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With a soft growl, Wyatt plucks the cigarette from her mouth and grinds it out on the bark of a tree.
Fallon glares daggers at him, but Wyatt’s hand reaches out to find hers. She tries to stubbornly pull away, refusing his touch at first, but then she gives up the fight. I watch as their index fingers loop around each other’s like curled-up bits of vine. Wyatt tugs her close, saying something, but she refuses to budge. Then Wyatt drops her hand and heads toward his Airstream.
Breath held, I step back, pressing myself up against a tree.
Fallon glances around. The light from the forest dances over the silvery scar on her delicate jaw. Her narrowed hazel gaze takes in her surroundings, and after a second of hesitation, she follows Wyatt.
I smile.
When I exit the woods, another truck has joined the circle. An older man, clad in a cowboy hat, and sporting a long white mustache, stands talking to Charlie.
As I approach, the man glances my way, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “This must be her.”
“It is,” Charlie says, sliding his arm over my shoulder. “This is my girl, Ruby.”
My girl.My lips pull high because I see he’s proud, anxious, even. It’s in his eyes and in the space between us. Love.
Charlie continues with introductions. “Ruby, this is Stede. Fallon’s father and the toughest old bastard in Resurrection.”
Stede barks a laugh and shakes my hand with gusto. His long mustache reminds me of some wise western cowboy. “Nice to meet the heart of Charlie’s ranch.”
“Hi, Stede. Nice to meet you.” I flush at the compliment, flash Charlie a playful smile. “That’s a tremendous honor, though. Not sure, I’ve earned it since I’m not a local.”
Stede’s brows shoot up.
Charlie growls at me. “I get the point, Sunflower.” His expression turns serious as he looks back at Stede. “She’s as much as a local as you and me.”
Stede chuckles. “I take your word on that, son.”
“Y’all can make small talk at the ridge,” Ford barks, hustling back to us. In his hands, he carries a long lighter and a portable speaker.
Davis appears with a cooler. On top of it rests an axe and paper lanterns. “Let’s get,” he says, thundering to his old Chevy. “We got Family tonight.”
I turn my cheek to look up at Charlie. “What’s Family?”
Ford throws his arms around me and Charlie and sticks his grinning face between us. “Family is where we all get together and bitch about Charlie.”
I giggle at the brotherly banter, smiling as Ford messes up Charlie’s hair. Cackling, Ford ducks away before Charlie can snag his shirt and take a swing of his own.
Charlie scowls after his brother, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s the one day of the month we can’t get out of. Even if hanging out with Wyatt’s like pulling teeth.”
Ford glances at the campfire. “Where is he, anyway?”
The tips of my ears go pink, thinking of the scene I saw in the woods.
“I think he went to the house for more beer,” I lie, wanting to buy them time.
Commotion ensues as everyone packs and preps.
“We don’t need to stick around here for the party?” I ask Charlie.
“No,” he says. “Everything’s handled. We got our time in. Now we let our guests enjoy and we go have our own party. It’s Runaway Ranch tradition.”
“I can’t wait to see this,” I say, bouncing into him. His eyes darken and he kisses my lips.
Ford grins. “Hell, yeah. When that summer sun starts sinkin’, it’s time to take it to the ridge.”
“Whooo-whee,” Wyatt hoots, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. “Looks like we got some rowdy friends ready to raise a ruckus tonight.”
