Chapter 3
Chapter Three
WYATT
The swing of the hammer and the twist of the wire as I pull it into place should soothe me. The repetitive work usually does, and there’s no shortage of it on this ranch.
No wonder people in town are talking.
This place is a mess. It’s hard to imagine how one man could do so much damage to a place, but my no-good bastard of a father sure had.
And by all accounts, he was a first-class ass hole to everyone around him while he was doing it, too.
I don’t know if it should make me feel better or worse that Bill Thorne hadn’t reserved his nastiness only for his sons but had spread it around to anyone within reach.
There’d been a time when I was certain it was my brothers and me that he couldn’t stand. But maybe it was himself he hated, and he just took it out on everyone else.
Not that it mattered. He was gone. Leaving nothing but ruin behind.
Travis had moved to the fences on the far pasture, leaving me to finish up the ones next to the barn.
I’d told him some bull shit story about how I needed to stay close in case the young vet needed anything.
Judging by his smirk, Travis knew the real reason I’d sent him away. Thankfully for him, he was smart enough not to say anything.
I kept glancing out the corner of my eye to see if she’d emerged from the barn yet, not wanting to miss her before she left. Why exactly? I couldn’t be sure.
I had no business giving her any thought at all. At least not beyond the fact that she’s the vet tending to my horses.
But try as I might, no matter how hard I try to push her out of my head, that woman keeps slipping back in. I can’t stop replaying the look on her face when I snapped at her earlier.
I’d been a first-rate ass hole.
Just like my father.
Fuck. That.
Still, it gave me pause.
It wasn’t Anna’s fault that people in town were talking about the ranch. Or me. She’d just been making conversation.
The November air is cool on my neck, but I’m sweating under my shirt, muscles tight with frustration more than the exertion.
I’m just about to reach for another nail when I hear her voice behind me.
“Wyatt?”
I close my eyes for a moment and take a breath before turning around. Determined this time not to be too much of a dick.
Anna’s standing a few yards away, almost like she doesn’t trust me to get any closer. I exhale hard and force my posture to relax a little in an effort to look a little bit more approachable.
“I think she’s pretty close now,” Anna says.
“I told you I’d handle it.” My words are gruff. I silently curse myself. There’s obviously no help for it. Maybe I’m more like my father than I’d like to believe.
The thought sours my mood further.
“I know you do,” she says carefully, “but like I told you, I’m worried about her.”
“You said she looked good.”
“She does.” Anna wrinkles her nose like she’s thinking hard about something. “But I have a feeling that—”
“I don’t work on feelings around here. Just facts. And the fact is, I’ve been helping foals into this world long before you were born.”
She takes a step back.
“You done?” I ask, turning back to the fence when what I really want to do is go to her, pull her tight little body into my arms and show her that I can have a softer side, too. But it’s not a good idea. Not even a little bit.
Distance is safer.
“I guess so,” she says after a minute, but her voice catches, like she’s working hard to control it. When she doesn’t leave right away, I turn again.
“Is there something else? I’ve got work to do.”
She opens her mouth, closes it again, and then just when I think she’s going to leave, she tips her chin up, puts her hands on her hips and stares me down. “I’m just trying to do my job. You don’t have to be such an ass about it, you know?”
I freeze. “What did you just say?”
“I said, you don’t have to be such an ass and act like the whole world’s against you, Wyatt. I’m just trying to help.”
“I didn’t ask for help.”
“Yeah.” She drops her arms next to her sides. “I’m starting to notice that’s not really your thing, is it?”
I should walk away right now. No one, especially not a tiny woman, has ever spoken to me this way. But instead, I take a step closer, drawn in despite the way my pulse is pounding like a warning sign in my temple.
Before I can say anything else or apologize, because she’s exactly right, there’s the sharp and sudden metallic twang.
She startles, stepping back quickly—right into the stretch of loose wire I’ve left coiled on the ground.
“Anna—”
Too late.
She stumbles hard, catching herself a little too late as her leg snags in the barbed wire and tears through the denim on her upper thigh.
“Shit!” She gasps, dropping to her bottom, clutching her leg.
Blood blooms fast and red, bright against the dark of her jeans, dripping down to the dirt.
