Page 13 of Wrangled and Tangled (Raven Peak Ranch #1)

“ S o, Spencer. Is he here by chance?” I ask. Nerves threatening to make me turn around and forget I even had the audacity to show up here and plead my case.

“Oh, Spencer. Boss Man, yeah,” Zachariah looks up and to the left. My eyes follow his in case Spencer learned to fly and is currently hiding up in the rafters of the building. “He’s… off today, I think.”

My eyes travel slowly back to him, and I pop my brow, “You think?”

He nods, crosses his arms across his chest, and holds his thumb up under his elbow. There’s a car with the hood popped up in the bay beside me, exactly where Zachariah’s thumb’s up is facing.

Taking a step further into the bay, I watch as his arms drop and his eyes grow. “Uh, now I remember–” but it’s no use. I can see Spencer’s tattooed arm sitting against the front of the car.

“Colt,” Spencer’s deep baritone rumbles in my damn chest, and I know he’s worth whatever I can salvage from this situationship. “Go home, I’ll lock up.”

“I’m sorry, Boss.” Zachariah hangs his head and disappears into the office.

“What do you need, Heath?” His tone isn’t nearly as warm as it was when we talked last night, but I should have expected it.

“I came to explain,” I know it’s going to sound ridiculous, but I hope, at least on some level, that he can understand.

He stands taller, his face coming into view over the opened hood of the car, and I smile. His green eyes are hard and flinty as he looks at me without a smile to be seen.

“I’m under no illusion that I reformed you last night, Cowboy,” he says, throwing whatever tool he had in his hand to a nearby toolbox with a clang. “So there’s no need for you to be here to explain anythin’.”

“There is, and I don’t need reformin’,” I scoff, rolling my eyes at the absurd statement.

He growls and closes the hood of the car he was hiding behind. The slam resounds through the metal space, and my shoulders draw up for a second.

“Look, I know whatever you’ve read, seen, or heard is makin’ it look like I cheated on my fiancé with you last night, but that’s not at all what’s going on.”

“I’m too old for this, Heath. Your actions are your own. If I’d have known–”

“You’re not that old,” I remark, cutting him off. “You’re like, what, thirty?”

He chuckles, but it doesn’t sound humorous, “Thirty-four.”

“Still in your prime,” I smile.

“This doesn’t seem like an explanation to me,” he barks, moving to the office where I assume Zachariah left.

“So you’ll hear me out?” I ask with a tiny ember of hope in my chest.

He sighs, turning around and placing his hands on his hips, “Are you going to leave me alone if I don’t?”

“Nope,” I smirk. He’s got to know that I had an incredible time with him last night and that this PR stunt was not approved by me.

“You’ve got two minutes. Make ‘em count.”

“My publicist, Staci, arranged this whole farce. Apparently, fans don’t like to root for someone who sleeps around, especially with a married man.”

His eyes close, and his chest inflates, I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that. Instead, I keep going, like word vomit that just won’t stop. “I didn’t know he was married. Anyway, Staci set this all up—without my approval. Macy and I have never had any intention of getting married.”

“Okay,” he grumbles, still looking at me with a bored look on his face.

“It’s fake. A plan to boost my image with fans and make them believe I’ve changed.

It’s wrong, and I hate it.” I add because his expression makes me want to shrivel into a corner.

“Staci just went ahead and did it, even though I told her not to. I found out at the same time you did, and I had already dialed her number, ready to cuss her out for a month of Sundays.”

He drops his head to his chest and though he releases a breath, I get the feeling that my explanation still isn’t enough.

“Okay,” he says, eyes back on mine, shrugging his shoulders and nodding toward the door.

“Okay?” I ask, looking that way and then back at him. “That’s it?”

“You said what you had to say,” uncrossing his arms as he walks around me to the front door where I came in. Opening the door, he holds it and waits.

Taking a few steps that way, I stop shy of the door and look him in the eyes, “And you’re not at all interested in seein’ me again?”

I don’t usually put myself out there like this. Vulnerable and wanting. I’m usually more of the one letting other people spill their inner guts.

“What about this whole conversation makes you think I’d want to see you again?” He snaps, “I’ve already told you I have zero interest in reforming a player. I’ve sowed my oats. I’m happy alone. Sure, last night, hell, this past week was fun, but that’s all it was.”

Well, that doesn’t feel great. His words, while not completely unfair, still drive a knife in my gut. I swear I felt a little something there, something tangible and real. Hearing him say it was fun plows through my stomach with a sour taste.

“I’m not a player. I enjoy sex, and that’s all it usually is. I make sure to let anyone I’m with know that prior to jumpin’ into bed.”

“So what, this is the part where you tell me I’m special and you want to ‘get to know me’?” He laughs, emphasizing his point with the use of air quotes, and shakes his head.

“I do want to get to know you, Spencer. Why do you think I tracked your shop down and came out here to explain the situation?” I scoff, kicking my boot on the floor.

We stand there in silence, neither of us giving an inch. He smells like grease, and the undercurrent of his cologne makes it damn near impossible to move. After a beat, I walk past him, out the door, and into the parking lot where my truck’s sitting.

“And yeah, I do think you’re special. I think you’re worth jumpin’ through hoops for.”