Swift and Saddled (Rebel Blue Ranch, #2)

by Lyla Sage

“Sorry about him.” His voice was close to me now. My fluffy companion wagged his tail as his owner’s footsteps approached. “He’s got a thing for beautiful women.”

Some days I wasn’t very proud to be me, but I was always proud to be my dad’s son.

It was that word “nice” that frustrated me. It wasn’t a bad word, but to me it didn’t feel like a good one. I’d always been called a “nice” guy. It didn’t matter the context—with friends, with women, with strangers—I was always “nice.” Again, not bad, not good—just there.

But depression wasn’t a logical disease. It was an unexpected cold front in the middle of July. It was impossible to predict, which meant that I spent much of my time worrying about when the other shoe was going to drop. Not if, but when I would sink into another dark hole and have to decide to claw my way out of it. Even when I was happy, I was thinking about when I wouldn’t be.

“I see you, Ada. I always see you, even when you won’t look at me.”

I thought back to that night at the bar, how he made me smile, and how he’d made me smile every day since—even when I wasn’t kind to him. He was like the sun. No matter what, he would keep coming up.

“You are earnest and talented, tenacious and funny.” I couldn’t have looked away from him if I’d tried. His green eyes gripped me and wouldn’t let go. “I would never insult you by calling you something as generic as nice.”

At his core, Weston Ryder was gentle, and I thought that was the best thing that a man could be.

“Dad,” she said, “this is Ada. She’s the interior designer who’s helping Wes.” “Ah.” He nodded. “The one Wes is smitten with.” Yeah, there was no question that this man was Teddy’s father. I felt my eyes widen. I didn’t know how to react to that. “I swear to God,” Teddy said with a groan, “I’m never telling you anything ever again.” Hank’s eyes twinkled. They were the same color as Teddy’s—a silvery blue. He reached one of his weathered hands out to me. I noticed the tattoos on his knuckles but couldn’t read them. “Nice to meet you, Ada. I’m Hank.” “Now he’s got manners,” Teddy muttered. She looked at me and mouthed “Sorry.” I shook Hank’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” I said with a shy smile. “Teddy’s told me a lot about you.” “Clearly,” I said with a chuckle. “But I’m not sure ‘smitten’ is the right word,” I added, trying to downplay what I was feeling. “I am.” That was Wes’s voice. When I turned around, he was walking toward me, Waylon in tow, from the back door. I hadn’t heard him arrive. When he got close enough, he put a hand on my lower back and kissed my temple. I was so focused on his touch and the electric current it sent through me that I barely had time to worry about the fact that Wes was touching me, kissing me, in front of everyone.

“I can see you’re confused.” He stepped closer to me. “So let me break this down for you: I fucking adore you, Ada. You are, without a doubt, the most brilliant and purposeful woman that I’ve ever met, and I would be the stupidest man alive if I let something as stupid and surmountable as distance take you away from me.” “You don’t even know me,” I said. Wes took a deep breath. “I know that your feet and hands are always cold no matter the weather. I know that you prefer to wake up early on the weekends because you would rather take a nap in the afternoon than sleep in. I know you love sour candy and hate repeating yourself. I know you’re always on time, and I know you’re lying about hating country music.” He paused for a minute before saying, “I know you.” “No, you don’t. Those are all little things. Tiny things.” “The little things are the big things, Ada. They’re the things all the big things are made of. I might not know you all the way, but I want to, and I’m just asking you to give me a chance to do that.”

“You say you’re not nice, or warm, or bright, or any of these other stupid fucking words that people use to describe the sun, but I never asked you to be the sun.” I rolled my eyes, trying to move them in a way that would stop the tears from falling. “I would rather have the moon anyway.” I scoffed at him then. Acting like he was being ridiculous was my only defense mechanism. “I’m the moon?” I asked sarcastically. “You’re the moon,” he said. “And I’m the tides. You pull me in without even trying, and I come to you willingly. I always will.”

I laughed. From the first time our eyes met at the bar, I felt like Wes could see me in a way that no one else could, and that question proved it. He knew I was scared, and he loved me anyway. He saw me for exactly who I was, and he loved me because of it, not in spite of it. And as far as lifetimes went, basking in the warmth of the sun seemed like a pretty damn good way to spend one.