Chapter Seventeen
The ranch is thrumming like something out of a country music video.
Twinkle lights hang from the wraparound porch, loop through the railings, and are strung across the fence posts that border the corrals and pens.
They flicker against the soft orange haze of the setting sun, glinting off mason jars filled with wildflowers Shelby and I picked up in town yesterday.
Grandma Evelyn and Imma Jean have been cooking since sunrise, their laughter drifting out the kitchen windows, along with the smell of cornbread and apple pie.
Daddy and Grandpa have been manning the smoker all day, their voices rumbling low and satisfied every time one of them opens the lid to check the ribs or turn the fat pig that’s been roasting since mid-morning.
The whole ranch smells like heaven—smoke, sugar, and spice, all tangled in the air with the faint sweetness of cut grass.
Everyone is pitching in and doing their part without complaint. Including Bryce. And even though I practically ordered him to work with Cabe before rushing out on him in the wee hours, he really isn’t under any obligation to help prepare the ranch for today’s festivities.
He’s technically a guest here, and he’s paying a lot of money for the privilege.
I’ve got him shoveling shit and hauling hay bales as if he were the hired help.
I’ll admit, at first, I had him doing chores to humble him—not out of malice, but because it was the only way to get him out of his head and out of our way, giving me a fighting chance to prepare him to leave this ranch and saddle up.
But helping put a party together? That falls outside of his obligation to us—to me.
But the truth is, I like having him here. I like him at our table. I look forward to sparring with him every day. It’s exciting, a breath of fresh air, because life on a ranch can feel pretty mundane at times.
I swear, I can feel his eyes on me, even when he’s across the yard, helping Cabe set up the bonfire pit.
Maybe it’s my imagination. Maybe it’s because I can still feel him inside me with every move I make today.
It’d been a long time since I had been with a man.
I didn’t go off to college like Shelby and Harleigh, and there are few options in Wildhaven.
My experience is limited, and I’d never been that consumed by someone so rough and hungry.
It was intoxicating. And it scared the shit out of me.
So, when I woke up, wrapped in his arms, I got out of there as quickly as possible.
God help me, I can’t think about it without my pulse tripping.
I’ve spent the whole day pretending it didn’t happen, pretending he’s just another ranch hand around here for work, but every time he looks at me, it’s like he knows the effect he has on me—like he can see right through me.
I tighten the last knot on a ribbon wrapped around a table centerpiece and step back to admire the rows of folding tables we set up this morning.
Each one is covered in a pale blue tablecloth, the kind that flutters in the breeze.
Wildflowers spill from mason jars down the center—sunflowers, asters, daisies.
Bright and mismatched, rustic—exactly what Matty would like.
Everything’s almost set up, and guests are starting to trickle in—neighbors, ranch staff, and family friends.
I spot Marcia Galloway, Caison’s mother, walking up from the gravel drive, wearing a flowy floral dress and a big smile.
She’s got a gift bag in one hand and a pan of something in the other.
She’s accompanied by Holland Ludlow and his wife, Priscilla.
They own Ironhorse, the ranch Caison manages, and he considers them family.
“Charli, honey,” Grandma Evelyn calls from the porch, her hands on her hips. “You’ve done enough out here. Go on and get yourself cleaned up before Caison gets here with your sister.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, brushing my hands on my jeans.
As I head for the front door, I glance to the bonfire pit—just once—toward Bryce.
He’s standing with his hands braced on his hips, talking to Cabe.
His hair’s tucked into a ball cap today, a few dark strands brushing his neck.
The sight of that neck—of his mouth—brings back flashes of how he kissed me, how he groaned when I screamed his name, how he whispered, “You’re so beautiful,” against my throat.
I force my eyes away before he catches me staring again and hurry up the steps.
Inside, the house smells heavenly, and there’s a hum of conversation and laughter coming from the kitchen. I head upstairs, push open the door to my room, and find Harleigh already there, sitting cross-legged on my bed with her hair in curls and her makeup halfway done.
“Hey,” she says, tossing down the mascara wand. “I forgot to pack my curling iron, so I had to borrow yours.”
“And my makeup too?” I say, kicking off my boots.
“Yep. I like your shadow palettes better than mine,” she admits, leaning back on her elbows.
I shake my head. I’m used to my little sisters raiding my closet and vanity. They’ve been doing it for years.
“You’d better hurry up,” she says. “Caison texted a few minutes ago that he and Matty are en route.”
“Shoot,” I say as I shrug out of my tee and jeans. “I was distracted, trying to get the flower arrangements just right.”
