Page 24 of Wild Then Wed
“Oh my God,” she says. “Ridge?”
“In the flesh,” he calls back, and then he’s there—filling the kitchen like he always does. He’s all broad shoulders and bronzed skin, the wild curl of his brown hair poking out beneath his hat, and that cocky smile that’s probably been getting him out of trouble since he was six. He looks like he just stepped off a billboard for Montana’s Most Eligible Rodeo Stars.
Hudson leaps from the table. “Uncle Ridge!”
“What’d I tell you about growing without my permission?”
“You were late!” Hudson grins.
“Fair enough,” Ridge says, giving him a hug as he pats him on the back. “I’ll allow it this time.”
Mom hugs him next, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “You didn’t tell anyone you were coming!”
“You know how I like a dramatic entrance,” he says with a wink. “Got some time off the circuit for a while so I can be home for the holidays.”
When his eyes land on me, he lights up like he’s just found his favorite person in the room—which, let’s be real, he has. “There’s my sis!”
I don’t even get a word out before his arms are around me, pulling me in with that familiar mix of aftershave and whatever cologne he never runs out of. It’s the same scent I remember from every holiday and late-night pickup. Comforting in a way I never say out loud.
“You’ve been working out more or just throwing bulls around for the hell of it?” I mumble into his shoulder.
He pulls back, grinning. “Little of both. Gotta stay sharp. Word on the street is your secret brownie stash might be making a comeback.”
I roll my eyes, but the smile’s still there. It always is with him.
Ridge is…well, Ridge. Overconfident to the point of art form. A little too proud of the fact that his jeans still fit like he’s in a country music video. But he’s also my little brother. And somehow, he’s always been the one who made it easier to be myself.
With Ridge, I never felt like I had to smooth the edges. He’s never flinched at the bluntness, the overthinking, the allergy card I’ve been handing over since I was born. He just took me as I was—no edits, no disclaimers. Like being Wren was never something to work around. It was already enough.
That’s always been his gift. Making people feel okay in their own skin without ever making a big deal about it.
Ridge turns his attention to Miller, who’s now pouring more wine into her glass with one perfectly manicured hand.
“Millie!” he grins, wide and unapologetic. “Didn’t know you’d be gracing us with your presence tonight.”
“Yeah, well,” Miller says, finally turning to face him, one eyebrow arched. “We were having a perfectly nice evening until five seconds ago.”
Ridge steps farther into the kitchen, all cowboy swagger and cocky grin. “So, you missed me?”
Miller lifts her chin, her sleek dark hair brushing against her collarbone. “I’ve had root canals I missed more than you.”
He laughs—quiet and low, the kind that slips out when someone says exactly what you expected them to. There’s something about the way he looks at her, like he enjoys her more when she’s mean to him. And honestly, with Ridge, that checks out.
He drops into the seat next to her like it’s the most casual thing in the world, his leg bumping hers as he sits. Barely a glance. No acknowledgment.
But I notice. Because it’s never nothing with the two of them. It never has been.
It’s always like this—proximity that feels intentional, arguments that go nowhere, glances that last just long enough to mean something. It’s exhausting to watch.
I bite into a carrot stick just to keep my mouth busy, because what Iwantto say is that they should stop pretending there’s nothing going on. Drop the act. All of it. The bickering, the sideways comments, the weird tension that drags everyone else into it. They want each other. That much is obvious.
Or at the very least, Ridge does. Which—yes—makes me want to gouge out my own eyes, because thinking about your brother having sex is a level of trauma I’m not emotionally equipped to process.
“You’re looking good, little bro. You bulking up or something?” Boone asks Ridge, who—of course—is wearing a sweatshirt rolled up to the elbows, showing off arms that probably make the PBR merch team weep with joy.
Ridge shrugs like it’s nothing. “Gotta keep the abs nice and shiny for the magazine covers.”
Miller scoffs into her wine glass. “You should consider developing a personality to go with them.”
