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…)

Having a good time feels so effortless when I’m with her. I don’t have to put on a show or pretend to be something I’m not.

“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.” Her swallow is audible. “I’ll be your sunshine anytime, Wyatt.”

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.

He’d be the perfect hookup, if only he wasn’t my best friend. I don’t have time for a boyfriend; last week, I was offered my dream job in Ithaca, New York, so I’m not sticking around in Hartsville.

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.

And Ava was there to fill us in on Pepper’s bloodline, making us all laugh when she shared Mrs. Wallace named the horse Pepper because she liked to read spicy books.

Man rides harder and faster than anyone I know. I’d bet good money he does the same in bed.

“Look at that smile!” Duke yells as I hurtle past him. “Boy, that ain’t gonna last when you miss!” “I ain’t missing!”

This girl. Her kindness. Her thoughtfulness. That pretty smile. And the whiskey I know she put in that cider. It’ll be Jack Daniel’s. My favorite. Our favorite. Aw, Sunshine, how could I not fall head over boots for you?

I really don’t want to leave. Being with Wyatt always feels like coming home.

“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.”

Speaking of goodness—I was a good student. I am a good veterinarian. I’ll be a good employee. I’ve always been a good friend and a good daughter. But what do I have to show for being so damn good for so damn long? A job I’m not sure I want and a raging case of whatever the female version of blue balls is.

Wyatt pretends to be happy-go-lucky all the time. And while I do think he genuinely likes to have fun and make people laugh, I know Wyatt swims in deeper waters than he lets on. He’s been through some shit. I saw firsthand how losing his parents at eighteen affected him. Deep down, he’s still the hurt kid who sobbed in my arms not far from this very spot.

“I’mma show you how fun is done. How it should be done.” He reaches over to put the cap back on the thermos and flashes me a handsome smile. “Hell, you’d better hope I don’t ruin you for everybody else, Sal, because I’m real good at this shit.” That’s exactly what I’m worried about.

But now that I have the money, it’s just thrown my loneliness into stark relief. What’s the point of having that kind of cash if you don’t have anyone to share it with?

Sawyer peers at me. “Isn’t your nickname for her ‘Sunshine’?” I scoff. “Ha. Hadn’t thought of that.” “Move toward the light, brother. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

I live in my scrubs and sneakers, so getting dolled up like this is a treat.

Makes sense she’d have a serious jacket for those serious New York winters. Why anyone would want to live in that frozen wasteland, I don’t know. I get why Sally doesn’t want to go back there.

“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.”

Smaller than my other tattoos, it’s a simple black outline of a vintage Coca-Cola bottle with the words No. 7 written underneath it in old-timey Western font. It’s a reference to the Jack Daniel’s Old No. 7 whiskey we’d put in our Coke bottles as teenagers.

“Wyatt, did you get a slutty little thigh tattoo to commemorate⁠—” “The day you showed up for me when I needed you most?” I swallow, my throat thick. “Yeah, Sally, I did get a slutty little thigh tattoo to commemorate that.”

“Hands behind your back, cowboy.”

“All I do know is that I’m so happy you’re here. I want you to stay. I want to be around you all the time. I want you to be my guy. Not just the guy I have a good time with. But the guy I call, and confide in, and come home to. You’re my favorite human, Wy.”

Even if I don’t get the job, I’m still proud of myself for taking such a big swing. I’m learning that it’s the people who have the balls to ask for what they want who ultimately get it.