3
THREE YEARS AGO
“P ut the cigarette down.”
The order raises my hackles. Curls my toes. I shouldn’t like a man telling me what to do, but it’s different with Wyatt Montgomery.
Muted conversation drifts from the farewell campfire dinner taking place on the ranch.
Inhaling a deep drag, I lean back against the tree. “Didn’t you know? Good for your body and soul.”
His handsome face clouds. “Cowgirl killers, and you know it.”
I give a lazy shrug. “Sure, they’re bad for you. So are cowboys, but they taste good.”
In amusement, I watch his lips flatline. Riling Wyatt Montgomery never gets old.
Then he plucks the smoke from my mouth. Tosses it on the ground, advances to press me up against the tree.
“You’re a neanderthal,” I sneer at him.
He links his index finger around mine. Fire lights inside me. “C’mon.”
I remain stubborn, relishing the power I have over him. But the funny thing is, he has power over me. I hate the way my body bends to him more than it should. Letting him know that would be too satisfying for him. Just another thing for this cocky cowboy to boast about.
The woods rustle around us, as if sensing our secret.
Finally, he lets me go and drifts. To that old trailer.
Straightening, I glance around the whispering forest. Then I follow, slowly, as if to make him wait.
As if I don’t want it as much as he does.