Page 129 of Wyatt
“It’s all right. What kinda emergency we got?”
I yank my phone off the charger. “I’m about to find out.”
“Sorry to bug you, honey,” Dad says when I answer. “But there was a fire over at the Wallace Ranch.”
“Oh my God.” My hand goes to my chest. “Is everyone okay?”
“Guess it was a small fire and they have it contained, but two of their horses were badly injured, trying to escape. Ava Bartlett is asking for you again.”
“I’ll be there ASAP.”
Wyatt is already sitting up and turning on the lamp on his side of the bed. He rubs his hands over his face, the muscles in his arms and back bulging.
First, I take care of this emergency.ThenI take care of the ever-present, always-raging desire I have for my boyfriend.
“Sounds good,” Dad replies. “I’ll meet you there. I have your supplies ready to go.”
My heart twists. Despite his faults, Dad is a good man. A thoughtful one.
“Thanks.”
“Drive careful.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.” I hang up to see Wyatt getting out of bed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m coming with you.”
He’s naked—we’re naked a lot these days—and I can’t help but smile at how pale his butt is compared to the rest of him.
He has a really, really nice butt—bulbous, well-muscled, with a pair of freckles on the lower-left cheek.
“You don’t have?—”
“But I want to. If there was a fire, they’re gonna need the extra hands. Besides, you ain’t drivin’ alone in the dark.” Wyatt nods at the windows. “And, yeah, ever heard of competence porn?”
I’m grinning as he rounds the bed and holds out a hand, which I take. He pulls me out of bed.
“I have. I think about it often when I’m with you.”
“You’re the definition of it when you’re workin’.” He reaches around to grab my ass. “You’d best save some energy for me when you’re done, ’cause I got a feeling I’m gonna be real hot and bothered by then.”
“I think I can do that.”
We’re dressed and out the door in under five minutes. Wyatt holds out a glass bottle of Coke as we’re trundling down the dirt road that connects Lucky River Ranch to Highway 21.
“I know it’s not the same as a cup of coffee, but it’ll get the job done,” he says.
Grinning, I open the glove compartment and find the brass bottle opener we’ve used since—sheesh—even before we started mixing our Coke with Jack Daniel’s.
“Thank you, handsome.”
“Welcome, Sunshine.”
I steal glances at Wyatt during the ride. He’s wearing a backward baseball hat and his sherpa-lined jean jacket, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he drinks his Coke.
I love this man. I love that he’s with me right now. I fantasize about us doing this all the time. Not the middle-of-the-night-wake-up thing, because that sucks. But the going-to-work-together thing. We can do that here.