Fool for You (Hartwell Hills #3)

Prologue

Wyatt

There was no doubt in my mind that Quinn Compton was the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on.

And I have seen—and been with—a lot of girls.

But Quinn Compton, man, she blew them all out of the water.

This barrel racer who had been spending all her time in my rodeo arena…

there was something about her. And I wanted—no, needed—to find out what it was.

She was sitting at the opposite end of the bar top, a smile on her pretty lips as her laugh carried through the room.

My brother, Rhett, and his wife had already made their way to the pool table.

My overbearing cousin, Lachlan, was occupying himself with a solo game of darts.

My sister was—well, I wasn’t sure where she had gone off to.

Scanning the room for Abi, I couldn’t see her or Cash Callahan anywhere.

Maybe it was for the better that my family wasn’t around… I could get Quinn to talk to me then.

I had tried. Lord, had I tried. But she was making it hard. She would raise an eyebrow at me, roll her eyes, and heave a sigh of annoyance that forced her chest up in the air—which only distracted me more. But now with everyone out of my way…she was mine.

My mouth twitched as I watched her pull her drink to her lips, a smile escaping as she talked to Jason, the only bartender at the local joint in Alpine Ridge, The Steel.

Quinn’s brown hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and her emerald eyes pulled me from my seat.

I made it to her in record time, nothing in my line of sight but her.

Leaning against the bar top, cocking a hip as I crossed my ankles, I gave her a lopsided smirk—the same smirk I knew put so many others on their knees.

Quinn’s head turned slowly, her drink still lingering at her lush, kissable lips as she eyed me up and down.

Her lips pursed as she swallowed, her eyebrows pinching in the cutest way.

“Quinn,” I slipped her name from my lips, using the back of my fingers to run up and down the skin on her arm. “How long are we going to tiptoe around each other?”

Her eyes blinked, her face stoic and completely void. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Come on,” I gave a laugh, stretching my neck, making sure to flash her some skin. I kept my hair short for a reason. The girls loved my neck. They would kiss and lick it every time. It was their weakness. “I see the way you look at me.”

“The way”—she stammered, her finger pointing to her chest—“I look at you?” The same finger pointed at me.

A chuckle left my lungs. “I see it, I”—I raised my thumb to my bottom lip, rubbing a line down to my chin—“feel it.”

“You feel it?” she repeated.

“Don’t you?” I leaned in, my voice dropping so only she could hear me. She was so close to me, I could kiss her. All I had to do was—

She coughed. “No.”

Quinn stood, taking a long drink of her beer before heading to join Rhett and Kyla at the pool table. Without missing a beat, Quinn picked up a pool cue, did a sexy little dance with Kyla, and then joined their game with ease.

She really was making this hard, wasn’t she?

My family hustled around the arena to put our little makeshift rodeo together.

I situated myself on the gate, locking the heels of my boots to the rail.

Adjusting my baseball cap, I watched Cash—who was still hanging around, even though I’d rather he leave—sticking near my sister as they gathered everything for livestock rides.

Lachlan was pulling in the calves, Rhett was leading horses to the chutes, and Stetson was rolling out the barrels with Quinn…

Quinn.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since she turned me down at The Steel, and since then, she had been taunting me.

She would walk by me with a sway in her hips.

She would flip her hair as she passed, her coconut scent filling the air around me.

She would lick her lips, and her eyes—which still pulled me towards her—would meet mine.

Like I said. She was taunting me.

And it was working.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.

There was just something about her…

“Compton.” I hummed as she passed me for what felt like the tenth time. I had no idea what to say; I just needed her to look at me, needed her to notice me. “You belong on the dirt, don’t you? Watching you ride…” I tsked my tongue.

“I mean…” she started, not letting me finish my sentence. “I’m a barrel racer, and I own two horses, so…yeah,” her eyebrows pinched. “I belong on the dirt.”

“You fit right in with the Hartwells. It’s about time we make it official.”

Oh, that was bad.

Play it cool, Hartwell.

