2. Wyatt
CHAPTER 2
Wyatt
COWBOY KILLER
I’ve got two girls on my left and one on my right.
They’re easy on the eyes. Fun to talk to.
But the only girl I’m interested in right now is the one across the bar, who looks like she’s about to puke.
The Rattler’s bar is U-shaped. When I’m in my usual spot by the back, I can see clear across the other side of the counter. That’s where Sally is holding her head in her hand, her cheeks bright pink as she blinks and blinks again.
My stomach twists.
Shit, she upset? Why? What the fuck happened over there with Beck Wallace?
I’d seen Mollie drag Sally that way. Or maybe that’s just me thinking—hoping—Sally was dragged. Beck’s a good guy, but that don’t mean he’s good enough for my best friend.
“So, Wyatt,” Brianna, the girl on my right, says, “you have a date yet for the potluck?”
Sipping my beer, I keep my eyes on Sally. She’s saying something to Mollie, who has a hand on her shoulder. Sally looks up. I let out a sigh of relief when I don’t see any tears. Still looks a little queasy though. I know she wouldn’t want me meddling—she made it clear when we were texting earlier that she was having a girls’ night with Mollie—but I’m having a hard time resisting the urge to march over there and fix whatever’s the matter.
“Not yet, no. What about you ladies?”
Every year, Hartsville comes together to host a charity potluck. Everyone dresses up, brings a dish, and participates in a silent auction, bidding on various items donated by community members to raise money for our local animal shelter.
Caitlin’s lips twitch. “Not yet.”
“I’m single as hell.” That’s Lennon, a redhead who works at the pharmacy next door. “And I’m definitely ready to mingle. I’d love to go, but no one’s asked me. Care to rectify that, Wy?”
I’ve never gone to the potluck, mostly because it’s a little stiff for my taste. But I like Lennon. She’s fun, and she’s suffering from a bout of unrequited love for a bull rider who came through town a few months back.
In other words, she’s perfect. Not interested in anything serious, but always game to party.
But Sally’s clearly having a shitty night, and I can’t concentrate on anything else. Maybe she’ll hate me for getting involved, but whatever. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on with her.
I glance at the tattoo of a sunrise on my left forearm. Sally’s remarked on it in passing, but she doesn’t know I got it for her. She also doesn’t know about the other tattoo I got for her, the one on my leg. That one, more than the sunrise, is a dead giveaway of how obsessed I am with my best friend.
“Excuse me, ladies.” I put a hand on Caitlin’s side at the same moment she puts one on my stomach. “I’ll be right back.”
“Promise?” Lennon grins.
I grin right back. “Promise. Y’all don’t talk to strangers, you hear? ”
“Wouldn’t dare,” Brianna says.
It takes me a minute to work my way through the crowd. Ladies’ night is in full swing, and The Rattler is packed. No surprise there. The guy-to-girl ratio in Hartsville is about ten to one—those are the results of my very (un)scientific study of our male-dominated ranching town—so you bet your bottom dollar that every cowboy, ranch hand, and farrier is out tonight, looking to get laid.
I’m not one to judge. I’m not sure I’ve ever needed a mind-blowing hookup more than I do right fucking now. The girl I’ve been in love with for twelve years—the girl I can’t touch—has been back in our hometown since the end of August, and being around her so much has made me more heartsick than I’ve been in a long-ass time.
Sally’s returned to Hartsville plenty over the past decade. She came back during her fall and spring breaks, or for a week or two here and there in between internships over the summers. But this is the first time she’s been back for an extended period since we were eighteen.
This could also very well be the last time she’s in Hartsville for a while. Since Sally got her dream job, John B talks all the time about the impact she’s going to make on the practice of veterinary surgery. I imagine that means she won’t have much time to visit us little people.
The idea that Sally might not come back for years ?—
Yeah, I’m gripped by the selfish impulse to finally make her mine.
But that’s not right, and it sure as hell ain’t fair. Sally and I were never meant to be. I’m a simple man who loves his family and his hometown. The Rivers have deep roots in Hartsville; my great-great-grandfather bought the land that became our ranch over a hundred years ago, and it’s been in the family ever since. My parents were incredibly proud of our legacy, and they were hell-bent on passing it on to my brothers and me .
I never want to leave. Even if I did, I’m not sure I could. I’d miss my brothers, even though they’re a giant pain in my ass most of the time. And leaving Hartsville would mean leaving the memory of my parents behind. They live on through the people and places in this town that they loved, and that’s something all the money in the world can’t replace.