“Sure you were.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask as I tug on a long-sleeved rust-colored dress with a subtle textured pattern. It has a deep V neckline that shows just a touch of cleavage, a flowy A-line skirt, and gathered sleeves.
“You weren’t distracted by … I don’t know … watching a certain bull rider haul firewood?”
I freeze halfway between the bed and my closet. “What?”
Harleigh grins. “Oh, come on, Char. It’s so obvious he was watching you too. The man practically burned a hole clean through you with his heated stare.”
I roll my eyes, grabbing a wide black belt with hammered silver detail and hooking it around my waist, cinching the dress.
“He did not. I swear you have an active imagination.”
“Mm-huh, sure,” she says, singsong. “Deny it all you want, but you aren’t fooling anyone but yourself.”
I ignore her and step into a pair of black cowboy boots with silver stitching before walking to the standing mirror.
Harleigh comes up behind me. “You look great,” she says.
“Thanks. Can you help me with this?” I hand her a silver necklace with an onyx pendant.
She nods and steps closer, fiddling with the clasp as I gather my hair and bring it up, away from my neck.
I feel her go still, and then her wide eyes meet mine.
“Oh my God,” she gasps.
“What?”
“Charli …”
I blink at her in the mirror. “What?”
“Is that”—she leans closer—“a hickey?”
“What?” I whip around, sweeping my hair aside and glancing backward in the mirror. And there it is. A quarter-sized purple mark just behind my ear. My stomach drops. “Oh, that son of a—”
Harleigh squeals, “That is a hickey!”
“Shh!” I hiss, lunging for my makeup bag. “Keep your voice down!”
But of course, that’s the exact moment Shelby pokes her head in. “What’s all the screaming about?” She stops, eyes narrowing as she sees Harleigh grinning and me furiously dabbing concealer on my neck. “Oh, hell no. Is that what I think it is?”
“Is it what?” I say too fast.
“It sure is!” Harleigh blurts out. “Looks like she took that walk in the woods last night after all!”
Shelby’s jaw drops. “No, you did not!”
“Nothing happened,” I lie, blending concealer like my life depends on it.
“Oh, something definitely happened,” Shelby says, stepping in and shutting the door behind her. “That bull rider branded you.”
“It’s not a brand!” I snap, then realize how ridiculous that sounds. “It’s. Just. A. Mistake!”
Harleigh giggles. “A mistake, huh? How big of a mistake are we talkin’?”
I groan and flop into the chair by the vanity. “It was a lapse in judgment, okay? A temporary lapse.”
Shelby crosses her arms, smirking. “Uh-huh.”
“It was,” I insist. “And it doesn’t leave this room.”
Both of them exchange a look that screams, Yeah, right.
“I mean it,” I say, pointing at them. “Not a word to anyone. Especially Matty.”
“Why?” Harleigh asks. “She seems to like Bryce just fine.”
“She likes him because he’s a paying client,” I say, dragging in a deep breath.
“And getting involved with him is unprofessional. I can’t be the girl who sleeps with our clients.
Word gets around fast in this town, and it’ll make me look bad, which would make Wildhaven Storm look bad.
And Matty will lose her ever-lovin’ mind if she finds out. ”
Shelby leans against the dresser, smiling. “You’re overreacting. I don’t think she’d care.”
“She would, and I don’t want to lose her trust. She took a risk, letting me take over for Giles. I can’t let her down. It was a heat-of-the-moment thing, and it won’t happen again.”
Harleigh clasps her hands under her chin, eyes twinkling. “Oh, come on, Char. You’re seriously telling me you got to roll in the hay with the sexiest man to ride a bull, and you’re calling it a mistake?”
“Yes,” I say firmly, though my voice wobbles.
She raises a brow. “And does Bryce think it was a mistake?”
I glare at her reflection. “Like he cares one way or the other. I was just another notch on his very jagged bedpost, I’m sure.”
She raises a brow. “What about that?”
“What?”
“The hickey,” she says, pointing to my ear. “You don’t leave that on someone by accident. He wanted to mark you.”
I smother a sigh and focus on my reflection, dabbing more concealer on the spot until it’s mostly hidden. My pulse is racing due to their questioning—and from the memory of Bryce’s hot breath against the exact spot on my throat.
Shelby shakes her head. “You’re crazy, Charli. If I had a night with a man like him, I’d shout it from the rooftop.”
“Same,” Harleigh says dreamily. “I’d be skipping the party and going back for round—”
“Okay!” I cut in, laughing despite myself. “Enough.”