“Damn it.” I’m at her side in two seconds, falling on my knees next to her. “Don’t move.”
“I’m fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “It’s only a scratch.” But her face has gone pale, and that sure as hell isn’t fine.
I reach for her hand that’s pressed against her thigh and pull it gently away from the cut. The sight of it, dark and ugly, and bleeding way more than it should, hits me like a punch to the gut.
“You’re not fine,” I growl. “We need to get this cleaned up.”
“I’m sure it looks a lot worse than it is.” She swallows hard, trying to steady her breathing. “I’ll just keep pressure on it until I get—”
“You’re not going anywhere until I take a look at this properly.”
She blinks, startled by my tone and my insistence and for a second. Her eyes meet mine, and when she doesn’t look away, I take it as acceptance.
I pull my flannel up and off my head, leaving me in only a thin undershirt, but I don’t feel the cold as I wrap the shirt around her thigh, using it as a bandage. Anna sucks in a breath, tensing under my hands, but she doesn’t protest.
“Easy,” I murmur, much softer now. “I know it hurts.”
“I’ve had worse,” she says faintly, but her voice wavers when she tries to smile.
“Oh, ya?”
“Vet school. First years. A cow hoof. It’s a long story.”
“Come on,” I say as I stand. “Let’s get you inside.”
I bend and scoop her up easily in my arms.
“I can walk,” she protests, but it’s weak.
“I didn’t ask.”
She’s light in my arms, and after a few steps, her head rests against my shoulder as I start toward the house. I try not to breathe in the sweet scent of her hair as we move.
She’s too sweet for this place. Too young. Too innocent.
She shouldn’t be here.
Not on this ranch.
Not around me.
But right now, with the warm weight of her pressed up against me, for the life of me, I can’t help but think that this is exactly where she belongs.
ANNA
The warmth hits me the second he carries me inside. It smells faintly of coffee, wood smoke and…Wyatt.
The fact that I can think about anything besides the sharp pain in my thigh at the moment is impressive.
“Sit,” Wyatt orders, setting me down on top of the kitchen table. “I need to look at it properly.”
My gaze flickers down to my leg. Blood has soaked through the denim, dark and sticky. But I can’t see the wound. Not without—
“Your pants need to come off,” he says what I’m already thinking. His tone leaves no room for argument. When I don’t move, he adds, “I can cut them off.”
I press my lips together and shoot him a look. “There’s no need for destroying clothing.”
He shrugs and nods toward my jeans without saying a word.
I swallow hard and shimmy to the edge of the table, leaning back a little so my fingers can find the button. “Still. You could have phrased it differently.”
A rough sound, half laugh, half grunt, comes from his chest. “Sweetheart, if I want your clothes off for any other reason, trust me, you’ll know about it.”
Heat climbs my neck, and my face blooms with heat. I have to look away as my fingers fumble the button. Somehow, I manage to get the zipper down, too and wiggle my backside on the table as I try to slide the fabric down.
“Here. Let me help.”
He doesn’t wait for a response before he reaches down and slides first one boot off, and then the other.
I lean back on my hands while he grips the cuff of my jeans and gently slides each leg down and off.
He takes extra care on my right leg where the cut is, but still, I wince as it moves over the affected area.
I should be bashful or concerned that I’m sitting on this rough cowboy’s kitchen table half naked, and maybe I would be if my eyes don’t land directly on my wound instead.
I suck in a breath when I see the jagged cut for the first time.
“It looks worse than it is.” His voice is so calm and gentle, it takes me off guard and distracts me from what’s in front of me.
My head jerks up to meet his eyes. Wyatt’s watching me with an unreadable expression. “Let me clean it up,” he says. “Then you can see.”
I nod and wait while he moves around the kitchen. He runs the water and fills a small bowl before bringing it to the table, along with a towel, a cloth and a first aid kit.
His gaze flicks to my bare thigh for a heartbeat, then jerks away. “May I…”
I nod. “Please.”
He sucks in a breath but doesn’t look up again as he gets to work. “You’re lucky,” he says gruffly. “Could’ve been worse.”
“It doesn’t feel lucky. Oh!” The first touch of the cloth makes me hiss, but it’s not just the sting. It’s him.
