Page 40 of Sweet Escape
He’s lying. There’s something in his eyes—something he’s refusing to give voice to—and my self-doubt threatens to overwhelm me as I consider whether I’m the reason for his deceit. Does he not want this anymore? Or does he not want thiswith me?
I swallow around the lump in my throat, biting back the sting that’s building behind my eyes. It feels eerily like a rejection, and I wasn’t prepared for the possibility that I’d have to face that with Wilder, not after everything he’s said and done to reassure me. Did I read too much into his words?
I don’t have time to reach the bottom of my self-pity spiral as I’m pulled into a tight hug by Evie. “Welcome to the family, sweet girl. How have you been feeling? Any symptoms?”
Wilder laughs, a deep, throaty sound that sends a jolt of longing through me. “We had to make a pit stop in a parking lot on the way here.”
“Wilder! I thought we could at least keep that between us, you traitor!”
Evie laughs. “I remember those days. I had terrible morning sickness with this one,” she says, jerking her head toward Jaxon.
“I still get morning sickness with him.” Griffin jabs Jaxon in the stomach with his elbow.
Jaxon adjusts his glasses with his middle finger, drawing my attention to his bright green eyes—Evie’s eyes. Not for the first time, I wonder who this baby will look like. Will they take after me or Wilder? I can picture a little blonde girl with eyes like her daddy’s, framed with those thick lashes I’m so envious of, or a brown haired boy with eyes like mine and a slight dimple in his chin. I just know I’m going to love them so much—I already do.
“Congratulations, Son. Olivia. I’m happy for you both.” Russell rises from the head of the table and claps his son on the shoulder, giving me a stiff smile.
Nobody says anything about my family or mentions the feud with my father, and the rest of the morning passes without incident. I follow Evie around as we clear the table, but she shoos me away when I attempt to help with the dishes.
“Guests don’t do the dishes ‘round here, Livie, and I expect you to be back here every week for family dinner—no exceptions.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Wilder shuts me up with a finger to my lips. “Don’t argue with her, Cupcake. You won’t win this one. Let’s go see Storm.”
My ears perk up when he mentions the dappled grey mare. He places his hand on the small of my back, his touch searing me even through my thin layer of clothing. I don’t know what it is about this man that has my body reacting this way, but it's been like this from the moment we met, and it’s only grown more intense over time.
In the entry, Wilder watches me intently as I slip into my well-worn sneakers, his lips tipping into a slight smirk. “Those will have to do for today, but if you’re gonna be hangin’ around the ranch, we’ll need to get you a pair of shit kickers.”
“I don’t intend to be doing any shit kicking.”
“It’s not about the intention.”
Wilder holds out his hand, and I slide my palm into his, shocked to find it feels as natural as breathing now. I stare at his back as he leads the way across the shortcut through the grass, the well-worn path created for convenience.
“Did you know this is called a desire path?” I ask. “It’s when humans make a new route that’s more efficient than the one that was made for them.”
I immediately regret my ramblings. Jake always said it embarrassed him when I would spew weird facts. I hadn’t noticed thenervous habit until he pointed it out, and I’ve been self-conscious about it ever since.
“I knew that,” Jaxon says, intercepting us near the barn. “Actually, animals do it, too.”
“Great. Two nerds.” Griffin leans over the fence to the paddock where I used to take my riding lessons. Jaxon raises a middle finger over his shoulder as he heads into the barn.
“Y’all here to see Storm?”
“Yeah. She still in her stall?” Wilder asks, tugging me along behind him. “She’s been a little out of sorts today.”
“Last I checked. The others have all been turned out.”
The scent of wood, earth, and hay floods my senses as we walk into the surprisingly well-lit space. There are stalls lining both sides of the barn, all of them empty save for the one at the very end where Storm is pacing back and forth, despite the door to the paddock being left wide open for her to come and go as she pleases.
“Hey, Pretty Girl,” Wilder says, approaching the agitated horse. Her ears perk up, and she immediately stops her pacing, her head coming over the side of the stall. She whinnies and nuzzles into his shoulder.
Same, Stormy. Same.
“You wouldn’t happen to know if she’s been cozying up to Maverick, would you?” Wilder rubs a hand along her forehead, and she accepts the affection with ease. My stomach does a little flip when he praises her for being a good girl.
“You’d have to ask Pops about that. You think she’s pregnant?”
“It’d make a whole lotta sense, don’t you think?”
