Page 3 of Live, Ranch, Love

“You’re looking right at him,” he deadpans, eyes boring into me, darker than the emerging night sky.

Does he think I’m stupid? I’ve met Mr Hensley before. I know my body is still on British Summer Time, and normally I’d be fast asleep by now, so my brain is working slower than usual, but I’m adamant that he’s not the old man I last saw seven years ago.

“Um, no, Mr Hensley is like seventy years old. Tall, lanky old man with a massive moustache.”

“He’s eighty, actually, and hasn’t worked here for four years.” Crossing his arms again, the man smirks, a dimple appearing in the cheek where his mouth hooks up. “I’m his grandson.”

My whole face drops along with my bottom lip.

So, I’ve been texting him this whole time?

Holding out a hand, somewhat reluctantly, he adds, “The name’s Wyatt. But you’re more than welcome to keep calling me Mr Hensley if you like, Princess.” He finishes with a wink.

Now I’m the one mumbling fuck my life. He’s got the whole cocky, brooding cowboy persona down to a tee, and it’s grinding my gears. I’m not normally this touchy. I’m usually sunny, positive Rory—it’s what I pride myself on. It’s who I get paid to be.

But I think the tiredness from travelling must be getting to me. I know better than to judge someone straight away, and maybe I’m being too hasty with my assessment of him. Besides, it’s not like my judgements of people have been on point recently—I never pegged Jake for a cheater, nor me as someone who would let a man’s actions determine my self-confidence, yet here I am.

I reach my hand out and it’s completely dwarfed by his as we shake. His calloused skin rasps against my palm, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

“Aurora Jones, but most people call me Rory.”

He frowns, looking at his hand before shoving it in his pocket. “Isn’t that a boy’s name?”

The memory of teenage boys saying exactly that to my quiet self at school flashes into my mind. I take a deep breath and will the thought away, remembering that I’ve worked hard to grow into the secure, confident woman I am today. Or was.

And that those same teenage boys are now the grown men in my DMs failing to get my attention.

“It’s gender neutral.” I press my lips together, unable to muster a smile. Hasn’t he ever seen Gilmore Girls?

“If you say so.” Wyatt shrugs. His sharp features drop into a scowl again. “Anyway, to answer your earlier question, I was in your house to make sure you had all the necessities to tide you over for a few days. I guessed you’d be tired and wouldn’t want to be heading into town tonight.”

“Oh…” I stare back at him but struggle with the heaviness his dark eyes seem to weigh on me. “Well, thank you. I appreciate that.”

“Just doing my job.” He slips his other hand into his pocket.

“Right, well I’d like to get settled in tonight, and honestly just get into bed because it’s way past my bedtime.” I laugh, trying to break whatever unpleasant tension hovers between us, but Wyatt’s face stays strained. “Um, but it would be fab to meet tomorrow and run through everything going on with the ranch so we can get this place sorted and sold, and I can get back home.”

Hopefully with my inspiration and confidence back.

“Great, can’t wait.” Wyatt’s eyelids flutter in what seems an attempt to hide his eye roll, though it’s rather futile. He forces a half-hearted smile and hands me a key. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He spins on his heel and marches off down the dirt road, leaving me and my exhausted body to deal with my massive suitcases alone. How I wish Luke was here still.

I press my eyes shut, inhaling deeply for five seconds, before blowing out the biggest sigh—

“Hey, Aurora,” Wyatt calls out, my skin prickling at the way he’s using my full name. I turn to see him heading back up, rubbing the back of his neck as he huffs.

“Um, yeah?”

Wyatt closes the distance between us with his last few steps, my eyes directly in line with the broad expanse of his chest. I try to let the flutter in my stomach go unnoticed. Flicking my gaze up to where his dark stare peers down at me, I can’t ignore how tight his jaw looks.

“What do you do for a living again?”

I go to reply, but almost start when he reaches around me to grab each suitcase. There’s no mistaking the ease with which Wyatt lifts them and carries them up the porch, his shirt barely containing his flexing muscles. I suppose a couple of suitcases don’t compare to the other kinds of hard labour he does on the ranch.

Once he’s back in front of me, Wyatt crosses his arms, thrumming his fingers against his muscles.

“Oh, right, I’m a wellness and positivity influencer,” I say with a proud smile.

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