Page 28 of Tempting Wyatt
“He wasn’t good with people on his best day. Definitely not with strangers. My dad was the only one he let ride him and he’s been avoidant and aggressive since he passed. Keep your distance. I mean it.”
When she nods her understanding, I glance around but neither Angel’s Breath or Champ are anywhere in sight. Meaning our foreman Antonio and Isaac are already out working. Typically, Antonio and I get out first, but my tagalong slowed me down today.
We ride out to check on the hands moving cattle across the creek. Ivy is tentative and Sunny keeps a slow pace for her. But being unsure on a horse doesn’t stop her from asking questions the entire way—about the brand, the tags, the feeding systems—and I do my best to answer them, realizing just how much of this land’s history I take for granted.
Also realizing I might need more coffee if I’m going to keep up with her endless inquisitions and get any work done.
We check the fence line, muck stalls, and fill water basins. I show her the workshop and the machine shed where most of the equipment is. By the time I check my watch, it’s already past noon.
Ivy hasn’t said a word about stopping for food, but I ask anyway, “Hungry?”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are, but we’re going to head back toward the cowboy camp and grab some lunch anyways. Don’t need you passing out on me.”
Her eyes lighten in the direct sun. “What’s a cowboy camp?”
I can admit I’m impressed with her tenacity. The sun is beating down on us pretty good and she looks like she’s having the time of her life. Hasn’t complained once, which is. . . surprising.
“Where the wranglers and ranch hands live and eat. Kind of like a small campground near the main barn. It’s not far from here. There’s a bunkhouse. And other than when you’re with me, steer clear of it.”
“Of the bunkhouse?”
I nod curtly. “Yeah. Think frat house, but worse. It’s no place for you, Hollywood.”
“Hmm,” is her only response as we head down the hill.
The mischievous gleam in her eyes tells me I just madevisiting the bunkhouse more intriguing to her and that was a mistake. I’m going to have to keep my eye on her, which is not ideal. I don’t have the luxury of time to entertain her. Though part of me wishes I did.
Seeing the ranch through her excited eyes is giving me a fresh perspective I probably need.
As we crest the ridge where the main property stretches wide beneath us, she glances toward the horizon, nodding toward the place where two rivers converge. “Why is it called Triple Creek Ranch?”
I smirk. “Ancient Logan family secret.”
She lifts a brow. “What do I have to do to earn that one?”
I let the corner of my mouth hitch. “I’ll get back to you.”
Her gaze drifts over the mountains in the opposite direction. “Does your family own all of this?”
“Most of it.”
She tilts her head and stares at me until I feel twitchy. “So, when you have kids, they’ll inherit all of this?”
The question catches me off guard.
Not if the bank takes it first.
Not if some billionaire turns it into a damn amusement park.
“I don’t plan on having kids,” I answer honestly. “But my siblings probably will. As long as we hang onto the ranch, it’ll be theirs.”
She studies me, tilting her head. “You don’t want kids?”
Kind of a loaded question, coming from a woman I barely know.
“Do I seem like a warm, fuzzy, family-man type to you?”
