Page 50 of Wilder

I bit my lip, a sharp pang of longing hitting me straight in the ribs.

I missed the ranch horribly. The familiar chaos of everyone gathered in the dining room at the bunkhouse. The warmth, the laughter, the way the air always smelled like something Hazel had been slow-cooking for hours.

I missed the easy rhythm of the days, the exhaustion that came from a hard day’s labor, the feeling of belonging that I hadn’t even realized I’d taken for granted until I was away from it.

And more than anything, I missed him.

Before I could stop myself, my fingers moved across the keyboard.

No dessert? Hazel’s losing her touch.

A second later, his reply popped up.

Lol.

Simple. Short. But for some reason, it was enough to make me smile.

Don’t worry, I’ll keep that secret between us.

A few seconds later, his reply appeared.

You said it. Not me. Don’t rope me into your badmouthing.

I huffed out a laugh.

Hey, hey. There’s no badmouthing going on here. Just a simple critique.

I’m showing her your message. Kitchen duty for you when you get back.

I sent him a bunch of skull emojis in return.

Leave it to Wilder to weaponize my own words against me. Usually, it was Ryder’s job to hassle me, but apparently, my own boss was taking up that mantle for the night instead.

Not that I minded.

The banter was easy, natural. It filled the space between us, miles be damned. He always had a way of grounding me, even when he didn’t mean to. Even while we were separated by half a state.

My phone lit up again but this time it wasn’t a text. Wilder’s name flashed across my screen, an incoming phone call nearly making me drop my phone from shock.

Why the hell was he calling?

Hesitantly, I swiped my thumb over the screen, bringing the phone to my ear. “Yes?”

“You all right?” he asked. His voice was low, smooth, that familiar southern drawl slipping through the speaker like warm honey. It never failed to do things to me. Especially, right now.

In the background, I caught the faint hum of conversation, overlapping voices blending together with the unmistakable strumming of Laken’s guitar. The sounds were lively, warm. A stark contrast to the quiet of my own house.

But then, slowly, the noise began to fade. The clinking of glasses, the laughter, the music—all of it dimming like he was moving away from the group, stepping into another room away from everyone else.

“Yes?” I echoed, more confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You sent those death emojis.”

Without meaning to, I burst out laughing. “That was not a cry for help. That was me accepting my fate.”

He grunted on the other end.

In my mind, I could almost see his brows furrowing, lips pressing together in that unreadable expression he always wore when he was thinking too hard. The one that made him look a little too serious sometimes, like he was puzzling over something important even if it was a dumb text message full of emojis.