Chapter 3
Everleigh
I can’t believe I called Wyatt sexy to his face.
A few weeks ago, before The Rusty Nail incident that involved me waking up in Wyatt’s shirt, I could’ve gotten away saying the same thing without it having to mean anything.
But the second those words slipped past my lips this morning, I felt a charge between us.
As though lightning struck in my kitchen.
I glance at him behind the wheel of his truck, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes without him noticing.
I’m curious if they’re as dark as they were when that stupid comment left my mouth.
Because this would be a really great time to discover that my overactive imagination was simply out of control. Maybe his eyes are always dark.
Ugh. Why did I make that stupid flirty comment to begin with? Oh right, because there was that quick moment of what felt an awful lot like jealousy when he thought I had company that may or may not have turned me on.
You imagined that, Ev.
Birdie lets out a soft hum as she sticks her head through the open police cage window that separates the front seat from the back, effectively blocking my view of Wyatt.
Good Birdie. It’s probably for the best until I figure out how to shake these weird feelings about the man.
It wasn’t jealousy he was experiencing. It was concern for my safety, considering I was yelling.
That has to be it, even if my tingling lady bits don’t seem to be on the same page.
Good. Glad that’s settled. Because I refuse to have a crush on the good sheriff. It would ruin everything.
“Where’s Thor?” I ask, reaching my hand beneath Birdie’s chin. I press her soft cheek against mine as I scrub my fingers gently into her fur, grateful for the distraction. I know very little about alpacas. Are all of them as snuggly as Birdie, or is she the exception?
“Probably passed out on my bed, stealing my pillow,” Wyatt answers.
“Rough morning?” His Great Dane is usually eager to go on patrol first thing in the morning. I’m fairly certain Thor thinks of himself as Wyatt’s right-hand man. The mayor even gave him an honorary badge to wear around his neck.
“He ate an entire stack of pancakes whole, in under three seconds.”
“That’s impressive.”
“So was the mess I had to clean up after those pancakes came right back up.”
“Poor Thor.”
“Poor Thor?” Wyatt scoffs. “What about poor Wyatt down on his hands and knees scrubbing up doggie puke?”
“Did you step in it?” I fire back as Birdie slips from my hand and returns her attention to an exterior window. God she’s so stinking cute. Like a dog happy to simply have her face in the breeze.
“Of course not.”
“Until you step in it barefoot in the middle of the night, I have no sympathy for you.” Stormy hasn’t left me a surprise in almost a week, but after allowing a strange creature into my house, she might decide she’s overdue.
I make a mental note to keep a pair of slippers close to my…
couch. Because sleeping in my bed would require actually clearing it off and finding clean sheets.
“Fair enough.”
I watch Birdie with her head out the window as we leave the city limits, nervous about how tightly her unicorn hat is secured. She seems oddly attached to it, and I don’t know how she’d react if the wind ripped it from her head.
“Why are we taking Birdie to Stone Ranch?” I ask, my gaze snagging on the handsome sheriff. I gulp a swallow at the dusting of stubble on his cheeks, wondering if my text prevented him from shaving this morning. I yearn to run my fingers along his cheeks to see if it’s scratchy or soft.
Stop it, Everleigh!
“Paps knows more about Birdie’s situation,” Wyatt says.
“Situation?”
“She used to live at your house.”
“Well, that would explain why she showed up. And the alfalfa pellets. But where did she come from? She wasn’t there last night.”
“That’s what I want to find out. Something doesn’t sit right with me.”
A tiny thrill races through me at the protectiveness in his tone. Fuck, that’s new. Wyatt’s always been protective by nature. It’s in his job description. Something I’ve certainly always admired about him. But this is the first time that particular trait makes my nipples tingle.
No, no, no.
“Hey, how do you feel about filling in for softball Thursday?” he asks, switching hands on the steering wheel.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“How you feel about assembling furniture?”
He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t have to for me to catch the knowing, easy grin that forms. “What do you need, Ev?”
“I bought a new bookshelf.”
“I can do that.”
“And a desk. They’re being delivered tomorrow.”
“Anything else?”
“Not that I remember.” It’s possible I bought more since said bookshelf and desk were purchased in the middle of the night. I wasn’t even aware I’d bought any new furniture until I received the shipping confirmation email this morning. I really need to disable purchases on my phone after midnight.
