Page 2 of Wild Lies

I’m looking around, lost in the fantasy of how I’m going to spend my time, when a shadow wide enough to swallow me falls over me. My stomach drops before I turn, coming face-to-face with a real-life cowboy. His face is pulled into a scowl as he stands before me. Although he’s handsome, with his light brown hair hidden beneath his cowboy hat and his blue eyes, it’s the way they’re narrowed and hard, staring at me like he doesn’t want me here, that has me taking a step back. He’s intimidating, that’s for sure.

God, is this how they greet all their paying guests?

My smile feels pasted on, the kind you’d use when you’re dealing with a shitty customer but you can’t afford to lose your job by giving it to them straight. I rock back on my heels, suddenly wishing I wore something else on my feet besides my sneakers. Anything to add a few inches to my five-foot-three frame.

I’m determined to sound calm, like his presence has no effect on me, but I hear the slight wobble in my voice when I say, “Hi there, I’m here for the Reeves and Lawson wedding.”

I’ve barely got the words out before he snaps, “No, you’re not.”

I blink up at him, my head rearing back in shock, both at his tone and denial. Somewhere in the distance, a horse snorts, like it’s also unimpressed by my presence. Maybe this guy took some lessons from my mom before I arrived.

Blinking, I break away from his intense stare long enough to gather my thoughts before replying, “Yes, I am. Rachel’s my sister. She’s the bride.”

Grumpy—because that sure seems like a fitting name for him—stands taller, if that’s even possible. “No. You’re. Not. There ain’t no wedding here.”

Have I got my dates mixed up?

My attention bounces around the ranch before landing on another cowboy, one who has similar features to Grumpy, but his hair is longer and his jaw stubbled with a full mustache covering his top lip. His gaze hooks mine, steady and assessing. The chaos in my chest quiets for a heartbeat, like even my nervous uncertainty is pausing to listen. But then he looks away, and the noise rushes back even louder than before. Wow.

I pull in a subtle breath before returning my attention to Grumpy, like the other guy—the quieter and more reserved one—didn’t just shake my whole foundation. What the hell was that? It felt like time paused, and the world stopped spinning for a second.

Grumpy folds his arms across the broad expanse of his chest, waiting for me to speak or leave, his impatience burning into me.

I open my mouth before snapping it shut and searching for the right words. Swallowing down the lump of frustration in my throat at feeling like a burden, I say, “I know the wedding’s here. The invite said June twenty-second. Hartlands’ Ranch.”

The cowboy scoffs, the sound a mix of disgust and annoyance. “Then you’re in the wrong place. This is Heartlands, spelt like the organ.” He stabs his finger into his chest. “Like the great state of Montana; H-e-a-r-t-lands. Not H-a-r-t-lands.”

Oh. Heat floods my cheeks, burning hotter than the sun. Perfect. Way to make a fool of yourself, Chloe.

I twist my mouth, a wry smile pulling at my lips. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I got that mixed up. Do you know—” I cut myself off, the look on his face telling me he just wants me gone. Backing away, I hold my hands up. “Sorry, umm, and thank you, I guess.”

Climbing into the rental car, I buckle myself in and drive off, avoiding looking at him or the other cowboy whose silent observation is calling to me. Hopefully, I don’t see either of them again.

2

KADE

The Wildflower is rowdy—same as every Thursday. Tables are dotted around the room, the hardwood worn and guaranteed to be sticky as laughter, music and the clang of pool balls breathe life into the place. Lately, that noise has barely touched me. Tonight, Wyatt, one of my older brothers, and I are out with a few of our ranch hands, ready to let loose after another long day.

This is a typical Thursday night for Wyatt and me. We’re the only siblings that you can count on like clockwork to be out on a Thursday night. We’ll huddle around the pool table, playing each other, with the loser buying the drinks. Right now, I’m sitting on the edge of my stool, watching as Wyatt lines up his shot. He’s flexing for the brunette buckle bunny who hasn’t been able to take her eyes off him since she walked in. I love Wy, but I hate how women always orbit him like he’s got his own gravitational pull.

As if you’d do anything with them, Kade.

I’ve been in a self-imposed exile ever since Grayson and Avery rekindled. Not because I want Avery for myself—that’s far from it. She’s like a sister to me and always has been. Sure, I’ve always been a romantic at heart, you can’t have parents like ours and not be one. Unless you’re Wyatt. But this is something different, a yearning or a craving for something I haven’t been able to quite put my finger on. Until today.

Somewhere along the line, I realized that I’d never find my person if all I was doing was having meaningless hookups, and so I gave up on them, figuring I’d find her another way. Then today I locked eyes with a woman as she argued with my brother, and I felt something. A connection or a spark of something that wasn’t just about sex. It was like my soul met a kindred spirit, and as I stood there watching her drive away, a pain I’ve never felt before seized my chest.

Grabbing the chalk, I dust it over the end of my stick and huff, “Hurry up, Wy. We haven’t got all night.” My frustration is clear to my own ears. I’m annoyed that I let her get away, that I didn’t step in before Wyatt scared her off, and now I’ve lost her. Possibly forever, because there’s no way in hell that I’m going to the Harts ranch and demanding they tell me where she’s staying. I’m not a stalker.

Wyatt pulls back his cue and pots three balls before straightening and turning to face me with a cocky grin on his face. “I can beat your ass quicker if you like, or we can call it a win for me, and you can get to buying the next round.”

I roll my eyes, standing and shoving his shoulder with mine as I pass to line up my shot. He can be such an ass sometimes. Yes, I’m distracted, and normally I’d be the one beating him because he’s too caught up in whoever he’s going to end up going home with, but he doesn’t need to gloat about it.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, reading over the message from Dax Beckett, the rodeo promoter for Wild Ride Rodeo.

Dax

Are you going to be riding next Saturday? Royce wants to know.