Chapter 2
Wyatt Houston
Heat ripples from the vents, driving me further to the edge. The alcohol in my system is wearing off, the throbbing bruises from the bar brawl aren't showing me any mercy, and I'm unprepared for my current predicament.
Willow Cartwright's the ruin that wraps around me in my sleep, all moans and memories I'd bleed to death to forget. But I never will. And here she sits after all these years, soft as silk, savage as sin, and hating me more than I could ever imagine.
How many years has it been?
"You going to tell me or what?" Jagger demands, tearing me out of my silence.
"What's that?" I ask, my eyes drifting from Willow's hand on her thigh to her brother's impatient stare.
"What was the fight about?" he pushes.
I shrug. "Nothing important."
Willow snaps, "You almost cost my riders their careers, and it was over nothing important?"
"Your riders?" I hiss in disdain, clenching my fist near the door with jealousy bubbling under my skin.
She glares at me with hatred. It's so intense, it chills my bones worse than the ice around the windshield. Venom laces her tone when she sneers, "Typical Wyatt. Destroy everything around you just because you can."
"Jeez, Willow. The guy just got out of jail. Don't be bitchy on Christmas just because they're your clients. You don't know what they did to provoke him," Jagger says in my defense.
She turns quickly, her sharp gaze pointed at him.
I chuckle, then shift in my seat to try and give some relief to the raging hard-on I've had since I heard her name earlier.
She orders, "Pull over."
"Why?" Jagger asks.
"I said pull over!" she insists.
"I can't. The snow's too high from the plows," he states.
She shouts, "Then stop the truck!"
Jagger groans but pushes the brake. The truck slows, and he asserts, "Stop being so dramatic, Willow. Your clients will survive, and so will your business."
She turns toward me. "Get out."
"Wyatt isn't getting out in the snow," Jagger states.
Willow jabs me in the chest. "Get. Out!"
I grab her wrist, my lips twitching with a cruel desire to press against hers and taunt, "You don't have to get violent. Unless that's the type of woman you've become?" My grin explodes, and I can't decide if I'd rather her try to beat me to death or cuddle me like I'm a baby she'll never let go.
Flames burn in her blues, anger exploding. "Fine. I'll get out." She leans over and reaches for the door.
The scent of warm amber and crushed jasmine terrorizes me.
It's the kind of smell that clings to your skin, claiming you with a vicious hold.
All you can do is keep breathing as deeply as possible.
But the more I breathe, the more my demons won't stop torturing me.
They tighten the shackles she wrapped around me years ago.
"Willow, you can't be out in this weather," Jagger declares.
I splay my palm on her spine. She stiffens, and I lean closer, reprimanding, "It's too cold to stomp down the road. I'm okay if you want to stay pissed at me the entire way home, but you're not freezing to death over my little bar fight."
She pushes off me. "Little bar fight? That little bar fight cost me sixty grand!"
I jerk my head back. "No way."
Her expression tells me she's not lying.
I glance at Jagger.
"It's true, bro," he affirms.
My gut sinks. "Shit. Willow, I'm sorry. I'll pay my share and make sure the others do too."
"How are you going to do that? Are you going to fight them for it?" she snaps.
I clench my jaw, wondering how quickly I can come up with twenty grand.
I've made a lot of money bull riding, but I've been stupid with most of it.
After too many losing bets, bar tabs, expensive toys, and my agent's cut of my winnings and sponsorships, the money ran through my fingers faster than I earned it.
If I'd have been smart, I wouldn't have any money worries, but I've never considered myself intelligent.
There's only one thing I know how to do, and it involves hanging on for dear life on top of a bull.
Her lip quivers, and her eyes glass over. She blinks hard, claiming, "I'm not sitting between you idiots. Let me out so I can get in the back."
My heart sinks. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"
"I said to get out!" she hurls, not breaking our stare.
"Calm down, Willow," Jagger orders.
"Get out," she repeats in a more controlled tone.
"I'll move. You stay here," I offer, and open the door.
A sharp gust tears through the cab, slapping my swollen face, but I deserve every ounce of pain.
I slip out of the front and into the back.
"You'll get your money back. No harm, no foul," Jagger says, trying to reassure her.
Willow crosses her arms, scoots closer to the door, and stares out the window.
