like he’s taking a wild guess, he says, “Maybe a cowboy is on your ride list.”

“My what list?”

He doesn’t look at me as he adjusts the reins. “Your ride list. It’s like a bucket list but no one’s dying.”

I exhale a laugh. “OK, that’s not what I thought you meant.”

There’s a beat before he adds, “Things you want to try before moving on to the next wild thing Rose chooses.”

I drag in a steady breath at the misconception that I’m wild. But I don’t contradict him. Because maybe wild is exactly what this wounded wrangler needs.

Maybe we both do.

“A cowboy wasn’t on my list.” I smirk. “Should it be?”

He turns to me, any playful air between us gone. “Not this cowboy.”

I swallow down the disappointment. Not because he’s turning me down. But for a moment, I had a glimpse of that playful, laid-back Wilder my brother claimed he once was.

And I liked it. A lot.

“Get some rest, Rose.”

I take a step back toward the house, watching him as he climbs his horse. “Sure thing, boss.”

11.45 p.m.

Rose: I’ve got a crush on my boss.

Willow: The cowboy?

Rose: Wesley’s friend.

Willow: But he wears a sexy hat and rides a horse? What’s the problem?

Rose: He’s my brother’s best friend. But it doesn’t matter. He just shot me down.

Willow: Bummer. Come home.

Rose: I can’t. I’m riding this gig out.

Willow: What are you going to do about your crush?

Rose: Ignore it.

Willow: No one does that better than you.

Ouch.

I don’t answer her right away. Not because I’m offended. Willow has always been the type to call it how she sees it. But because it’s nearly two in the morning in New York. And while I love her always being available for me, she shouldn’t have to lose sleep because I do.

I finish setting up my art corner, a perfect space I found by the window in the living room, and try to find some inspiration. I look around the space again.

I was wary coming in here at first. But after making dinner for myself in the clean, fully stocked kitchen, unpacking and taking a hot shower, the place doesn’t feel like it belongs to someone’s lost love.

It feels like mine. Even for a short while.

I imagine Willow fell asleep since that last text.

I flip through the pamphlets that Ginger gave me, wondering what touristy town things I could do to fill my time this weekend and help me forget I just got shot down.

My eyes widen when I find something happening Saturday night right here in Blue River.

Age group: Twenty to thirty.

Admission: Fifty dollars, drinks included.

Time: Ten to midnight.

End goal: Forget grumpy cowboy .

I snap a photo and send it to Willow, figuring she’ll get it in the morning.

Rose: What should I wear?

To my surprise, she texts me back.

Willow: Speed-dating???

Rose: Yeah, I was thinking, the white blouse with the royal blue skirt and gold buckle.

Willow: How does this help with getting over your crush? Oh .?.?. I just got it. Well, be careful, Rebel. Also, speed-dating sounds fun. Can we do that when you’re back home?

Rose: What if we like the same guy?

Willow: I’d be into that .?.?.