Page 108 of Wylder Ranch
Miles barely finishes his sentence when the drinks arrive, though he’s now staring out of the window where the polo is about to start.
When they’re all filled, Clemmie lifts her glass. “Cheers, everyone. Happy almost New Year.”
Alex leans in close enough to press his lips to mine, setting off a succession of little butterflies deep in my belly that I’ll never tire of. “Happy almost New Year, Hayve.”
“Happy almost New Year, babe.”
“Holiday says their plane gets in this evening, but they’ll go straight to the house,” Clemmie says, shutting off her phone and placing it on the table.
Saylor lets out a gasp. “Holiday Simpson’s comingto Aspen?”
I nod. “We’re all spending New Year’s Eve together.”
Her face freezes for a second before she rolls her lips, with a “cool, cool, cool.” I can see how hard she’s trying to keep a straight face. “No biggie. Absolutely no big deal whatsoever. I’m celebrating tomorrow night with a straight-up celebrity.” Except the side-eye she shoots me is because she wants me to know how hard it is for her to contain her excitement.
And I do know. Because she probably spent the last week readingUS WeeklyandPeoplearticles on what Hollywood stars were doing for the holidays, and now she’s going to be with one of them.
I swear, if she ended up in any of those magazines, her head would explode.
But Clemmie, being the girl’s girl she is, leans forward, her voice dropped. “Honestly, I lost my shit with excitement when she moved to England. I basically forced myself on her to be my friend. But she’s seriously the sweetest person. You’ll see.”
Our heads turn at the small commotion caused by several people running to the windows for the beginning of the polo. Eight ponies race across the snow as their riders try to take control of a colored ball to knock between two posts. It’sintense, and though I’ve not seen Miles play, I can totally imagine him on the back of a horse, laser-focused on winning.
He doesn’t strike me as the type who likes losing.
“Holy shit. Look.” He points out of the window, and all five of us follow. But beyond the game, I’m not sure what we’re supposed to be looking at.
“Um, Milo—” It’s all Alex needs to say.
“Number thirteen! The one who nearly ended my life an hour ago.” He’s tapping hard on the window, his eyes tracking her across the field. “She can ride. I’ll give her that much. Even if she is psychotic.”
“Maybe she received one of your Christmas cards,” Clemmie deadpans, turning back to Saylor and me and throwing another withering look at Miles, which he ignores. “So, Saylor, tell me what you do in Aspen.”
“I teach first grade.” She grins, especially when Clemmie’s eyes widen. “So as you can imagine, I take my vacation time very seriously. Six-year-olds are not for the fainthearted.”
“I hear you. My nephew, Max, is five, and that’s enough for me. I couldn’t handle an entire class of them. Bravo.”
“Hey, at least you know your strengths and weaknesses.” She laughs. “What do you do?”
She puts her glass down and sits back in her chair. “I graduated from university this year, and I haven’t decided what to do yet. I think Lando’s expecting me to work for the family, but I have no idea in what capacity.” She sighs, and I feel it deep in my bones. Because that sigh sounds exactly like mine did when I was totally lost. It’s a sigh I had up until I arrived in England. “But for the moment, I’m happy enjoying my time and not worrying about exams.”
Saylor throws a smirk my way. “And you’ve had Haven to keep you company.”
“Exactly. And I wouldn’t have been able to spend so much time with Everly if I’d had a boring job.”
“We missed you, though,” I add, leaning over to Saylor and patting her knee, and it’s as if my eye catches something that my brain is a little slower to compute.
It seems I’ve been so happy and distracted living my bucolic English life that I totally forgot about Mike. Saylor hasn’t mentioned him since I first arrived in England, and it never occurred to me that he’d be here where I am. At the polo club.
But if I’m not mistaken, the guy walking past our section is him.
“Say. . .Saylor,” I hiss, but she’s deep in conversation with Clemmie, so I resort to a swift kick to her ankle.
“Ouch, what the fuck?”
I shrink down, so the guy who looksreallylike Mike doesn’t see me. “What’s he doing here?”
She couldn’t be more obvious when she turns around. Saylor is the queen of looks that kill, and Mike just got served. And when I catch his double take the moment he notices me sitting across from her, so do I.
