Page 53 of Chasing the Wild
I knew there was something happening here on the ranch today, but it would seem that Colt has neglected to inform me it would involve a bevy of sharp-eyed men poured into tight jeans. At first, I watch them with curiosity, like a flock of playful wolf cubs, some roll out of their trucks, teasing each other and joking around. A few shove at each other's shoulders in that roughhousing way guys always seem to want to do with their buddies.
They haven’t noticed me yet. Stretching and exhaling long plumes of white into the crisp wintery air as they shakethemselves out after however long it has taken to drive here. I’m guessing they’re locals, judging by their familiarity with the ranch, they’ve got an air about them that says they’ve been here a hundred times before.
My eyes catch on one man who seems much older than the others. He’s come on his own and wears a tan colored hat slung low, shadowing his face while leaning against the grill of his truck. Observing the group, he stands quietly with folded arms.
What I do see is an expanse of ink. A large, tattooed rose and script climbing up his neck from beneath the fleece-lined collar of his jacket. His body language is so different from the others. Stern and composed, reminding me of Colt in many ways.
Before I can thoroughly analyze how this particular cowboy seems to be so at odds with the others who have just arrived, one of them spots me, and the atmosphere switches immediately. It’s still playful between the younger guys, only now the snowy air has become charged. They each eye me sharply, enjoying the prospect of what they all presumably see as easy prey to chase. I’m not surprised, considering each of these pups looks like they could feature on a billboard advertising toothpaste or men’s underwear.
They’re cocky and gorgeous, and don’t they all know it.
Except, just like the man I danced with briefly last night—oh, god, I still can’t wrap my head around the events of last night—they do nothing for me, and all I want to do is laugh into my coffee at their boyish eagerness.
There’s only one cowboy who turns me into a panting mess and he’s currently missing in action.
My thighs clench as a memory of his tongue against mine drifts in, followed quickly by a pool of heat low in my stomach when I feel the ghost of his teeth tugging against my bottom lip.
A long, drawn-out sip from my mug hides my blushes.
“Heard rumor the view up here had dramatically improved this winter.” One of the guys leans casually on the railing at the bottom of the steps. Tipping the edge of his cowboy hat in my direction, I almost snort at the cliché move, but he seems sincere about offering those country boy manners in my direction.
“I bet a hog in a dress would look good if you’ve only had this crowd to look at all winter.” I gesture around the group of them with a smile. While I don’t want to come across as flirty with these guys, I also want to hold my own up here. Even in school, I always found it easier to be ‘one of the guys’ rather than make friends with other girls. But this is no playground. Behind those wide grins and fitted wranglers are cowboys with much hungrier appetites indeed.
They’re all frisky-eyed and cocksure of themselves, gathering by the railing at the bottom of the steps.
Of course, they’re being utterly charming, even if they’re each weighing their chances.
Only the solemn, tattooed, brooding one hangs back. My eyes flick over him quickly a second time, appraising the way he leans against his truck. Arms still folded. Heavy black combat-style work boots crossed at the ankle. As I sip my coffee, I see him bring a thumb up to rub his jaw, hints of a chunky silver ring and leather cuff peek out from beneath the sleeve of his jacket as he does so.
“You working here for the winter season, or what?” My attention is drawn back to the guys closest to the porch. I see the wheels spinning behind all of their eyes, as they race each other to some sort of imaginary start line. They’re jockeying for position and attempting to establish if I’m fair game for them to pursue.
“Yup.” I pop the p and stare them all down with my bestdon’t mess with meexpression. “I’m here on a vet placement for a couple of months.”
“Hope the old bastard isn’t riding you too hard.” One of them quips, giving me a wink, while his mate standing beside him thumps his shoulder.
“How original.” I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows.
The first guy laughs and gives me an apologetic look. “Ignore him, he wouldn’t know how to have a conversation that doesn’t involve his fist being wrapped around his dick.”
“All I’m saying is that if the lady decides she’d rather not get locked up in this place surrounded by ten feet of snow… I have a spare seat in my truck ready and waiting to whisk you outta here. Your chariot awaits.” With cowboy hat grasped in one hand, he puts on a fake bow, then flicks his friend in the nuts. Everything promptly erupts into shoves and some kind of play-scuffle in the middle of the yard.
“Thanks, but I’m good.” I call out before taking another sip of my coffee. “I’m Layla, by the way.”
“Pleasure to meet you, lovely Layla. Are you joining us with the cattle this morning?” Country-boy-manners sports a dimple to go with his pearly white smile.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I’ve got plenty of jobs I need to get done up here.” That part is the truth, I don’t know what else might be on my agenda today other than following the usual routine. Colt hasn’t mentioned anything to me.
“Well, even if we don’t have the pleasure of a lady joining us on the round up today, hopefully we’ll see you at the bonfire later tonight?” The one leaning on the rail sounds a little too keen and my gut twists into a tangle. There’s absolutely no reason for me to be worried about him taking an interest, but I don’t want to give Colt the wrong idea, either.
Especially after we established last night that he is clearly not pleased with the thought of any man coming near me. His son, or otherwise.
My mouth opens, but I don’t get a chance to answer, because the door crashes open. There’s a hurricane of messy dark hair, and a set of glaring hazel eyes taking in every single one of the cowboys gathered in the yard. The snarl on his upper lip already fixed in place as if they are all dead meat.
I swear a smile plays on the lips of the tattooed one, barely visible beneath the dipped brim of his hat.
“Told you pricks to get the horses and meet me down there.” Colt barks as he aggressively stomps into his work boots. “Does no one fucking listen around this place? I’m not paying you to stand around talking.”
More than one of the guys gives a knowing look my way, but they’re obviously well-versed in avoiding the wrath of Colton Wilder.