“Hold still.”
I nod and bite my lower lip, trying to relax while he does his work. His hands are big, work-roughened, yet impossibly gentle. Every brush of his fingers sends a pulse of awareness spiraling through me.
“You’re good at this,” I murmur.
He gives a quiet snort. “You can’t grow up on a ranch with four brothers and not have your fair share of experience patching up some scrapes.”
I’d heard about his brothers in town. There was a lot of talk about Wyatt and the Thorne boys coming back to Rock Creek after being gone for so long, but it was the first time I’d heard him mention them.
Something told me not to push it. Instead, I simply said, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He doesn’t answer, just dips the cloth in the water again, and wrings it out before once more smoothing it over my leg. “See? Now that it’s cleaned up, it’s not as bad as it looked.”
I tear my gaze away from him and look down at my thigh, expecting to see the bloody wound, but he’s right. It looks much better now that it’s cleaned up.
“What do you think? In your professional opinion, do you think it needs stitches?”
I’m taken off guard by the lightness in his voice, and the flash of humor in his eye. “No.” I shake my head. “I think I’ll live.”
He blows out a breath and chuckles under his breath. “Well, that’s a relief.”
I don’t have time to react to the sharp shift in his attitude. This new, lighter version of Wyatt. Because he picks up the bottle of antiseptic. The sharp scent fills the air moments before he applies it. I suck in a breath and try not to wince from the sting.
Wyatt’s gaze snaps up, reaching mine. For a second, the room narrows, and everything else fades away. It’s just his eyes on mine, holding me in the moment. The warmth of his strong hand on my leg. Our breath mingling in the stillness.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice rougher than before. “I should’ve picked up that wire. It never should have—”
“It’s not your fault.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But you got hurt on my land. That’s on me.”
The words land heavily, and I don’t know what to say. He presses a gauze pad over the wound. His thumb drifts, barely grazing the inside of my thigh before he pulls back like he’s touched fire.
I can hear the tick of a clock over the sink, the rasp of his breath and my own heartbeat pounding too loud in my ears.
“There,” he says at last. “That should keep it clean.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He stands, towering over me as I still recline on the table. He’s close enough that I can smell the manliness of him. Soap, sweat and leather. The kind of scent that makes my pulse trip all over again.
It takes me a moment to realize that I’m still half naked on his table. It’s hardly professional or appropriate. Especially considering the way my body is betraying me.
I push up and wiggle to the edge of the table. He offers me a hand as I jump to my feet and reach for my jeans.
I have both legs in and I’m easing the fabric over my thighs when I finally trust myself to speak again.
“Wyatt?”
He turns from the sink and looks at me. “Yeah?”
“I didn’t mean to upset you earlier,” I say quickly. “About what the people in town are saying. It’s just that—”
“People are going to talk,” he stops me. His jaw tightens, but his voice stays calm. “Can’t change that. Especially when they got reason to talk.”
“I know. But I can see what you’re doing here,” I continue. “You care about this place. It shows.”
Something darkens momentarily in his expression before his gaze slides over me, landing on the bandage peeking out of the rip in my jeans. “You should keep an eye on that,” he says before looking away. “Make sure it doesn’t get infected. If you need stitches, I can take you—”
“I’ll be fine.” I reach for my jeans. “But thank you. Thanks for…well, for everything.”
He nods, hands sliding into my pockets, knuckles white like he’s working hard to hold himself together. “I’ll walk you out.”
Outside, the sun is starting to set and the cold evening air shocks the heat out of my face, but not my skin. Wyatt’s hand stays at my elbow, steady and protective as we cross the yard as if he’s worried I’ll trip again.
At my truck, I turn to him. “You’ll call if Oatmeal goes into labor?”
I see him hesitate. He’s going to tell me it’s fine and he knows what he’s doing. And I’m sure it is. I have no doubt that he knows what he’s doing.
Still.
His eyes catch mine. He nods. “You’ll be the first to know.”
I believe him.
“Goodnight, Wyatt.”
He nods, tipping his hat. “Doc.”
My heart flutters a little. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged me as the vet. I swallow back the smile that threatens as I climb into the cab.