Our family’s ranch fell into disrepair after they died. My brothers and I just couldn’t afford the upkeep, which is how we ended up working on Lucky Ranch—it was a way to make some money so we could hang on to our property. Broke my heart to see our land go untended, and we dreamed of bringing it back to life one day.
Now my brothers and I are finally able to make those dreams come true. When Mollie and Cash mended fences and fell in love, they decided to combine her family’s neighboring place, Lucky Ranch, with ours, Rivers Ranch, to form Lucky River Ranch. Mollie’s dad, Garrett, had struck oil on their property back in the ’90s, and he quickly became a rich man. Mollie and Cash are plowing some of that money into much-needed renovations on the Rivers’ side of the ranch.
Needless to say, I was born in Hartsville, and I’m gonna die here too. Still, part of me wonders what I’d do if Sally asked me to move with her to New York. Not like she ever would. But I think about it sometimes.
I find myself wishing I had kissed her that day down by the river twelve years ago. Maybe she would’ve kissed me back. Maybe we would’ve figured out a way to be together.
Maybe we’d still be together. Married. Living with our babies and our dogs in the home we made on my family’s ranch. But for that to happen, I’d have to get over this fear I have of letting people in. Of opening myself up to someone, even my best friend. The pain of losing somebody you love is fucking terrible. I was not okay after my parents died, falling into a deep depression that lasted for years. I got another taste of that darkness after losing Garrett earlier this year. Time seems to be the only cure.
But losing Sally? Yeah, I don’t think I could survive that.
Living on the ranch is also my dream. Sally doesn’t want to settle down, least of all in Hartsville. She’s too intelligent, too gifted, to live a quiet life in a small town. She deserves the world.
She does important work that literally saves lives. I have no right to claim her.
And yet that’s what I find myself doing in every fantasy, every daydream. I claim her like a caveman possessed by a horny demon. I’m not sure I’ve ever used my right hand more than I have in the past few months since Sally came back.
Still, I manage to play it cool when I find my way to Sally’s side. I’ve had more than ten years of practice pretending to not want her.
I cross my arms and lean a hip against the bar. “Who is he, and where can I find him?”
“Not funny,” she replies, even though her full mouth curves into a half grin.
“I promise I’ll only beat him up a little.”
“I’m going to beat you up a little if you don’t go back to doing whatever it is you were doing over there.” She gestures to the three women eyeing us.
My pulse skids. Sally was watching me? Did I detect a little jealousy in her tone?
But that’s just crazy. Sally is practically family. Her parents, Patsy and John B Powell, took me under their wing after my parents passed, along with Garrett Luck, who was very much a father figure to my brothers and me.
Bet Sally considers me family too. Which is why she’d never be jealous of me talking to other girls. She doesn’t want me the way I want her. Period, end of sentence.
And that’s a good thing.
That’s the right thing .
Only the idea that Sally thinks of me as a brother ties my stomach in a knot. Why do I feel like that means I’ve fucked up somehow when, really, it means I’ve done everything right?
Aw, Sunshine, I’d do you right. Every time.
Shoving that thought aside, I shift my weight. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m just an idiot.” She presses her thumbs into her eye sockets. “I don’t think you can fix that.”
I give her a gentle nudge. “You couldn’t be an idiot if you tried.”
“That’s the thing. I did try. And I totally fell on my face.” Sucking in a breath, she straightens. “You make it look so easy.”
“That’s because I am easy.” My lips twitch.
Sally rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. Anyone you want, you get.”
“Who do you want?”
“I don’t know.” Sally scoffs. “Anyone. I’ve been thinking about it, and I decided I need to”—she tilts her head one way, then the other—“blow off a little steam while I’m in town.”
I stare at her. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“Stop looking at me like that. I’m allowed to have needs.”
“You’re allowed to have anything you want. But last I checked, you were into the long-term thing. Boyfriends and shit.”
I’ve never seen Sally troll The Rattler for a hookup before. Granted, she hasn’t spent a ton of time in the dive bar over the past twelve years, but this is still out of character for her.
“I was into the long-term thing. I still am in, like, a big-picture kind of way. But now that I know I’m leaving Hartsville, I obviously can’t start something serious. I figure I’ll just have some meaningless fun while I’m here.”
I feel the words she doesn’t say like a punch to the gut. I don’t want anything serious because I’m leaving for good .
She’s leaving to go live in a cute college town, where she’ll fall for some Yankee dickhead and never come back.
I run a hand over my scruff. Do I tuck tail and run? I don’t want to talk to Sally about who she’d like to fuck.
But some sick, mean part of me is dying to know who—what—she wants.
Some mean part of me wants to be the one to give it to her. Who better to blow off a little steam with than the town heartbreaker?
