Tethered Love (Silver Saddle Ranch #3)

Chapter 1

Wedding Or Bust

God, this would be so much more fun if I were role-playing a hitchhiker, and my afternoon ended with getting railed by a rugged cowboy in the back of his pickup truck.

Instead, I’m stuck on the side of the road, glaring down at my flat tire in a dress and four-inch heels that prioritize fashion over function. I have less than an hour before Birdie, one of my best friends, gets married, and I can’t be late for the most important day of her life.

This is what I get for not accepting Briar’s offer to get ready at her place.

She’s another one of our closest friends and lives at Silver Saddle Ranch with her fiancé Jensen, and their son Caleb—just down the road from her parents’ ranch house, where the wedding is taking place.

It’s going to be a small, intimate ceremony in the Halstead’s backyard and after helping set up the decorations during the rehearsal yesterday, I know it’ll be stunning.

Now, if I could just get there on time to see it myself, that would be fantastic.

I called Hank at the local repair shop, but he’s out on another job and said it’ll be at least two hours before he can get out here.

I’ve also tried Earl, the only taxi driver in town, three times already, but he’s not picking up.

It would be a whole lot easier if we didn’t live in a small town with limited options.

I’m ready to start walking when I spot a truck in the distance.

I step closer to the road and stick out my thumb.

I’ve always wanted to hitchhike, but I pictured it happening during spring break in college, like in the movies, not on the way to a wedding in four-inch heels.

Let’s just hope it’s not some creepy old man who has a foot fetish with a custom license plate that says “FEETLVR.”

As the truck gets closer, the guy behind the wheel glances at me before immediately looking away, flooring it like I’m radioactive.

“Oh, real nice, you spineless bastard!” I shout.

Okay, so maybe road rage isn’t the answer, but I find it strangely therapeutic to tell a stranger off, even if he can’t hear me. I’m so busy flipping him off I don’t notice the other truck until its engine rumbles as it pulls to a stop beside me.

I’m momentarily relieved until I look up to see the familiar blue pickup. The passenger window rolls down, revealing Heath wearing a smug grin with his arms draped across the steering wheel.

“You lost?” I deadpan, planting my hands on my hips.

“Was minding my own business when I spotted you giving some poor passerby the bird. Figured I better pull over before you start throwing rocks at the next poor soul who drives by,” he drawls before turning off his truck, climbing out, and circling the hood to join me.

“The sheriff’s getting married today, and I can’t have you disrupting the peace when he’s supposed to be off the clock. ”

I roll my eyes. “Can’t you just call him your brother like a normal person?”

Heath smirks as he leans against the passenger side of his pickup. “And give up the chance to rile you up? I’ll pass.”

“Congratulations. Mission accomplished,” I say with an exaggerated yawn, waving him off. “You can go now.”

Does it make sense to pass up what might be my only shot at getting help and arriving at the wedding on time? Of course not. But it’s Heath, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of watching me play the damsel in distress—not when he’ll never let me live it down.

I wouldn’t label what we share as hate or loathing.

It’s more of a twisted addiction to needling each other just to feel that electric rush before one of us finally breaks.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but I’d guess it was a few years ago.

Prior to that, Heath didn’t pay much attention to me.

He’s nine years older and used to treat Briar’s friends, me included, as nothing more than pesky tagalongs causing trouble.

I’ve always had a thing for older guys, and I have no shame admitting I had a massive crush on him. It was impossible not to when he walked around in Wranglers that made his butt look downright criminal and started sporting that scruff of his.

I was shocked when he finally noticed I existed, but equally perplexed when I often found him glowering at me from across the room and acting irritable whenever we spoke.

I could have been offended, but instead, I decided to roll with it and discovered I secretly looked forward to every sharp exchange and heated glare.

“Aren’t you going to ask me for a ride?” Heath goads me.

I scoff. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you should be at the ranch helping Birdie finish getting ready for her nuptials, not putting yourself in danger thumbing rides on the most isolated stretch of road outside of Bluebell,” he counters, his tone rough with frustration.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he almost sounds worried about me.

“I’ll take your concern into consideration.” I glance up and down the road, praying for another car to drive by. “It’s not like I asked for a flat tire or anything.”

Heath raises a brow as he cranes his neck to get a better look at the tire, then glances back at me. “Did you call the mechanic?”

“No, I opted to stand in the scorching sun hoping to snag a future husband who appreciates a sweaty bridesmaid in death-trap heels instead,” I deadpan.

I’m more of a cowgirl boots or Doc Martens kind of girl.

I love anything vintage with a story behind it.

Still, I went all out for the wedding, and currently, that sacrifice feels a lot less worth it.

I’m stuck without transportation, and there’s a very real possibility of having to walk miles in these things if Heath calls my bluff by getting back in his truck and drives away without me.

“Let me guess. You don’t know how to change a flat yourself?” he grunts, frowning.

I shrug. “Nope. I’ve had more important things to do.”

