Page 6 of Wrangling Wade

"Excellent choice," I growl.

Chapter Three

Wade

Idon't go backto the ranch, though I probably should. Instead, I linger in the parking lot, waiting for Harlow's shift to end. It's warm enough that I dry after a while, though my socks are still damp and uncomfortable as hell.

A little before two in the morning, she finally steps outside, looking like she's completely done with cowboys and all our bullshit.

My dick still twitches in my jeans, pressing up against the fly. Goddamn, she's beautiful. Wild red hair frames her heart-shaped face, tendrils plastered to her porcelain skin. Her uniform—a green t-shirt withSilver Spoon Spuremblazonedacross the front and jeans—skims her body, hinting at the curves beneath.

Even from across the parking lot, I sense the frustration and leeriness in her emerald eyes when she spots me leaning against the tailgate of my truck. Her steps falter before her shoulders go back, her chin lifting stubbornly in the air.

She's brave; I'll give her that. She stomps toward me like she's ready to set me on fire, her wide hips swaying hypnotically. A little bolt of pride goes through me when she tightens her grip on her keys, placing one between her fingers like she's prepared to shiv me with it if necessary.

"I thought I told you to leave hours ago, Jessup."

"Wade."

"What?" Her brows furrow, confusion flickering across her expression.

"My name is Wade," I murmur, staying right where I am so I don't end up with her key between my ribs. "Wade Jessup."

"Oh. Well, why are you standing in the parking lot?"

My gaze flicks to her keys. "You going to shiv me with that key if I tell you that I was waiting for you to get off work?"

"Maybe."

"Good girl." I grin at her. "You know how to take care of yourself."

"It happens when you do it long enough," she says, her gaze still full of distrust even though she's standing in the shadows. "What do you want?"

Just how long has she been taking care of herself? I'd love to know the answer to that question, but I'm guessing she isn't going to tell me, at least not right now.

"Morgan Hendrix sent me," I say instead of asking.

"Morg…" she trails off with a groan. "Of course she did. Is that why you told Danny that we're dating?"

"Something like that," I say, not entirely sure that is why I said it. I mean, that was the plan when I got here. And then I saw her. I can't explain what the fuck happened between point A and point B, but now, I'm not so sure I have a plan. This is all just…instinct and intuition, or whatever it's called when meeting someone feels like a goddamn electric shock right to your heart.

Punching Danny in the face probably didn't do me any favors here, but it's not like I regret punching him in the face, either. He has a very punchable face. Sue me.

"Well, thank you for your service," she says. "I could have done without the fight and the hour and a half it took to clean up after you."

"I offered to take care of that," I point out.

If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under. "And yet, I'm the one with the backache from mopping up," she says, her tone dry. "Imagine that." She tosses her head. "Next time Morgan wants to send a cowboy to help me out, can you ask her to send me one who doesn't destroy everything in his path?"

"Hey, now," I protest. "You were the one with the water."

"I could have called the sheriff instead."

Well, hell. She's got me there.

"Does Danny bother you often?"

"Sometimes." She shrugs like it's not a big deal, but the way her eye twitches tells a different story. He stresses her out. "Usually, he just watches me."