I don’t take pride in the title. Yes, I have fun. A lot of it. But I also feel like the butt of a joke at this point. I’m thirty years old, for Christ’s sake. I’m also a little…lonely, if I’m being honest, now that I’ve moved out of the bunkhouse and into my own place on Lucky River Ranch.
When Mollie and Cash joined forces, they gifted me the 1920s Victorian farmhouse Mollie’s great-grandfather had built. It’s simple but beautiful, having been meticulously renovated and maintained by Garrett, who preferred the farmhouse to the giant but sterile New House, which he built as a gift for his then-wife Aubrey. It was their main residence on Lucky Ranch for a little while, a six-thousand-square-foot behemoth where they planned to raise their family. But not long after they moved in, their marriage crumbled, and Aubrey took Mollie and moved to Dallas. Garrett moved back to the farmhouse, where he lived until the day he died. Now the New House is a gathering place of sorts for the ranch’s employees, Patsy turning out three meals a day in its massive kitchen.
I’d like to settle down. Find a real partner in life. Seeing Cash and Mollie pair off has only intensified my desire to find my person.
I’ve never seen my brother happier.
I’ve never been more jealous. I try to keep it to myself. Envying what my brother has makes me feel ashamed. Cash has had a hard road, and he deserves to be happy .
Jealousy ain’t my style.
But I’m jealous of my brother. And whoever Sally’s looking to take home tonight…and every night.
I absently tug Mom’s ring across the chain hanging from my neck. “So you wanna hook up with one of these winners?” I eye a nearby ranch hand, who’s already so drunk that he’s pretending to reel a woman in with an invisible fishing pole.
Sally scoffs again. “You can’t be serious. You , of all people, have no right to judge me.”
“I’ll be the first to admit, I’m no saint.” I hold up my hands. “I’m just looking out for you. Don’t want you getting burned.”
“I’m a big girl. Beck Wallace isn’t going to burn me.”
My heart lurches. So she does want Beck. Why him?
Turning to lean my left hip into the counter, I paste on a smirk. “He ain’t nearly smart enough to get under your skin.”
Sally’s shoulders rise on an inhale as she glances across the bar. I follow her gaze to see Brianna, Lennon, and Caitlin watching us intently.
“See?” Sally asks. “You get attention, even when you’re talking to another girl.”
“Well, yeah. That’s how it works.”
“How what works?”
“You gotta play the game. Jealousy is a powerful aphrodisiac.”
Sally turns those big brown eyes on me. They shine with a funny little spark, igniting the flecks of gold in her irises. “Really?” Her flat delivery of the word drips with judgment and something else. Something that sounds suspiciously like…curiosity?
“Hey, I don’t make the rules. I just play by them.”
She grins. “Hate the game, not the player. That would be your MO.”
“C’mon, Sunshine.” I’ve missed how much this girl makes me smile, despite the seriously un funny things happening inside my chest. “You could never hate me.”
“Show me, Wy.”
My heart does that lurching thing again. “Show you what?”
“How to play. It’s been forever since I had fun like that.”
Heat rips through my skin. Sweat prickles along my scalp and inside my collar.
God almighty.
This girl don’t know what she’s asking.
She doesn’t know that asking me to show her has me thinking about showing her lots of things. Most of them involving nudity and my face between her legs.
Legs that are very much on display in tight jeans. She’s wearing a pair of fire-engine-red Bellamy Brooks boots, which hug her calves like a second skin.
“I’m not helping you get laid, Sally,” I manage, bringing my beer to my lips.
“I’m not asking, Wyatt.” She’s still grinning.
There ain’t a thing on God’s green earth I wouldn’t give this girl.
And, yeah, maybe the thought of making Beck Wallace jealous appeals to me, even if Sally’s endgame doesn’t.
Tonight, Sally will be in my arms.
Tonight, she’ll only have eyes for me. That’s enough.
That has to be enough, because the whole point of me doing this—showing Sally how to play the game—is for her to ultimately end up in someone else’s bed.
Who knows? Maybe seeing her with Beck will finally make it click that she and I aren’t meant to be. It’ll suck, but it’ll be like ripping off a Band-Aid. Once it’s done, it’s done.
I’ll be done with the world’s most serious case of unrequited love.
“You wanna learn from the master”—draining my beer, I set it on the bar—“you gotta do as I say. ”
“Ooh.” Sally wiggles her shoulders in an adorable fake shiver. “I like the bossiness, Wy.”
I nod over her head to the dance floor. There’s no live band, but the playlist tonight is a vibe, filled with the kind of country that makes you wanna move. It’s a mix of new artists and ’90s greats—from Shaboozey to old-school Alan Jackson. Couples flock to the floor, along with girls in groups of two or three.
