Fifteen minutes later, I’ve finished my breakfast, but my appetite shifts the second Wilder walks back in. My heart stutters, tripping over itself as I take him in. He’s wearing the button-up flannel I slept in last night, paired with ripped, well-worn jeans that hang low on his hips and scuffed work boots that have clearly seen their share of hard days.
My jaw drops. It’s unintentional, but there’s no stopping it. That’smyshirt. Well, the one I was just wearing. Did he put it on by accident, or does he like that it smells like me? The thought sends a rush of heat straight to my core, pooling low in my belly like liquid fire.
If he’s wearing it because of me, he doesn’t say a word—not that I expected him to. I doubt he’d admit to something like that even if it were true. But I can’t help but wonder as I study him.
His green eyes are serious now, sharper than they were last night, like he’s already mentally checked into whatever task lies ahead. And then there’s his hair—dark brown and wet, slicked back from his shower, with a few stubborn strands curling at his collarbone. It’s such a simple thing, but somehow it makes him look even more sexy.
My gaze trails lower, over the way the flannel stretches across his broad chest and the way his sleeves are rolled up just enough to reveal the corded muscle in his forearms. The damn man looks like he belongs in a magazine spread for sexy, small-town farmhands, and I’m not even sorry for staring.
“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low and rough, breaking the spell and snapping my attention back to his face.
“Uh, yeah,” I reply quickly, feeling heat creep up my neck and settle in my cheeks. I realize I’m still staring, so I drop my gaze to the table, fiddling with the edge of my coffee cup like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” he asks, stepping further into the kitchen.
You. The shirt. The way you’re making my pulse race just by standing there. But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Nothing important. Just have a big weekend ahead of me with the bachelorette party.”
“Alright, you ready to head out?” he asks, his voice low and easy as he grabs a cowboy hat from the counter and places it on his head. He hadn’t been wearing one last night but now that I see itthere, I decide this cowboy version of him is the one I like best.
I hop off the chair, grab my purse from where it’s hanging, and follow him outside to his truck where he opens the door for me like a perfect gentleman. I climb into the passenger seat, and as we pull out onto the gravel road, silence settles over us—comfortable, but thick with unspoken questions.
The address I gave him to where I’m staying leads us about twenty minutes away, through winding backroads that seem to stretch endlessly with cornfields on either side. I can’t stop the questions swirling in my head, begging to be asked. What’s his story? What makes him tick? Is he as curious about me as I am about him?
His quiet confidence is so different from the men I’ve known—those who fill every pause with their accomplishments or opinions, eager to be the center of attention or impress their way into my pants. But Wilder doesn’t need to do that. He sits beside me, calm and steady, a mystery wearing a cowboy hat and carrying the weight of a man who doesn’t waste words.
Why does he have a bookshelf full of notebooks filled with his writing? What does he put in there, and what does it mean to him? I’m not used to this kind of silence, this kind of intrigue. It’s both magnetic and maddening, pulling me in while leaving me fumbling in the dark to get some answers.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, my lips itching to break the silence with a question—but something about him keeps me quiet. Maybe it’s the fear of ruining whatever this is between us. Maybe it’s the worry that he’ll retreat if I push too hard. Or maybe it’s that though he told me last night that he’d found me beautiful, ate my pussy better than any man before him ever has, this change in his demeanor today makes me start to question his attraction towards me once again.
The truck bounces gently over the uneven dirt road, and I let myself sink into the quiet, stealing glances at him while I try to untangle the mystery of the man sitting beside me.
Finally, he clears his throat, “So, is your reason for visiting for the bachelorette party?”
I nod. “Yeah, her fiancé is from Lonestar Junction. They met in Houston where she and I live. I head back there to restart school in one week.”
He nods. “What are you studying?”
“I have a bachelor's degree in biology, but I'll be going back to school next week for veterinarian school.”
He nods quietly again.
“Do you work on the ranch?” I ask.
"Yeah, my dad and I manage the operations of things. We have several employees who keep the place running but pitch in where we can. I’ll eventually take things over when he retires someday in the future.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
A brief smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he continues to stare straight ahead at the road while we drive. “Yeah, I do. There’s always something new that needs worked on, and I like that it’s my family’s business. Feels good contributing to a legacy.”
“Does the ranch have a lot of animals?”
He nods. “Horses, cattle and a few chickens. We’re mostly focused on the crops and cattle.”
“Well, it makes sense why you have a soft spot for the kittens. Must be nice being surrounded by nature all day. That’s why I’m looking forward to vet school. The animals can’t talk the way people do.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I get that. It’s nice.”
We continue to drive in silence until there’s a break in the tree line and the brick, rancher style home belonging to my sister’s fiancé comes into view. Wilder makes a low humming sound in his throat as he turns off the main road into the driveway andthen parks the truck in front of the home. He leans forward, his eyes narrowing as he assesses it carefully.
