Page 159 of Ride the Sky

“Ican’t believe you live like this,” I tell Wyatt as we step inside his Airstream. The space is cramped but cozy. Sunlight streams through the curtains, cutting through the stale air. Clothes are strewn on the bed. I rest my boring, ugly gray replacement cane in the corner.

“Livin’ like a king,” he boasts, setting his two-way radio on the dinette table.

“Bullshit.” I arch a brow, flicking a sandwich crust in the trash. “This is the hovel of a monster, Wyatt.” I set the packing boxes I’m carrying on the counter next to an open package of Twinkies. “Ants. You have ants.”

The two-way radio crackles. “Wyatt. Fallon? You there?” Davis.

“Christ,” Wyatt complains.

I give him a dry look. “Are we allowed to legally emancipate from our siblings?”

He chuckles then, blowing out an aggrieved breath, snatches up the radio.

As he checks in with Davis, I roll my eyes.

Big, grumpy babysitters.

That’s what the Montgomery men are.

We’ve been living at the ranch for three days, and I already hate it. The mood is tense. Everyone on guard. Because I’ve beenright all along. My accident wasn’t an accident. Between the DMs and the roses, Wyatt’s certain someone’s out to get me. It makes me feel better that his brothers believe us. It makes me feel like shit that Reese was hurt.

Now, it’s all hands on deck. Gratitude sweeps through me at all these broody cowboys trying to fix it. Davis and Richter are pulling town videos. A PI Ford knows is looking into the DMs. Wyatt’s been my shadow, keeping me close and protected.

And me, I’m just pissed off.

Someone came into my cottage. Stole my cane. Fucked up what I’m sure were the best cinnamon rolls of my life.

Worse, I never got to tell Wyatt how I feel. Maybe the break-in was the universe’s way of stopping me from making an idiotic confession of love. Either way, relief washed over me the second I saw Wyatt storming for me. When he pulled me into his arms, for one long second, everything felt okay.

Exhaling, I look around the place. “So what do we need to do?”

“Box up all the shit.” Wyatt tosses clothes into the box. “The Airstream’s goin’ to scrap.”

“I can’t believe you’re getting rid of her.” I look around longingly. Memories flash. Sex during the end-of-the-year party. Smoking weed while stripping a saddle. The last time I was here…I left the letter for him.

“Yeah, well, I can’t believe my brothers are kickin’ me out,” he grumbles. “She’s got rats anyway. Chewing through the rotten wood floor.”

I pick through the remnants of his cupboards. Peanut butter, jelly, and marshmallows all go into a box. “What do your brothers plan to do with the land?”

“Expand,” he says, dunking a stack of books into a box. “Plannin’ shit that ain’t got nothin’ to do with me.”

“Then what are you going to do? The school?”

He glances up, swallows. “Ain’t sure. My brothers want—”

“Wy, you need to do what you want.”

His handsome face turns contemplative. “I always wanted to make ’em proud.”

I frown. “They are proud.” He doesn’t see it. How much they all love him in their own broody big brother ways. He makes them laugh, he’s a damn good rancher, and he defends his family like he’s getting paid for it.

He shakes his head, keeps his gaze on the books he’s stacking.

“Maybe you go back on the rodeo,” I hedge then smile. “With me.”

His muscles tense, and his jaw locks. “You ain’t ready.”

“I will be one day.” I reach for him, threading our calloused hands together. His face softens. “You can’t worry about me all your life.”

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