Page 138 of Ride the Sky

Pride sweeps through me. Sadness, too.

“Should we go?” Wyat asks, his big hand palming the small of my back.

I nod, letting him guide me outside.

“Well, should we hit up Zeke’s?” I ask as we reach his pickup truck.

“Don’t need to.” He opens the back door of his truck. From the floorboards, he pulls out a cane. Coming closer, he holds it out to me. “Got you this.”

“Wyatt,” I breathe, stunned.

The cane is beautiful. Glossy, honey-colored wood covered in colors as bright as my tattoos. On closer inspection, I see the colors are woven images of cowgirls. Western script. Horseshoes. The handle is a cowboy hat.

I run my hands over the smooth wood, the brass handle. Fighting to keep my voice even, I ask, “Where’d you get this?”

His throat bobs. “I had it made for you.”

My throat tightens, my eyes stinging. The goodness of Wyatt Montgomery truly sets me on edge. He’s done this. For me.

Fuck. I can’t cry, not here, not now, even as the sweet gesture sinks into my soul.

“The best part,” Wyatt says with a grin. I shiver as his hands touch mine, guiding them back toward the handle where they find a small button. “Push it.”

I do.

I gasp then laugh in delight as a blade shoots out of the bottom of the cane.

“Knives, not flowers.” His gravelly voice sends a shiver through my body.

I swallow through my suddenly dry mouth. He remembered.

My heart starts to somersault, and that’s when I know I’m in trouble.

Big fucking—

“Trouble?”

I blink myself out of my daze to find Wyatt staring at me.

His handsome expression is creased in worry. “Do you like it?”

My heart tumbles again. I love that he’s worried about what I think. Even as he plays it off cool, nonchalant. He’s so sweet, so eager to make me happy.

The man’s utterly infuriating.

Smiling, I tug him forward until our chests touch. Instantly, his heart beats faster. Mine, too. Strange how a mass of pulpy muscle can admit more than I can.

My hand drifts up to his stubbled cheek. “I love it.”

“Good.” He grins. “Be careful with it. It’s sharp as fuck.” His fingers toy with my hair. Eyes on mine, he asks, “You want to go celebrate?”

“With you, absolutely,” I say then reach up to kiss him.

Every atom in my body thrums the second we step inside Nowhere. Energetic, twangy country music sounds around me. Friday night, and it smells like stale beer, sawdust, and chaos.

God, I fucking love this bar.

I’m dying for a night out. After PT, Wyatt and I stopped back at the cottage, and after fucking ourselves into oblivion, we showered and dressed appropriately for a night out in Resurrection.

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