Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Wyatt Rivers is the perfect no-strings hookup—a cowboy Casanova who rocks a Stetson, looks smokin’ hot in his Wranglers, and never rests his head on the same pillow twice.
He’s exactly what I’m looking for. If only Wyatt wasn’t also my best friend…
I’m back in my hometown of Harstville, Texas, for a few months while I wait for my dream job to start thousands of miles away. While I’m here, I hope to end an epic dry spell in the bedroom, preferably with a local cowboy. If the rumors are true, they really do ride harder and stay on longer.
Wyatt and I have been best friends since second grade, and I’ve been in love with him for almost as long. But he’s as wild and untamed as a colt that can’t be broken—not to mention, totally out of my league with his good looks and heartbreaker reputation.
Then I get to thinking: since Wyatt is such an expert, why doesn’t he teach me the ropes of how to find a hookup? He begrudgingly agrees, and a little fake flirting suddenly leads to fake dating, which leads to real kissing, which leads to real…well, everything else.
And let me just say, the rumors are absolutely true.
Now, I want so badly to be Wyatt’s last rodeo. But I’m leaving town, and even if I wasn’t, I’m not sure Wyatt would ever change his playboy ways.
I know cowboys can’t be tamed. Apparently, neither can hearts…
WYATT is an interconnected standalone novel in the Lucky River Ranch series.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
WYATT
Cowboys Cry Too
TWELVE YEARS AGO
Growing up in cattle country, you learn early that gambling is a way of life.
You bet the rain will come and the rattlers won’t bite.
You play the odds and hope you chose the right breed, the right time, the right pasture.
You go all in on the belief that there is honor and goodness in tending to the land and the animals that live off it. The knowledge that it’s all a crapshoot, that the sky can fall at any minute, lives inside your blood. And yet you’re still somehow unprepared for the moment tragedy strikes.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” The preacher’s hand lands heavily on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss, son.”
Looking up from my feet, I swallow the ache in my throat and paste on a smile. I might be eighteen, but I still need my parents. I have no idea what we’re gonna do without them.
“Thank you, Reverend Ford. That means a lot to us.”
How many hundreds of times have we parroted that line this week as friends and neighbors came to check on us here on our family’s ranch?
How many hundreds more will we have to say it tomorrow, the day of our parents’ funeral?
My older brother, Cash, catches my gaze from across the room. Sitting on the lopsided sofa alongside our three younger brothers, he looks as uncomfortable and lost as I feel. I keep waiting for Mom to use whatever sweet treat she just whipped up as bait to lure me to help her in the kitchen, where Shania Twain is playing on Mom’s little portable speaker. But her call never comes.
“I’ve told the city council for years that we need better lighting downtown,” Reverend Ford continues. “You boys need anything, you holler, all right?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for stopping by.”
“Least I can do.” He glances at the sofa and shakes his head, letting out a heavy sigh. “Five of y’all. My goodness.”
“We’ll be all right.”
Aunt Lollie, Mom’s sister, emerges from the kitchen as Reverend Ford makes his way to the front door. She frowns when she sees me. “Wyatt, honey, you need to eat. A neighbor just brought over some fried chicken that looks good.”
My stomach lurches. My mouth fills with a familiar, sour-tasting rush of saliva.
Mom and Dad died on impact after being hit by a car five days ago. They were crossing Main Street on foot when they were run over by an elderly man with an expired license who wasn’t wearing his glasses. My parents were on a rare date night, the two of them able to get out of the house because Aunt Lollie was visiting from California and she’d offered to watch my brothers and me.
Ever since we got the news, just the thought of eating makes me want to puke. But I still manage to keep the smile on my face. My brothers are watching me, and I know if I fall apart, they will too.
My head throbs with the effort of keeping everything—the anger and agony—inside. I do my best to ignore the pain, hardly able to breathe around the lump in my throat.
“I’m okay. Thanks, Aunt Lollie.”
“Honey, you need your strength. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
“She’s right,” Cash adds. “Please eat, Wyatt.”
“There’s some of that sheet cake left that I made,” Lollie says.
Cash nods. “And the enchiladas Mrs. Wallace brought over.”
“Those are so good,” Duke says, his voice cracking.
He and Ryder are twins. They’re my youngest brothers—only fourteen years old.
Way too fucking young to lose their parents.
We’re all too young.
My eyes burn, blurring with tears. I blink them away. “That your evil plan, to get me fatter than a pig on Sunday?”
That gets a chuckle from Ryder. The heaviness in my chest lifts before falling back onto my breastbone like a ton of bricks.
“I’m gonna go check on the front pasture. Irrigation was acting funny earlier.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “I won’t be gone for more than a few minutes.”
Lollie looks at me for a long beat. “Don’t go far.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t get into trouble,” Cash calls as I make a beeline for the front door.
“I will!”
Now Ryder and Duke are laughing. Sawyer, who’s two and a half years younger than me, laughs too.
Good. They deserve a little happiness after all the terrible shit that’s gone down this week.
Stepping outside into the warm October evening, I make sure the door is closed behind me before I collapse into a crouch and gasp at the air like a man dying of thirst. Tears leak out of my eyes.
I can’t fucking breathe inside the house.
All week, I’ve been slowly suffocating as I politely greet neighbors bringing food and condolences.
All week, I’ve tried to lift my brothers’ spirits by keeping them busy and making them laugh.
All week, I’ve pretended like Mom and Dad aren’t really gone. I didn’t lose my mentor, the man who’d taught me everything I know; Dad’s just at the feed store in town, and he’ll be back any minute. Mom’s heart wasn’t pushed out of her chest cavity when she was hit by a car going thirty-plus miles per hour; she’s out watering her garden. The pumpkins are huge this year.