Page 9 of Wylder Ranch
The woman I’ve thought about every day for the last ten months stands right in front of me.
Am I imagining things?
CHAPTER 3
Alexander
“Haven?”
It’s her. It’s definitely her. Haven Wylder. The woman I met almost a year ago during a week away in Aspen. The one who’s ruined me for any woman since.
I want to rush and hug her, pull her into my arms, breathe in that rich pine scent of hers, and tell her how incredible it is to see her. That I can’t believe she’s here.
But my pride stops me.
I’ve been trying to contact her for ten months to no avail. She hasn’t returned a single call. And that ranch that came up for sale, and I haven’t heard back from?Hers.
She’s looking up at me with wide emerald eyes, her teeth worrying her lower lip. She blinks twice, as shocked as I feel, except this can’t be an accident. There’s no way.
“Hey, Alex.”
Turning to Miles for any form of clarification that I’m not dreaming, I’m tempted to ask him to slap me, only he’d take me too seriously. I now realize that this—Haven—is the reason he dragged me out and attempted to break the sound barrier on the way over here.
“What’s going on?”
Miles shakes his head. “I have no idea. Lando and I spotted her in here right before he left for the plane.”
My focus shifts to my sister, who is leaning against the bar. “Clem?”
“I don’t know, Al. But I think you should talk to her.”
Haven spins around and narrows her eyes on Clementine. “You’re Alex’s sister?”
Clementine gives one deep nod, her mouth pulling into a somewhat bashful smile that makes me wonder what they’ve been talking about. Especially when she lifts her hand for a sheepish wave. “Hello.”
Finally, my eyes find Haven’s again. It dawns on me that this could be about Wylder Ranch—her ranch—but flying five thousand miles to tell me I can’t have it seems a little extreme, especially since she wouldn’t even return my call to arrange another date.
Nope. It’s something else.
While I figure out my answer, I take my firstgoodlook at the girl I’ve only seen in my dreams since I drove away from the house in Aspen last December.
She’s not quite how I remember her.
It’s her, it’s still the same Haven, but instead of the rosy cheeks, she looks pale. Instead of the sparkle of amusement in her bright green eyes, mauve bruises the delicate skin underneath. She’s rounder but pinched all at the same time.
She looks exhausted. She looks sick.
And—my eyes drop as a gurgling noise emanates from the lump on her chest—she’sholding a baby.
Haven has had ababy.
The initial excitement of seeing her is replaced with abject embarrassment. Humiliation. I’ve been pining over a girl I spent a week with, and she quickly moved on and had a fucking baby.
She’s a mother, and I’m some idiot who held on to the idea of a connection that never existed.
She’s come to tell me to stop calling her. That’s why she’s here.
“What is going on?” I repeat, my tone firmer this time and filled with annoyance that she felt the need to tell me in person.
