Page 4 of Tempting Wyatt
Imposter syndrome, my colleagues call it, and it’s very real.
Blinking quickly, I swipe at the moisture on my face before closing my eyes briefly. I take a deep breath and try to get control of my emotions. I choke them down with the pain of betrayal I’ve been swallowing since I was a kid.
I hate that I let Malcolm get to me. I hate that he didn’t love me enough to be faithful—that I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering how long this was going on and if I was a fool the entire time.
Behind me, I hear Heidi’s voice fawning over him.
She says something that sounds like, “It’s okay, baby. She’s leaving,” and a painful memory from my childhood threatens to surface at the worst possible time. I shove it underneath the jumble of hurt in my chest before it escapes.
I grab my keys from where I dropped them on the floor earlier. When I leave for the very last time, I shut the door gently behind me so it doesn’t slam.
If there’s one thing I should be an expert at by now, it’s escaping places I’m not wanted quietly.
CHAPTER TWO
wyatt
Paradise Valley, Montana
“WE’RE TALKING ABOUT TWELVE MILLION dollars, Mr. Logan. Trust me when I say, we’re quite serious.”
The suit nods to the contract sitting on our family’s kitchen table after his response to my mumbled, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Why my mother agreed to this meeting is beyond me. As if my youngest brother, Caleb, hasn’t caused our family enough issues that I get to deal with daily, now there’sthis guywasting my time.
When I only stare at him impassively, he licks his thin lips and continues, “Think of what this money could do for your future children. And their future children.”
Little does this dipshit know, I’m not planning to have any children. And even if I were, I’d much rather see what my family’s land could do for them than a bunch of cash.
I already know all too well what money does to people.
“We’re not interested, Mr. . . whatever you said yourname was. But thanks for dropping by. Watch the gate on your way out. It sticks.”
Don’t let the door hit you where the good Lord split you.
He frowns while inching his wire-framed glasses up his nose. “Surely, you realize how generous this is, all things considered. Mr. Black will be extremely disappointed that you aren’t willing to consider his offer.”
I hold the screen door to the porch open for him. “Send my condolences to Mr. Black.”
The suit moves to stand closer to me, as close as he dares anyway. I’m six feet four inches of solid, farm-made muscles in denim and flannel that probably already have blood on them, and he’s a wormy little thing in an expensive suit his mommy likely still takes to the dry cleaner for him.
“We know about your financial standing with the bank, Mr. Logan,” he says on his way out. “If you’d prefer, we can just wait until they foreclose, and then he’ll buy your ranch at auction. We both know it will go for much less in that case. My employer is trying to do the right thing here. Maybe you should think about what’s best for your family.”
His parting words ring in my ears.
What’s best for your family.
Six months ago, my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the bull pasture. They declared his time of death to be approximately five fifty-four in the morning.
My life stopped at around the same time.
Maybe not stopped so much as shifted direction.
One minute, I had a decent-paying job as my father’s ranch manager. The next, I’m entirely responsible for my family’s eighteen-thousand-acre ranch that employs nearly twenty people. Meaning not only does my family suffer if this place goes under, but so do the families of all its workers.
It’s a heavy weight I don’t take lightly.
What’s best for my family—and the families of those who work this ranch— isallI think about.
