Page 13 of Live, Ranch, Love

“Well, see you around.” I push off without even giving a wave or a smile goodbye, planning to cross the road so I’m far away from him. I check down the road for cars quickly and step out—

“Aurora!”

My whole body is yanked backwards, caged yet again by the same thick arms as a minute ago. But this time I’m even more crushed against Wyatt’s chest, stumbling straight into him so that we both go flying back a few paces. The strength in his legs manages to keep us from tumbling all the way to the ground. I like to think the way my fingers are holding onto his shirt for dear life helped to keep him upright too, but really it’s just because I’m bloody shaken.

Someone shouts from the road and a truck engine grumbles away as my head finally catches up with what just happened. But I can still barely hear over my suddenly racing heart. Over the heart pounding inside Wyatt’s hard chest too, where my hand is now pressed against, able to feel every indentation and line of his muscles.

Tensed, solid muscles. Exactly how I imagined they’d be when I saw him chopping up wood shirtless yesterday for the bonfire he had later that night. Yes, the same day he’d had a go at me for supposedly nearly burning down the ranch.

I didn’t let myself look at him for too long, only catching a small glimpse of a few more tattoos peppering his body, but his broad muscles were too obvious to not admire, all slick with sweat—

“Jesus, Aurora,” Wyatt scolds me.

When I look up this time, his eyes are wild—pupils so blown out all I can see is black. They gleam with the same hints of desperation I noticed yesterday when he was trying to stop me from meeting with Crestland. Even if all his harsh, cold angles tried to hide how he felt, I saw it still. Felt it too, in his grip.

I’ve recognised that same desperation in my own expression plenty of times when I’ve been begging my reflection in the mirror to just find a way to get back on track. To be able to write and feel like the Rory Jones I used to be.

Wyatt’s eyes flick over my face, quickly down to my body, lingering for a few seconds, then back again. His fingers pulse against my upper arms, where he’s holding me, a little tighter than last time.

“I just told you to watch where you were going.”

“I… I did. I checked—”

“The wrong way,” he barrels on, voice gravelly and slightly too loud. I can’t help but notice the way people have slowed as they pass us by. I’m going to be the talk of the town today it seems. “You’re not in England anymore, Princess. You could’ve been seriously hurt.”

Not that I think Wyatt would ever actively enjoy watching someone get run over, but I am slightly shocked by his concern at my almost-death. Unless maybe he was hoping to be the one behind the wheel and I was about to take the opportunity away from him…

But the fierceness in the way he’s still staring down at me, the way his chest heaves against me like he was struck with as much fear as I was, says otherwise. It’s all a bit overwhelming, trying to comprehend this sudden change in his behaviour, and the way my body is softening into that feeling of stability in his hands. His scent is everywhere again, overwhelming me, yet anchoring me too—reminding me of the ranch, a place of safety. I gulp it down with two long breaths to steady myself.

The only thing I can think of to say is, “You could’ve just let me get run over and then forged my will, saying I left you the ranch, you know?”

Wyatt laughs. He actually laughs. Not a sarcastic one, or the usual huff of frustration he gives me, but a full-on hearty laugh. My whole body vibrates with him, still locked in his embrace so that his muscles press even harder against me. Some kind of warmth puddles deep in my stomach.

“True,” he mulls over the idea, a curve gracing his full lips, leftover from his laughter. “But then I wouldn’t have the fun of getting to rile you up every day anymore.”

And now I’m chuckling back, my shoulders bouncing in his hands, making his palms rasp against my bare skin. It’s a sensation I don’t think I’d complain about feeling again.

His eyes flash wider. Then he finally glances down at where he’s harbouring me, yet again. A muscle feathers in his jaw, and this time he retracts his hands from me slowly, letting his fingers stroke along my upper arms, leaving just the gooseflesh covering them. Along with a strangely cold emptiness now I’m no longer fenced in by his warmth.

Wyatt bobs his head, looking practically everywhere other than me—apparently the sidewalk is incredibly interesting right now. “Please tell me you didn’t drive in?”

I roll my lips together. “I might have.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Do you need to follow me home? I don’t really want to get a call from the cops later because you’ve caused a seven-car pile-up by driving on the wrong side of the road.”

I want to laugh again but something strikes a chord inside of me when he says home. I can’t quite place my finger on the weight swirling inside my chest, winding it a little tighter. Maybe it’s because when he said the word, it wasn’t London that flashed into my head, making me want to correct him that Sunset Ranch isn’t actually my home. No, it’s more of a sensation that the word felt… right.

I look up and down Main Street, distracting myself from the feeling. From the rancher in front of me who reminds me that as much as I’d like to call this place home, I don’t really belong here.

So, I settle for a soft smile instead, watching his bright expression fall back into its usual shadow. I’m already walking away when I reply, “Nope, all good. I’ll try keep out of your way from now on.”

six

Wyatt

“Wow, she’s hot!” Cherry, my younger sister, calls out while I button up my shirt, then head out my bedroom to where she’s lying on my couch, staring at her phone. She’s been here all of two minutes and has already made herself at home.

Can’t say I don’t love having her back in Willow Ridge since she left for college a couple of years ago though.

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