“One bookshelf and desk assembly in exchange for playing short stop on Thursday.”
“Deal.”
For a moment, things between us feel normal again.
We feel like us. I breathe out a tiny sigh of relief as Wyatt turns onto a gravel road that’ll lead us to Stone Ranch.
Maybe I imagined the electrical current earlier.
I probably just caught the poor man off guard with my flirtatiousness considering I was basically in my underwear.
Yeah, really didn’t think that one through.
Note to self: dial back flirtatiousness and remember to wear more clothes around the poor man.
Moments later, the familiar arch of Stone Ranch appears at the top of the hill, and Wyatt slows for turn.
I relax, knowing Birdie will be in good hands.
Dr. Paul Stone, or Paps as most of the town has called him years before he retired as the local veterinarian, has a no rejection policy when it comes to accepting animals onto his ranch.
Said policy has resulted in a mismatched collection of farm animals, all better off for having the old man with the biggest heart in Montana welcome them in.
I really hope they’re successful in converting this ranch into an official nonprofit animal sanctuary.
If Birdie’s current circumstances are as concerning as Wyatt seems to think, maybe the alpaca could live here permanently.
She’d make a great addition to a future petting zoo with how snuggly she is.
Oh! Is alpaca yoga a thing? I’m about to Google it when Wyatt stops the truck outside the big red barn in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint.
I look up to see Paps pushing himself out of his golf cart seat. The old man makes a beeline for Birdie, whose head still hangs out the window.
“Hey there girl,” Paps greets, rubbing a hand along her cheek. “Glad you’re safe.”
Wyatt cuts the ignition and I hop out of my seat.
“I’m relieved you found her,” Paps says as I meet the men on the other side of the truck. “I hate to think what could’ve happened to her if she was still on the loose.”
“Is she known for escaping?” Wyatt asks as I scan the expansive ranch for signs of my best friend.
Macy’s not by the horse stable, the main house, or the goat pen.
I wonder if she and Ryder are chasing a certain mischievous goat.
It’s also possible—and perhaps more likely—that their current shenanigans are R rated.
My gaze drags down Wyatt’s body, my own R-rated thoughts invading uninvited.
Getting a fucking grip, Ev. Not happening.
“Walter never mentioned it,” Paps says, his tone sounding grim enough to draw my attention back to the reason we’re at Stone Ranch.
He lifts the ball cap from his head, scrubbing a hand through it.
“This whole situation is a damn shame. Walter never had a chance once his grandson got involved. That ungrateful lout didn’t bother to ask the man what he wanted with any of this. ”
I want to ask where Walter Smalley is these days, but I catch the possibly insensitive question before it escapes my lips. I’ll ask Wyatt when we’re alone.
“We found Birdie in Everleigh’s garage,” Wyatt explains as he opens the truck door and grabs for the leash before Birdie hops out. “No idea how she got there.”
“So, you’re in Walter’s old place then,” Paps says to me.
“I bought his house, yes,” I say, feeling guilty for reasons I can’t rationalize. When the house came up for sale, I didn’t think twice about putting in an offer. But that’s my way, impulsive and a bit reckless. The house was cute, I wanted it, so I bought it. “Should I not have?”
“Better you than some outside house flipper,” Paps grumbles. Birdie tilts her head at the man, and he softens right up at the sight of her. “I hope you at least got a fair price for it.”
“A great price, actually.” It’s one of the reasons I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to buy a house despite my inability to stay in any one place long.
But I figured I could always rent it out if I ended up back on the road again.
The trust from Mom and Dad will someday run out, and having passive income from a rental property seemed like a sensible, adult decision.
The men continue talking as I search the ranch again for my bestie again, spotting Gumby, a three-legged Australian Shepherd who rarely leaves her side, emerging from a grove of trees.
Moments later, Macy and Ryder appear behind the eager pup, holding hands.
When they get closer, I notice that her cheeks are flushed, her messy bun is extra messy, and her smile is so bright it’s almost blinding.
God my heart is so full for her. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s my best friend.
I’m glad the night at The Rusty Nail was not for nothing. It was apparently a stepping stone in the two of them realizing they were meant to be together. I don’t like to claim full credit for their relationship, but I certainly deserve a sliver of it.
My gaze snags on Wyatt, and my pulse trips.