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Wyatt planned on asking Brand to do the same for him one day if (When? If?) he and Jackson ever got married. It was too far ahead to think of, though, as anything but an intangible maybe. Right now, Wyatt was content to live his life with Jackson in the here and now, not in maybes.
Dog came over and put her chin right in Jackson’s lap, looking up with those soulful blue eyes that always reminded Wyatt of a husky, even though she was definitely a mutt. “Did you not get enough table scraps, girl?” Jackson asked. He reached behind him and snagged a crust of bread off his plate. Held it out. She didn’t move until he clucked his tongue, then she snapped it up.
“I still can’t believe how well-trained she is,” Wyatt said.
“I didn’t do much of it. She came to me knowing a lot of basic commands. All I can think is some asshole who got tired of the responsibility dumped her on the side of the road, and she happened to find me that night. Just wish she would tell me her name.”
Wyatt ruffled her fuzzy ears. “Maybe she’s waiting for you to tell her what her name is.”
“You think?”
“Sure. I mean, unless you teach her how to bark her ABCs, I don’t think she’s going to be able to tell you herself. Is there a name that’s special to you?”
Jackson tilted his head to the side, his expression thoughtful for several long moments. “Not really, no. I’ve honestly never thought about it. She’s just been this cute, furry blessing in my life. What about you? Any special names?”
“My mom’s name, but you don’t want to name your dog after her.”
“Why not? I think Ginny’s a good name.”
Dog’s ears perked up.
“I’m not sure Brand would want to hear us calling out Ginny at random on the ranch, that’s all,” Wyatt said. “Even though she refused to tell me the name of my birth father on her deathbed, I still loved Mom to bits. She was a fantastic mother for the first sixteen years of my life, and I’ll always miss her.”
Jackson squeezed his thigh. “It’s okay to love someone and still be a little mad at them. God knows we’ve gone through our share of that these last few months, and we’re still here, together and happy.”
“True.” He covered Jackson’s hand with his. “So Ginny?”
“Ginny. Might take her a bit to get used to being called by it, though.”
“It’s okay. We’ve got time to work with her.” Wyatt scratched her ear again. “Right, Ginny?”
She woofed. Wyatt grinned.
Jackson chuckled as he leaned down until his face was close to her muzzle. “Hey there, Ginny. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Ginny licked his cheek.
Wyatt wrapped one arm around Jackson’s waist and bent over to receive his own kiss from Ginny. “Hey, lady.” Ginny blinked, and in those soulful eyes, Wyatt swore he saw his mom smiling back at him.
“Come on!” Susie’s high-pitched voice broke the moment. She bounced over and petted Ginny’s back as she announced, “Grandma says it’s time for cake!”
“Just as long as no one sings,” Wyatt said.
“But it’s your birthday, we gotta sing. Please?”
How was he supposed to resist his adorable little cousin? “Okay, fine. I’ll endure it for the sake of cake.”
“Yay!” She ran over to her parents, cheering the entire time.
Rose called for the family to gather around Wyatt’s table as she presented the white frosted cake with two big wax candles representing 21. Wyatt stood with Jackson, and leaned into him while his new family sang, his face flaming with embarrassment at being the center of attention. But beyond the embarrassment was joy. So much joy his heart wanted to burst.
When he first came to Weston four months ago, he’d never dreamed of having this one day. A happy, loving (even if not always completely accepting) family that had tucked him and Jackson right under their wings. It hadn’t been easy and he’d made a lot of mistakes. He’d probably make a lot more mistakes going forward, and he was okay with that. It was all part of growing up and of falling in love.
And as Wyatt blew out his birthday candles that evening, with Jackson and his father by his side, Wyatt wished for this happiness they’d all found to last.
Always.
Welcome to Clean Slate Ranch: home of tight jeans, cowboy boots, and rough trails. For some men, it’s a fantasy come true.
Keep reading for an excerpt fromWild Trailby A.M. Arthur.