“Didn’t they teach you that in high school?”

“I was sick that day,” I lie, batting my lashes.

I clearly remember the day in Driver’s Ed when they assigned us to have someone at home teach us how to change a tire and sign off that we’d completed it.

Grams happily signed the form without making me actually do it, glad for the excuse to avoid us getting dirty.

We’re the shop-until-we-drop-for-a-good-bargain kind of people, not the ones who change their own tires.

An unfortunate reality that’s currently biting me in the ass.

Heath doesn’t bother with a reply as he opens the back of my SUV and retrieves the spare tire and a tool bag I didn’t know existed. He carries everything around to the front driver’s side and crouches down. I watch, unblinking, as he rolls up his sleeves, exposing his tanned, powerful forearms.

Sweet mother of god.

My mouth goes dry, and for a second, I forget how to form a coherent thought. The man might be a moody son of a bitch, but damn if the view doesn’t make me forget why I’m not supposed to like him. It doesn’t help that I’ve had a thing for his arms for ages or that I find him stupidly hot.

He adjusts his hat, sweat beading on his forehead as he loosens the lug nuts. I may not know how to change a tire, but I’m weirdly proud of knowing the right terminology. Who would’ve guessed watching all those Fast & Furious movies would come in handy?

Heath nods to the rear hatch of the SUV. “Grab me the jack.”

“Would it kill you not to be so bossy?” I grumble as I get it, trying not to audibly gasp at how damn heavy the thing is.

“Keep running that mouth, and I’ll make you put the tire on yourself,” he warns.

I narrow my gaze but stay quiet as I go to stand beside him. He sits up and reaches for the jack, but I hold it just out of his grasp.

“Hellcat, what are you doing? Give me that thing before you drop it and break your damn toe,” Heath demands.

I really shouldn’t like that he has a nickname for me so much—especially one that suits me so well.

I mask my flustered state with a smug grin. “Say please.”

He glares at me, gritting his teeth. “Be a doll and give me the jack so I can fix your tire before your stubbornness makes us both late.”

And there he goes again, reminding me why he’s the bane of my existence. It doesn’t stop the traitorous butterflies from taking flight in my stomach when I reluctantly hand him the jack and watch him set it up. The veins in his forearms bulge with each crank, and I can’t bring myself to look away.

I can’t help but notice his shirt stretched across his broad chest with each motion as he raises the SUV until the flat tire is suspended off the ground.

He effortlessly swaps it out with a spare, and watching a man perform manual labor absolutely should not be this arousing.

Thankfully, I’m saved from my runaway thoughts when he finishes tightening the last lug nut and stands, wiping his hands on the handkerchief from his back pocket.

Why is that simple act so damn attractive? It’s a silly piece of cloth, yet watching him wipe his brow has short-circuited my brain.

I find it difficult to breathe properly when he moves closer, an expression I can’t decipher flickering across his features. My heart rate speeds up when his gaze flits across my face, lingering on the spot just below my mouth.

I frown. “What is it?”

“You have a smudge,” Heath replies softly.

His unexpectedly gentle tone catches me off guard.

My breath hitches as he reaches out and drags his thumb across my chin, grazing my lower lip.

A spark of electricity ripples through me at his touch.

The intensity in his eyes has me thinking he’s seconds away from pinning me against the truck and letting go of the rigid control he’s maintained for so long.

I like the idea of getting him to finally snap and give in to this pull that’s been building for far too long.

I unconsciously shift closer, painfully aware of how near his mouth is to mine, every nerve in my body humming with awareness. He stills completely, his thumb lingering on my lower lip, his dark and wanting gaze dropping to my mouth.

Heath is the first to recover from our lapse of reason. He jerks his arm back to his side, flexing his hand. Did he find that repulsive, or could he be as equally affected as I am?

He clears his throat. “You’re all set. I’ll drive behind you to the ranch to make sure you get there safely.”

I shake my head. “That’s not necessary.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.”

And… we’re back to grumpy cowboy mode.

I give him a mock salute. “Sure thing, daddy.”

His gaze darkens. “Careful, hellcat. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

I bat my lashes innocently. “Oh no. Better quit while I’m ahead, then,” I say, stepping back. “See you at the wedding, Heath. Better hurry up, or you’ll be late.”

He shoots me a glare as I spin around and hop into my vehicle.

I try to avoid looking out my window, but I can’t resist one last peek before driving away. When I do, Heath’s heading toward his truck, flexing his hand again, a smear of grease on his thumb.

It will be a miracle if I survive the evening without doing something incredibly stupid.

My libido is a total hussy at weddings. They’re an open invitation to let loose and make reckless decisions like toying with the idea of sleeping with my friend’s older brother, the one I get ridiculously turned on by every time we verbally spar.

And while we’re technically not at the wedding yet, it’s impossible not to let my mind wander into dangerous territory when Heath was just looking at me like I was dinner and he was starved.

It has me thinking I’m not the only one who’s tempted to throw caution to the wind tonight.