Page 165 of Ride the Sky

“Ugh. I want to go now.”

He kisses my lips. “I know you do. Sit tight a few more days.”

I scowl over Wyatt’s shoulder at Tim Crane, who’s gawking at us from aisle three. “Take a fucking picture,” I snarl.

He drops his eyes and turns around so fast he crashes into a battery stand.

I smirk. “Nosy ass town.”

“Listen, I was thinkin’,” Wyatt begins, running his hands down my arms. “When PT’s over, why don’t we take off? Get outta here.”

“Where?”

His silver-blue eyes search my face. “Don’t matter. Up in the mountains or down by the ocean. Chase the rodeo. Hell, go see those wild horses you love. Wherever you want.”

I stare at him. Are we really doing this? Deciding our future at Zeke’s Hardware?

It’s chaotic. Rash. Wild. Just like us. Suddenly, I love it. Love this man so damn much, the air seizes in my lungs.

He’s right. It doesn’t matter where we go. It’s all the same to me. Home is where he is.

Grinning, I fling my arms around his neck. “Let’s do it.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “You got it, baby.”

Wyatt releases me and bends, hefting the bags like they’re made of air. “C’mon. Let’s get back to the ranch.”

We head for the exit. I lift a hand to Tripp at the register, my gold ring glinting in the sunlight, as we push out the front door.

“I’ll back the truck up,” Wyatt says. “I don’t want you carryin’ this.” He kisses my temple then hustles down the block for his truck.

I watch in amusement as he disappears. If the man could wrap me in bubble wrap, he would.

A brisk September wind skates over my arms, and I shiver, turning my gaze to Meadow Mountain. It looms ominously over the town like a harbinger of doom. I always felt like it cut us off from the rest of the world, but now I feel protected. At peace.

A sudden lightness comes over me.Tell Wyatt the truth.About my upcoming ride. About my heart. When he returns, I’ll do just that. Get it all out even if it hurts. Even if—

Behind me, large, clomping bootsteps.

A hand grabs my shoulder.

Gripping my cane, I whirl around.

Cole Weston stands there. Beneath the brim of his black cowboy hat, his rugged expression is unreadable. “You’re a hard cowgirl to track down.”

I recoil, my heart beating fast. “What the hell are you doing in Resurrection?”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “I need to talk to you.”

A prickle of fear chills my spine. My eyes drop. Clenched fists. Dust clings to his jeans. And his boots—

The familiar curls of copper, WW embroidered on the toes. I’ve seen them before.

My head jerks up.

“You,” I say, rage rising like a tidal wave. I retreat another step. “It was you that day. You were at my cottage.”

Weston lifts a massive hand. “Look—”

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