He studies his sister for a moment, then shifts the truck into gear. We travel the rest of the way in silence, and the snowy road never seems to end. All I can do is stare at the back of her head, wondering how I'll ever make anything right with her.
The gates to the Cartwright Ranch finally appear. Ice glistens around the wrought iron. The sign is unreadable. Christmas lights glow under the wet flakes.
"Home sweet home," Jagger mumbles, glancing at Willow, who hasn't moved a muscle.
My stomach flips. I didn't leave things right with Willow the last time I was on this ranch. That was years ago. We were barely adults, but I should have been a better man. Yet I didn't know how.
I only saw two roads. Stay with Willow with nothing to offer her or go after my dream.
Once I got my first big win and the sponsorships and checks started rolling in, I couldn't stay here.
I knew I had to make something of myself, or I'd never be worthy of her.
But everything went downhill after I made that choice.
I've avoided coming home every chance I got. What was there to come home to anyway? My father's always been a raging alcoholic. He used me as his whipping post. When I was three, my mother was smart and left as soon as she had her chance.
The Cartwrights took me in like I was part of their family. Jagger and I were attached at the hip growing up, and his siblings were like mine. Their mother, Ruby, always made sure I was fed and clothed. Their father, Jacob, taught me everything I know about horses.
If any of the kids got in trouble, I had to pay the consequences as well.
There were more week-long punishments with barn duty than I can count.
But I always showed up after school and completed the punishments next to the other Cartwrights.
Call it solidarity if you want, but now, I'm pretty sure it was due to my fear I'd never be allowed back onto the ranch.
The day Willow went from a girl I saw as my little sister to a woman I couldn't stop obsessing over was the day I ruined the only good thing I ever had in my life.
There was no way we could be together, and I knew it.
Forget Jagger's anger. What would I tell Jacob?
I've been sneaking around with your daughter behind your back?
I'm in love with your daughter but have nothing to offer her?
I knew what kind of men Jacob raised his sons to be. I should have been just as honorable, but there were differences between the Cartwrights and me. I had too many demons. Yet it didn't stop me from secretly making Willow mine.
When I told her I loved her, I meant it.
Then, her eighteenth birthday came, and everything got too intense.
The reality of who we were glared sharper than sunlight.
There was only one choice to make. When everything crashed around us, and I did what I felt I had to do, she made it clear there were no second chances.
It's why I've never returned to the ranch. I've seen the Cartwrights when I'm in town for a rodeo or other places if they happen to be there, but Willow never appears.
God, how I've looked for her. I've dreamed of her, imagined her, and picked up the phone too many times. After my initial attempts failed, I stopped having the balls to call her any more. But when her name was mentioned as I sat in that cell, I assumed I was still drunk and dreaming.
Now she's here. Willow's all curves and chaos, with hips that sway like sin and the same sassy lips that can slice egos or turn insults into art.
She's kept her hair long, flowing like ink down her back, and I wonder if she did it to torture me.
As if she knew about all the nights I curled my fist around vacant air, remembering how her throaty moan would rumble when I'd grabbed it.
Obsession only has one face for me—Willow's. And she's the only woman I'd sell my soul to mark as mine for the world to see.
Unfortunately, that's not my reality. I knew she hated me. Yet I didn't think it would run so deep.
The truck stops, and before Jagger can turn off the engine, Willow leaps out of the cab. She takes two steps and flies across the ice, landing on her back.
"Great," Jagger mumbles.
I push my door open, step forward, and slip across the pavement. I bump into Willow and fall over her, then push my palms on both sides of her head on the cold ground to stop my weight from crushing her.
She gasps, then her gaze moves slowly, unapologetically, over my face. It lingers on my mouth, like she's picturing it between her thighs. And hell, if that doesn't make everything between us real again.
"Jesus. Are you two alright? You almost crushed Willow," Jagger interjects, tugging on my arm to help me up.
I hold our stare for another second, then swallow hard, pushing off the ground and onto my feet. I reach down for Willow.
She rolls onto her knees and ignores my offer. She takes another step and almost kisses the ground again.
I tug her into me, declaring, "You're going to break all your bones if you don't slow down."
The front door opens, and Ruby exclaims, "Wyatt? Is that you?"