Page 65 of When Wrecked Meets Ruined
My eyes lowered to his hand. To the bruises on his busted knuckles that had scabbed over then back to his puppy dog eyes.
“As I said, we need rules.”
“I’ve never been very good at following the rules. But I’ll try,” he added, giving me the most adorable smile. Good thing I was immune to his charms. “Come on.” He jerked his chin toward the passenger seat. “You can tell me on the way.”
I looked around at the field behind me and the lake bordered by trees. “On the way to where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.” But even as I said it, I was rounding the hood.
“Get your sweet ass in my truck and stop fighting me.”
I climbed in and buckled my seat belt. “What fun would it be if I stopped fighting you?” I sassed.
“Are you flirting with me, Cherry?” Flashing a grin, he put on a ball cap and pulled the brim low to shade his eyes from the sun’s glare.
“I don’t know. You’re the one with the game. You tell me.”
His grin grew wider. “Yeah, you are.” Ridge turned the key in the ignition and threw his truck into reverse, slinging his arm around the back of my seat and looking over his shoulder as he backed out. It was such a guy thing to do and a stupid thing to notice, but I kind of loved how he did that.
“We’ll just have some fun,” he said, following a narrow dirt and gravel road only as wide as his truck. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other hand tapping out the beat of the music on the window frame.
I sank down in my seat, kicked off my flip-flops, and planted my feet on the dash. “That’s all I want. Just some harmless fun.”
His gaze roamed down my legs before returning to the road and righting his wheel just as we hit a pothole. My feet slipped off the dash, and I grabbed the door handle to brace myself.
“I can do that. Fun is my middle name.”
“I thought it was Trouble.” I replanted my feet on the dash as the truck bounced over the uneven terrain, jostling us from side to side.
He winked. “In my world, they go hand in hand.”
Leaning against the headrest, I turned my head to look at him. The warm glow of sunlight filled the cab, and just like that time at the swimming hole, Ridge’s bronzed skin shimmered like gold.
I stared at the flex of his biceps and his big strong hands, calloused from years of playing football and lifting barrels at the brewery this summer. The warm breeze floating through the open windows carried the sweet scent of hay and grass and horses. And of Ridge—warm and masculine. Heat spread through my body and sent tingles down my spine just from being in the same space as him.
Ridge McCallister was bigger than life. He filled up every room he entered, and I used to think he sucked all the oxygen from it too. But now… now I felt like I could breathe better when he was next to me.
It was dangerous to think like that, so I stopped ogling him and focused on the scenery. Acres of rolling green hills and trees, with horses grazing in the pasture.
“You like horses, Cherry?”
“They’re beautiful, but I’ve never spent much time around them. How about you?”
“Nah. Not my thing. They’re nice to look at, but I’m not interested in getting up close and personal. On the other hand, my brother is the horse whisperer of Texas. He speaks their language. He has a real gift.” I heard the pride in his voice, and it was clear that he loved his older brother.
“So do you.” The words were out before I had a chance to think.
“About time you noticed.” He let go of the wheel and gave me some jazz hands.
I rolled my eyes. “I was talking about football.”
He grinned. “So was I.” We drove through a wooded area, and when we came out on the other side, the land was flat, and the barn and outbuildings were painted red. An American flag was painted on the side of the barn, and the sign above the door said: Armacost Ranch.
“Is this Austin Armacost’s ranch?”
“You know Austin?” he asked, surprised.
