Page 78 of Live, Ranch, Love

“Look.” I squeeze her fingers in one hand, and bring the other up to cradle her cheek, cutting off whatever nonsense she was about to spew. “When I found out about Holly being engaged, I didn’t care—because you were all I’d been thinking about.” Aurora nods furiously, like she’s trying to force her mind to listen to her. “You—”

“Rory?” A man’s voice echoes, followed by a loud knocking sound. We’ve still got at least an hour before any of the guests are supposed to turn up yet.

Aurora’s face pales, whatever remnants were left of her golden glow draining away instantly. The sweet body that was finally starting to soften in my grip becomes rigid once again. I swear a faint tremor even rushes through her.

“Rory? Are you in?” The man shouts again, forcing Aurora to shoot to her feet. She runs her fingers through her hair frantically.

I go to ask, “Who—”

“Please just stay here,” she barks at me. I don’t even try to protest, shocked at the venom lacing her words as she disappears through the house. Who could possibly have pissed her off so badly in Willow Ridge?

I blow out a breath, trying to process the last minute or so, when I hear Aurora’s voice raise. I don’t like the sound of it—so at odds with the usual sunny, blazing charm she radiates. I know everyone has the propensity for all kinds of emotions—I’m learning that about myself—but Aurora’s anger usually comes out in feisty ire, not the snapping of teeth and snarling of words.

Whatever is happening right now, she shouldn’t be alone. Not when she had herself in such a positive mood ready for everyone to turn up today.

My instincts take over and I rush back through the house, the sharp edge of anger in Aurora’s voice getting clearer as I near the hallway. The front door is open, so I head out onto the porch, to find her stood, arms crossed painfully tight, scowling at a familiar-faced, tall guy with short blond hair. There’s a weekend bag at his feet, looking too stuffed for my liking, especially since he’s not any of the guests Aurora showed me would be coming today.

When he sees me, he flinches, flicking his glare between Aurora and I, then lets out a breathy laugh. “Bloody hell, Rory, I didn’t think you’d move on that quickly.”

“Wyatt works here,” she snaps back, and I push down the responding sting. Because Aurora hasn’t even looked at me yet, but I can see her tense even more—which I didn’t think was possible right now seeing as she’s practically shaking from being so strained.

Fuck, I don’t like seeing her like this at all. She’s hurt. How could anyone ever want to break something as precious as her? I feel an overwhelming need to protect her.

She’s mine.

No one hurts what’s mine.

Then it suddenly dawns on me why I recognise this guy. From the Instagram photos Cherry once showed me.

This is her ex-boyfriend.

The one that cheated on her while she was at Grace’s funeral. The one that’s made her question her worth, when even her soul is made of pure gold.

And he has the audacity to comment on her moving on quickly.

What the fuck is he doing on our ranch?

A feral side to me starts to bubble up. Talons trying to claw through the calm demeanour I’ve assigned myself to.

Still, I force a smile into my cheeks and turn to him. “Ah, you must be the ex-boyfriend.”

He looks warily at me, but I keep my body loose, unthreatening, and my smile pleasant. Eventually, he extends his hand. “Jake Thomas.”

I lift mine to shake his. Then I punch him in the face.

thirty-three

Aurora

“Jesus, Wyatt!” I yell as I watch Jake spin from the punch and stumble straight into the fence.

I can’t deny the deep satisfaction that threads through me, though, and the slight heat in my core in response to Wyatt’s over-protectiveness. The way his eyes are as black and molten as eternal darkness, whilst his solid frame tenses, every muscle even more defined, is unnervingly mouth-watering.

That he’d do that for me.

But when Jake manages to steady himself and I see the cut across his cheek, blood already oozing, reality comes crashing back down. How hard did Wyatt hit him?

“What?” Wyatt shrugs, but he’s gritting his teeth, jaw clenched hard to hold back whatever other violence wants to escape. “He tripped and fell into my fist.”

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