Page 49 of Sweet and Wild

Colt notices too—he stalks toward me and grabs Teraway’s reins. “Get on the horse, Lemon.”

“Are we getting a tornado?”

Colt glares and I scramble to do as I’m told because it’s been a long time since I’ve come face-to-face with weather like this. If Colt is compelled enough to take action, then that’s all the fuel I need to light a fire under my ass too.

Rain falls in my eyes and the wild wind whips my hair around my face as I turn my horse in circles. Colt unties Knievel and climbs up, placing a hand against the frightened stallion’s neck. They trot toward us but a deluge of rain and ice-cold hailstones fall from the sky, and I can’t see a thing in front of me. “Colt?”

“Lemonade!” he shouts back, and I dig my heels into Teraway’s side. She charges forward. The hail beats down so hard it stings my skin.

Colt shouts over the ruckus, “We need to find shelter, let this storm pass!”

“Where?” I scream back. “The house is too far?”

“Wyatt did up that run-down shack in the west pasture. It won’t do much in a tornado, but it should be dry at least.”

“Okay.”

He heads for the shack and it takes some coaxing, but Teraway decides to try and keep up and bolts after Colt’s horse. My saddle is slippery and my boots struggle for purchase in the stirrups, but after several minutes of beating rain and hail upon our backs, the cabin comes into view.

I’m freezing as I sling my leg off the horse and Colt’s hands encircle my waist to help me down. I don’t need no help dismounting a horse, I’ve been riding as long as he has, but I appreciate the gesture and the little bit of warmth his hands provide because I’m shaking so hard my teeth are rattling in my head.

“I’m gonna send the horses back,” Colt shouts over the thunder and rain.

“Will they find their way in this?”

“They’ll be safer out there than here.”

I nod and wait, shivering in the rain while he slaps both of the horses asses and sends them on their way. In the distance, tornado sirens wail in town, and my blood turns as cold as the hail falling from the sky.Please, West, get everyone in the shelter. I reach for the handle, try the lock, and find it stuck.

“Colt, it’s not opening.”

“Goddamn it, Wyatt.” He shoulders me out of the way and jiggles the handle. Colt moves to the picture window and tries to lift it, but it won’t budge. Then he shocks the hell out of me by grabbing the hem of his shirt and lifting it over his head.

“What are you doing—you’ll freeze,” I shout against the wind.

“I gotta bust open the window.” He wraps his shirt around his fist and punches the small windowpane closest to the door. It shatters and he clears away the rest of the glass before sliding his arm through the gap and unlocking the door. He gestures for me to go first, because even though he hates me, he’s still a gentleman about it.

Inside, the tiny shack isn’t much warmer, but it’s dry and there’s a fireplace in the corner of the room that I rush toward. Colt gets there first and begins stacking kindling in the small hearth. “Look for something to burn, will ya?”

“Okay,” I say through chattering teeth. I glance around the small space. There ain’t a whole lot lying around, but there is a bed, an old armchair which Mama threw away years ago, a bathroom, and a tiny kitchenette. I open the drawers and begin looking for a book of matches and paper to burn.

“Bless your heart, Wyatt Winchester,” I say, as I come across aPlaygirlmagazine and a book of matches from a gay club in Austin, Texas. I cross the small cabin to Colt and hand over the matches first and then the magazine.

Colt glances at the naked man on the cover and raises an eyebrow. “Jesus Christ. I guess now we know why the door was locked.”

“You can use it right?”

“Well, yeah, but … are you sure you don’t want to go in the bathroom and take a little look first. Might warm you up some.”

I laugh and shove his shoulder. “I’m sure. That kind of flashy beefcake was never my thing.”

My eyes roll over his half-naked body crouching by the fireplace and I bite my lip. Colt may not be what I’d consider beefcake, but he sure is fine. Every inch of him is tanned, hard-won muscle from working my family’s land, and one hundred percent centerfold worthy.

He smirks and takes the magazine, opening to the centerfold and ripping it right out as he shakes his head. “I guess it never was, was it?”

I hop from foot to foot, hugging myself to generate heat. “Can you hurry up, please? I’m freezing.”

“Sure thing, darlin’.”

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