“From here, it looks like everyone fits in but you.” She tilted her head and gave me a puzzled expression. “Now, if you don’t mind.” She turned, her ass in those Wranglers the only thing I saw.

“Oh, I mind.” I raised a brow and watched her walk away.

“Maybe”—she flipped around—“if you would get your ass off the gate and saddle a horse, I’d be more inclined to talk to you.”

She passed me, each time teasing me more and more.

She had to know what she was doing to me.

Damn this woman.

She was going to be the death of me.

“So,” I slipped my hands in my pockets as I walked up to Quinn.

It was done. She had been here for months, and she was officially finished using the arena.

The girl who had occupied my mind was leaving.

And I never got her.

“You’re leaving.”

Quinn glanced at me, those eyes still creating that magnetic pull, her hand still firm on her white horse’s reins. “Yup.”

“I take it you’re coming back?” I took a step forward.

“Why would you assume that?” She raised a brow.

Frowning, I looked at Cash standing at her trailer. The man was moving here, most likely marrying my sister…he was Quinn’s trainer…it made sense in my mind. Plus, I wanted to see her again. And again. And again. “Isn’t Cash moving here?”

“And that would determine me coming back, why?” She stepped beside me, her horse’s coat grazing my side.

“I mean, unless you’re finding a new trainer—”

“I’m not.”

“That means you have to be coming back here to train.”

“Maybe he’s coming to me?”

The horse’s hoof hit the trailer with a clang, and she led him inside.

I couldn’t help but stare as her body moved.

Her small waist, the curves in just the right places, as she bent and tied the lead to the hook.

She flipped her long brown hair to the side, exposing her shoulders.

Damn, she was sexy, but it was more than that.

And I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

She was feisty, determined, controlled, everything I wasn’t.

And I was intrigued. I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.

“Okay, Quinn,” I sighed, trying to drop all demeanor that I wanted her. The normal pick-up lines weren’t working anyway. It was time to up my game. “I know you’re heading out, and I know you are going to a rodeo, but I’d really like to take you out. Let me buy you a drink at least—”

Quinn jumped from the trailer, her waves bouncing over her shoulder as her laugh filled the air, until her face turned serious as she put her hands on her hips. “No.”

“Why not?” I took a step forward, almost trapping her by the edge of the trailer. Her horse whined, the echo filling the metal area. “I’m a good guy, Quinn, and I think if you gave me a decent shot, you’d see that.”

Quinn’s eyebrows rose, her forehead crinkling as she stared at me in complete disbelief. “A good guy?” she repeated.

“Yeah.” I leaned forward, coming closer to her as I placed my arm right above her head, leaning on her trailer. “I have references if you’d like.” I smiled down at her, loving how much shorter she was than me. I could pick her up and hoist her over my shoulder. I could hear her laugh now.

“Wyatt Hartwell, you are not a decent guy,” she said sternly as her palm found my chest. She pushed hard, making me fumble back. “I know exactly what you are.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

She heaved a sigh and straightened her back, and when her emerald eyes met mine, they were just as feisty as the rest of her.

“You’re a playboy who, rumor has it, is checking off the Miss Rodeos from every state.

Call me a prude, but I’d rather not be with a man who has slept with fifty-plus women.

You are handsome, I’ll give you that, but you think you’re irresistible.

Let me tell you, you’re not. You’re childish—very childish—and Wyatt, that’s a turn off.

I do not want a man who doesn’t have a speck of dirt on his jeans and”—she waved her arm up and down, gesturing to my pressed jeans—“you are more starch than man. And last, I’ve been here for weeks now, and all I’ve seen is your sister, brother, cousin, and Cash work their asses off while you sit on the sidelines and go to The Steel.

Yet you call this your ranch. All you care about is who is keeping your bed warm and how soon you can announce at the NFR.

Man up, Wyatt, get over yourself, and then maybe—” She scoffed. “Nah…not even then.”

Then she turned, dirt flying around her boots, leaving me alone in the entrance to the stable.

What the fuck just happened?