“Let’s go.” I push off the bar and motion for her to walk in front of me.
Sally digs her teeth into her bottom lip. Her eyes are soft now. “Thank you.”
“I ain’t going willingly.”
“Yes, you are. And I love you for it.”
My heart lifts. I love you too, Sal.
But then I’m crushed by a familiar sense of disappointment when it hits me that her words don’t mean what I want them to. Sally loves me as a friend. But I’m in love with her. Big fucking difference.
I watch her turn around and follow her onto the dance floor. Morgan Wallen is playing. Sally holds up an arm, swaying her hips to the beat, and I resist the urge to put my hand on the small of her back. On her hip.
She looks good . Mostly because she moves with confidence. Makes me puff out my chest a little, knowing she’s comfortable enough with me to let loose.
But then she glances over her shoulder. I follow her gaze and see her glancing at Beck. He’s looking at us—a good sign. Sally, though, goes stiff, her arm falling to her side—a bad sign.
“Hey.”
Her eyes dart to mine.
“Stop looking to see if Beck is watching us. You look at me. Only me. Got it?”
Sally’s long, dark lashes flutter as she turns around to face me. Even in her boots—they’ve got a good heel on ’em—she’s so short I still have to bend my neck to make eye contact.
“I see how this works for you.”
Is her reply a little breathless? Or am I just imagining it?
I step closer and smirk. “How so?”
“You’re…good at making a girl feel like…like she’s the only person in the room.”
“Take notes.”
She puts a hand on my chest and gives me a playful shove. “The cockiness doesn’t help.”
“Yeah, it does.” I grab her wrist and put her hand back on my chest. “There. That’s good. Let him see how much you like to touch me.”
Uncertainty flashes across her expression. Her eyes flick over my shoulder.
“Nuh-uh. Eyes up here, Sunshine. And the other hand on my waist.”
Sally hesitates, but then she does as I tell her. She’s stiff again—clearly in unfamiliar territory—as she puts her hand on my side in an awkward position. Her palm is cupped near my rib cage so that only her fingertips touch me.
Hell no. This middle school dance shit ain’t gonna do it.
So I grab her hand and move it to my belt, pressing it against my hip so that her palm flattens out. My body leaps when one of her fingers dips inside my waistband for half a heartbeat. This girl makes me weak in the fucking knees .
“Sorry!”
“Don’t be.” I clear my throat. “I like a good fondle.”
She’s smiling again, the discomfort melting from her face, and there’s a catch in my chest. “You a master of that too?”
“I am indeed. Which is lucky for you because—and I say this with love—you’ve got some practicing to do.”
Sally bites her lip. “Fondling is not my area of expertise, no.”
“You just save the lives of animals and shit. ”
“Some shit like that, yeah.”
I sway to the music a little. Just enough so that she doesn’t realize when she starts swaying again too.
Dang, I like her hands on me this way.
I wanna put my hands on her. But that’d be crossing into dangerous territory. Beck’ll be watching us whether or not I touch Sally, mostly because I’m about to show her a damn good time.
And a beautiful woman having a good time at a bar? No man in his right mind can resist that.
Sally’s doing a good job of keeping her eyes locked on mine. The extended eye contact is unnerving, but I…kinda like it. Feels like I’m edging myself. How much can I take before I pop a woody and come in my pants like a teenager?
Sally and I have danced together before, but it doesn’t happen often enough. She’s usually either working or up on the stage, performing with her mom.
For a split second, I allow myself to fantasize that this is real. That Sally is looking at me like this because she wants me, and I’m gonna make her smile and laugh and sweat while we take turn after turn around the dance floor. Then I’m gonna take her home. Lay her down. Give her what Beck Wallace can’t.
“You good if I give you a spin?” Because I’m a masochist, clearly.
Sally scrunches her brow. “Yes. You don’t need to ask.”
“A guy should always ask if it’s okay to touch you.”
“Okay, Dad.”
I grab the wrist of the hand she’s got on my chest. When I wrap my first finger and thumb around it, I’m struck by how delicate she is here. How small. The pads of my finger and thumb touch with room to spare.
I can feel the uneven beat of her pulse against the inside of my thumb knuckle.
“ Daddy is fine. Dad is not. ”
Sally lets out a bark of laughter. “I’m scared to ask if you’re serious.”
“I’m dead serious when I tell you not to call me Dad again. C’mon, Cinderella. Time to dance at the ball.”
Letting go of her wrist, I curl my hand around hers so that our tangled fingers are clasped against my chest. Her palm is warm. The kind of soft that makes my chest tight.
Her gaze wavers, falling to our hands before moving back up to my face.
