Page 42 of Tempting Wyatt
Well, besides a certain rugged rancher who confounds me hourly.
The oddly organized chaos.
Dust kicks up in thick clouds around the holding pen, the air filled with the low, steady grumble of cattle and the sharp whistle of men directing them into the chute. A lanky young guy in a ball cap and dusty jeans moves like he’s done this a thousand times. Willow stands beside him, administering shots, checking ear tags, and dodging the occasional impatient hoof, all without missing a beat.
I lean against the fence, watching with a mix of fascination and horror.
Because cattle? They’rebig. And they donotlook thrilled about this whole situation.
Antonio casually mentioned that this used to be a big community event—that everyone came out to watch the cattle get vaccinated, tagged, and branded. A local band would play, and there’d be food. But since the Logan family patriarch had passed, tension ran high and money ran low for such things.Plus, he’d added that with so many of the neighboring ranches going under or selling out, it hadn’t felt like a good time to celebrate.
I’d been surprised the man had spoken so openly to me, but I’d enjoyed talking with him. He looked like the dad I’d always dreamed would show up someday and whisk me away from my lonely childhood.
“You should see the look on your face,” a deep voice drawls beside me.
I turn to find myself face-to-face with Isaac.
He and Wyatt have similar rugged features and equally broad frames. But where Wyatt is quiet, dark, brooding intensity, Isaac is fair-haired, bright-eyed, and pure trouble. He’s grinning like he has a secret, arms folded over his chest, like he’s waiting for me to say something he can tease me about later.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
He lifts a brow. “You look like you’re questioning every life decision that led you to standing next to a bunch of cattle getting poked and prodded.”
Okay, that’s an accurate assessment.
I shift my stance, toeing at the dirt with the tip of my boot. “I wouldn’t sayeverylife decision. Justsome recent ones.”
Isaac chuckles, leaning a little closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, city girl. You’ll get used to it.”
“Doubt it. I don’t have that much time left here.”
A strange pang of sadness strikes me in the chest.
Then, with a glance toward the barn, Isaac makes an offer that surprises me. “How about that driving lesson? So you don’t have to be at the mercy of Wyatt’s schedule? For the time you do have left here at least.”
He jerks his head toward the go-cart-looking vehicle with a roll cage.
My gaze flicks back toward the holding pen. Wyatt is on his phone beside the barn and hasn’t looked at me once, but I’m undeniably aware of his presence.
Maybe it’s ridiculous, or maybe it’s just been so long since I could joke around with someone without them either throwing a tantrum or scolding me for beingchildish, but I get a contact high from riling Wyatt Logan up a little.
It’s so wrong. He works hard, and I’m sure thelastthing he wants at the end of a long day is me teasing him for fun. But giving this man a hard time—pushing his buttons until he looks like he can’t decide if he’d rather kiss me or kill me—makes me feel more alive than I have in years.
Iseehim. I see the way he forces himself to stay in work mode, keeping his head down, fighting whatever demons won’t let him rest. I don’t want to stress him out more than he already is. I don’t really want to piss him off.
But testing his patience until he either snaps or laughs? Pushing him to show some of the emotion he keeps locked up tight around everyone else?
Yeah, that turns mewayon.
I’m sick. I need help. My therapist would probably have a field day with my daddy issues—orwhateverthis is.
And I don’t even care.
I don’t want the cure to my addiction to getting a reaction from this man. I just want to feed it. Nonstop.
I’m contemplating how irritated he’ll be if I go drive the side-by-side with Isaac without telling him first. I hesitate, glancing back toward the cattle once more. Wyatt’s closer to the barn now, arm braced on the fence, still on his phone, while watching Willow and the other vet work with that steady, assessing gaze of his.
“Youcouldwait for Wyatt to teach you,” Isaac adds, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “but he’d probably lecture you for twenty minutes first about not wrecking it. And make you drive super slow on only flat terrain. With a helmet.”
