Swift and Saddled (Rebel Blue Ranch, #2)

by Lyla Sage

Not fucking dimples. Those should be illegal. Or at least require some sort of warning before flashing them at people. Warning: Dimples may appear and cause panty-dropping.

“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.”

“Fuck, who are you and what are you doing to me?” he groaned. My hips rolled involuntarily, needing more, and I could feel his hard dick under his jeans. When was the last time I’d turned someone on? When was the last time I’d been turned on?

Pfff

My hands had reached for her before I even knew what they were doing. Then she was in my arms and my world stopped again. Just like it did when she’d rolled her car window down today. And just like it did last night.

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 felt it then, my heartbeat. I heard it too. When our eyes locked in like this, something unlocked in me, and my whole body remembered what it was like to get lost in this woman—this stranger—and it craved that feeling.

I liked her a lot. But it was obvious that she was trying to have as little contact with me as possible, so I did my best to take the hint. Even though all I wanted was to be near her. I wanted to figure out what else made her laugh the way she did that night at the bar. I wanted to know what songs she listened to when she was having a bad day, or a good one, and what her favorite food was.

Derail my day? I’d drive my truck off a cliff if it meant that I got a few moments alone with her, but she didn’t need to know that.

You don’t have to feel trapped like that again.

Emmy elbowed Brooks in the ribs, but he was unfazed. He just pulled her back to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. She resisted for half a second before melting back into him—as though in his arms was the only place she wanted to be.

“Is this what you were thinking about? When you couldn’t take your eyes off me in the kitchen, were you thinking about touching me?” I swallowed and nodded, unsure when I decided to admit that to him—or to myself. “I see you, Ada. I always see you, even when you won’t look at me.”

Did she like me? I didn’t know. I knew she was attracted to me—you couldn’t fake the heat in her gaze—but that didn’t mean she liked me. At least not the way I liked her. Which was an all-consuming, daydreaming, slightly annoying way.

This was so fucking stupid, but I couldn’t stop. We couldn’t stop. 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.

Ada wasn’t just “on my mind,” she was in it—in every nook and cranny.

“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.”

Weston Ryder was the most beautiful man I’d ever known—inside and out.

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

“Hey, sweetheart,” I said in greeting. “Hi, cowboy.” The sound of her voice made my heart do a backflip. If I was half in love with Ada a couple of weeks ago, I was all the way in love with her now.

At this point, I was pretty sure I’d been waiting for her my whole life, so an hour was easy.

Wes felt like more.

“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.”

Wes once said to me that I was the moon, and I’d scoffed at him. But he was right. I was the moon, and the moon couldn’t glow without the sun. And my sun was in Meadowlark, Wyoming.

“I think I’d like to do that someday. With you.” I looked at her questioningly. What did she mean? She must’ve seen it on my face, because my entire world stopped for a minute when she said, “Get married, I mean.” I kissed her temple and said, “Yes, ma’am.”