"I'm going to get?—"
He cuts me off when his mouth lands on mine. His arms tug me closer, so no space exists between us, and he kisses me until I lose my breath.
He pulls away, grinning. "Okay. I'll stay."
I softly laugh, then push his chest, warning, "Don't think this means things are back to the way they were."
"No, ma'am," he says, his expression turning serious.
Giddiness fills me. "Okay. I'm going to get your things."
His brows lift. "What guesthouse do you want me in? Butterfly or Stallion?"
I shrug. "Which one do you want?"
"Butterfly's closer to the main house," he muses.
I can't help but smile. "Don't get me into more trouble, Wyatt."
"I'm just saying," he taunts with a wink.
I laugh, shaking my head. "Don't go anywhere."
"I'm not, sugar."
I return to the house and attempt to head to the stairs, but I can't get past the living room.
My father demands, "What do you think you're doing?"
I apprehensively step into the room.
The air is thick with Cartwright rage. My father's eyes lock on mine, hard as iron.
I rarely defy my father. But I lift my chin and announce, "To get Wyatt's bag. He's staying in the Butterfly House."
His face reddens. "The hell he is."
"Don't make a mountain out of a mole hill," I argue.
"He's got a lot of nerve staying on my land," Dad states.
Mom snaps, "Jacob! This is our home. Our ranch. Wyatt is family. You aren't kicking him off the property!"
Mason chimes in with, "He's got a funny way of treating a family member."
"Shut up, Mason!" I bellow.
"Kind of incestuous if you ask me," he adds.
"You're disgusting and super immature," Phoebe interjects.
"Agreed," Georgia adds under her breath, glaring daggers at him.
"Keep out of this," Mom warns my brother.
Dad scowls at her. "That boy lied to us for years, going behind our backs."
"So did our daughter. He didn't do it alone," she reminds him.
