Swift and Saddled (Rebel Blue Ranch, #2)

by Lyla Sage

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

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.

That’s what I meant when I said that my brain didn’t feel like my own sometimes. It felt like it belonged to my mental illness instead.

had a chance to think about what Wes told me and about how willing he was to make sure I didn’t feel alone in my weird vulnerable state by telling me about his depression. Honestly, I never would’ve guessed that was something he dealt with. Wes looked so happy. But I guess depression wasn’t really about what you looked like or how you appeared but more about what you felt like.

made a mental note to google “cowboy calendars” later, and tried to convince myself that Rebel Blue Ranch had awakened in me a thing for cowboys in general, not just one specific cowboy.

Wes was Wyoming’s Dudley Do-Right.

felt a pang in my chest, and for the first time in a long time, I wondered what it might be like to be not just liked but loved.

Weston let out a laugh that felt like when you go out to bask in the sun after being in an air-conditioned space for too long. I could feel the warmth seeping into my fingers and toes.

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.

Weston started humming along to the music, and I kept driving, trying not to get distracted by the suns—the one in the sky and the one sitting next to me—bathing everything I could see in light.

Emmy liked to have background sound—music, TV, whatever—while she was doing things. She said it helped her focus.

Literally same!

“Rhodes.” “What?” I whispered, not moving my hands from his body. “My middle name is Rhodes,” he said. Weston Rhodes Ryder. That’s a good name, I thought. It was the last thing I remember thinking before he kissed me.

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

For the past year, I’d been so focused on being strong. That’s what everyone told me I needed to be. “Be strong and you’ll get through this,” they said. It wasn’t until I came to Rebel Blue and spent time with other women that I realized that softness was a strength too—one

It was weird. I’d spent my entire life feeling like I didn’t belong—not because I didn’t fit in or because I was lonely, but because I felt like I just belonged elsewhere. But I hadn’t known where. I think I might have been homesick for Rebel Blue before I knew it existed.

“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’ve always had a thing for adrenaline—for the things that make me feel indestructible. I felt like I didn’t have anything to lose. Because of that, I used to be fearless. Until I met Ada Hart. Now I had something that I was terrified to lose.

“I’m not going to say what I want to say because I know you’re not here yet, but I want you to know that I’m here. And that I’m waiting.”

I would never have to wonder what it was like to be loved, because Weston Ryder would love me all the way.

“Are you going after her?” Emmy called. “No,” I said. “I’m going to wait for her.” When I opened the door to the garage, I saw that my old truck was gone. The one with the stick shift. That’s my girl.