“What?”
“Your calluses.” She runs her thumb over the top part of my palm. “They’re insane.”
“Too rough?”
Her brown eyes glitter. “Yeah. But I think I like it.”
“Do not elaborate.” I bite the inside of my cheek. I pull our hands over her head, forming a bridge with our arms. “C’mon, Sunshine. Give me what I want.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Dear God. “What did I tell you about?—”
“I thought Daddy was okay?” Her eyes dance.
She’s teasing me, and I fucking love it.
When am I gonna stop feeling like a lovesick asshole?
“Changed my mind. It’s definitely not okay.” I give her hand a tug, encouraging her to spin already. “God forbid my brothers overhear you calling me that.”
Sally turns, a big old smile on her face as she mouths the words to a Post Malone country song. She glances around the bar as she moves, her gaze catching on something—someone—before returning to my face.
“He’s watching,” she says, definitely breathless this time. “Beck.”
My gut clenches. Instinctively, I pull her close and wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me. “Good.”
“Your girlfriends are watching too. I hope I’m not stepping on any toes? ”
I look at our feet. “Not yet.”
“Aren’t you clever?” she deadpans.
I look back up to see her grinning at me. “Sure am.”
“Cocky.”
“It’s working, isn’t it?”
She lifts a shoulder. “It is actually.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh. Oh, Wy, wait. I think it’s working too well. He’s coming over.”
My head snaps around so fast that my neck cracks. Sure enough, Beck is heading our way, his eyes narrowed playfully as they devour my best friend from head to toe.
“Do you not want him to come over?” I bite out.
“No, I do. I definitely do. I’m just—now I’m nervous.”
He makes her nervous? Man doesn’t deserve to lick her boots.
I don’t realize I’m squeezing Sally’s hand until she lets out a little yelp.
“Sorry, Sal, I?—”
“You’re lookin’ good out here, Sally.” Beck glances at me. “Mind if I cut in?”
I do fucking mind.
I mind so much that I gotta resist the very strong urge to punch the guy in the mouth.
But that would upset Sally. It would also give me away. And, yeah, I was young when my dad died, but I’ll never forget him telling me over and over again that Rivers never start fights.
We do, however, always finish them.
So I drop Sally’s hand, and I step away. “Y’all have at it.”
She’s looking at me, a deep groove between her eyebrows. “You all right, Wy?”
“I’m great. Why wouldn’t I be?” I clap my hands. Jesus, now I’m the one who’s stiff and awkward, and just—I gotta get outta here. “You good, Sunshine?”
She nods, the movement a little too quick .
I meet her eyes. Don’t be nervous. You got this.
Her lips curl into a smile. “All good.”
Beck takes her hand. Sally turns that smile on him. A piercing ache slices through my center.
I can’t watch. So I turn and stalk off the dance floor. From the corner of my eye, I catch Brianna waving at me. I don’t wanna be rude, but I can’t stay here.
I need to be alone.
I’m a few feet shy of the exit when I feel a hand on my arm. I glance over my shoulder to see Cash glowering at me.
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. I get why he doesn’t want me crossing any lines with Sally. The Powells are like family to him too—not to mention the fact that they’re essential to the operation of Lucky River Ranch.
“What were you doing with Sally over there?” Cash asks.
I shrug, like the two of us don’t know how down bad I am for her. “Before you get your panties in a wad, know that she’s the one who asked me to dance.”
Cash tilts his head, his eyes hard. “Y’all were awfully close.”
“We’re friends. We were talking. I’m allowed to talk to her, Cash.”
“Way you looked at her wasn’t exactly friendly.”
I’m not gonna deny that. Doesn’t mean I gotta confirm how I feel about her though.
“You know we’re both adults, right?” I say. “What we do or don’t do isn’t anyone’s business.”
“And you know I’m only looking out for you.” His expression softens. “I just don’t want anyone gettin’ hurt.”
Too late for that.
“You don’t have anything to worry about. She doesn’t want me like that. Look, she’s out there with Beck right now. We’re safe, all right? Everything is fine.”
I’m not fine though as I push out into the chilly November evening .
I don’t feel fine as I climb into my truck and immediately lunge for the glove compartment, shoving aside several packs of gum to find what I’m looking for.
The first drag on my Marlboro has me feeling lightheaded. Smoking is a gross habit, and I hate it. Except when I don’t. Rolling down my window, I fall back against the seat and close my eyes.
I don’t want Sally to leave Hartsville. But she sure as hell can’t stay. I might very well end up a dead man if she does. Wanting her this way—being around her—is killing me. It’s torture.
The worst, best, sweetest kind of torture there is.