Wyatt (Lucky River Ranch, #2)

by Jessica Peterson

For those of y’all with hearts like wild horses. Don’t let them rein you in. (But if a cowboy wants to tie you up and have his way with you, well…)

“I do miss you,” I blurt. “All the fucking time, Sally. I worry you’ll forget about me. I’m happy you’re living your dream—don’t get me wrong. But life…it’s suddenly all so different, you know? My parents died. And right now, with you, is the first time I feel like I might not die too.”

“You’re like sunshine, you know? Sounds cheesy, but it’s true. I always feel so much better when you’re around.”

My entire being rebels at the thought of letting this girl go. Every single one of my cells screams at me to keep her here, to make her mine. That’s when I know I’m in love with her.

But in my heart of hearts, I know that somehow, over the course of an hour, maybe less, I’ve fallen in love with my best friend. Or maybe I’ve been in love with her all along, and the realization is only hitting me now.

Really, Wyatt got this sunshine thing all wrong. He’s the one who’s the sun. The rest of us just float in his orbit, waiting our turn to bask in his warmth and attention.

I glance at the tattoo of a sunrise on my left forearm. Sally’s remarked on it in passing, but she doesn’t know I got it for her. She also doesn’t know about the other tattoo I got for her, the one on my leg. That one, more than the sunrise, is a dead giveaway of how obsessed I am with my best friend.

“I have a favor to ask.” I reach for the thermos and refill the cup, grateful for the excuse to not look at Wyatt. “Answer’s yes.” “Let me ask it first.” “Answer’s still yes.”

I got no choice when it comes to Sally Powell. If she’s unhappy, I’ll move heaven and earth to make her feel better.

But it ain’t my place to make that choice for her, is it? Choose me. Goddamn, Sunshine, I’m dying for you to choose me.

“Don’t make me say it. You know, Sunshine. You know I wanna be your guy.”

“Lucky for you”—oh God, oh God, Wyatt is slipping a hand onto my face, using his palm to angle my mouth up toward his—“I’m tight with God, and I’ll have you saying his name often. Eventually though, I’d like you to say mine instead.”

“Make one fucking sound,” he whispers. “I dare you, Sunshine. I dare you to get us caught. What do you think your daddy would do if he saw us like this? His sweet little girl being fucked hard by her real daddy and liking it.”