Page 43 of Tempting Wyatt
That gets my attention. Because he’s right; Wyattwoulddo that. And as much as Ilike spending time with him, I also like the idea of proving to him that I’m not just some helpless Hollywood princess who needs her hand held every step of the way.
“Fine,” I say, already moving toward Isaac. “But if I crash it, I’m telling everyone it was your idea.”
Isaac laughs. “Fair enough.”
When we reach the mud-splattered side-by-side, I toss Isaac a doubtful look. “So, it’s mostly like driving a car, right?”
Isaac—looking every bit like a television-worthy cowboy—leans casually against the roll cage. “Well, yeah. But only if you know what you’re doin’, darlin’,” he drawls.
I roll my eyes. “Just because I’m from the city doesn’t mean I can’t drive.”
“Sure, sure,” he says, drawing out the word in a way that makes me want to wipe the smirk off his face. “But this ain’t a Prius, sweetheart. It’s got a little more kick to it.”
I bristle, planting my hands on my hips. “Hand over the keys then, cowboy. Let’s see if little ol’ me can figure it out.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Hold your horses. First, you’re gettin’ a crash course—without the crash part, if we’re lucky.”
“Fine,” I mutter, climbing into the driver’s seat.
The bucket seat feels oddly comfortable, and the steering wheel is reassuringly sturdy. I can do this.
Isaac slides into the passenger seat, his long legscrowding the space as he reaches over to point at the dashboard. His arm brushes mine, and I pretend not to notice. It was probably an accident anyway.
“All right,” he begins, all business now, “first off, controls are a little touchy, so don’t go stomping on it like you’re trying to kill a spider.”
“Got it. No stomping.”
His grin widens. “Now, this lever here’s for four-wheel drive. You probably won’t need it unless we hit some rough patches, but I’ll let you know. And this button?—”
“Let me guess,” I interrupt. “It’s the eject button for annoying mansplaining passengers?”
He chuckles again. “Not quite. That’s the differential lock. Don’t worry about it for now. Just focus on keeping us upright and out of ditches.”
“Upright and out of ditches. Check.” I grip the wheel, feeling a spark of excitement.
“Good. Now start her up by turning the key to the on position then release it when the engine catches.” He leans back, looking fully confident in my abilities.
I do as he says and the engine roars to life louder than I expect it to. Vibrations buzz through the seat, and I grin.
“All right, city girl,” Isaac says, tipping his hat back, “let’s see what you’ve got. Take her slow to start.”
I press the gas pedal gently, and the vehicle lurches forward. Not too bad. The trail ahead is wide and mostly flat, bordered by trees and fields that stretch endlessly in every direction. I can handle this. As long as I don’t hit a tree.
I glance over at Isaac. “I told you I could drive.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says with a glint of approval in his eyes. “Just wait till we hit the turns.”
As if conjured by his words, the first turn comes upquickly and I feel the machine lean as I take it a little too sharply. Isaac’s hand shoots out, gripping the roll bar.
“Easy there, Speed Racer,” he jokes. “There’s no trophy at the end.”
“Relax. I’ve got this,” I say over the roar of the engine, even though my heart is pounding.
He was right; thisisfun.
It’s different than riding with Wyatt, less intimate. Less tense. It strikes me that this is the difference between the two brothers. Wyatt’s intensity level is permanently on max, whereas Isaac is just having a good time. Part of me is jealous on Wyatt’s behalf—that he has so much on him that he can’t find time to enjoy life.
I decide in addition to aggravating my handsome uptight rancher, I’m going to make sure he has a little fun occasionally.
