Chapter One Wade

CHAPTER ONE

Wade

October

" B efore my mind is ready, my body is. Chase grabs me by the back of my head, fisting my hair as his mouth devours mine."

"Christ almighty, do you do anything else?" I grunt as I fumble to turn down the volume on the stereo that isn't mine in the truck I don't own.

"I want him on his knees. I want him to drown in my—"

"You need help there, Chief?" Ivy giggles beside me as I finally grasp the right knob to turn down her audiobook so we can avoid listening to the narrator climax us all the way back to the ranch.

"I've got it," I bite out. I push two silky hair ties down on the shifter so I can pop Ivy's Silverado into reverse.

Not surprised I have to fight off these damn things to be able to do something as simple as drive. In the few short weeks Ivy has worked on my ranch, I'm pretty sure she's left one in every crevice of the silos office imaginable. It was day one, when she left one on my desk, then came looking for it later, that I learned hair elastics have a specific name when they're all soft and fluffy like this— scrunchie —and Ivy hoards them. All different shades, all different patterns, as if she may suddenly need thirty-two extra at a moment's notice. She has a tower of them on her desk, every color of the rainbow and then some. Bright and happy-looking twenty-four-seven—just like her.

In fact, everything about this woman is feminine and sunshiny, including this truck of hers I've been roped into driving tonight. There's a pi?a colada air freshener hanging from the rearview and a mishmash of lip balms and hand creams in the cup holders. It's a goddamn beauty parlor on wheels.

Her crimson-painted lips curl into a devilish grin with my open disdain of her book choice.

"Drive a girl's truck and you have to live with the consequences." Ivy laughs. "You know I like my books." Her wide, almond-shaped eyes dance with mischief as she pulls my blazer tight over her red evening dress. I lost it to her when she said she was cold and Cole's sleazy cop buddy was about to offer his to her. I'm driving her home. It only makes sense she wears mine.

"Just another way for me to shake your nerves, boss … don't you know I do it on purpose?" She giggles as I shake my head at her.

I don't doubt she does. She's been throwing me off and testing my ‘always in control, always have a plan' mantra since the first day I met her. But she was clearly the best choice as our temporary lead horse trainer. I'll admit she impressed me during her interview, and her mentor with the AQTA wouldn't shut up about her when I called him for a reference.

After working with her day in and day out over the last few weeks, I can see what he was raving about. Ivy is brilliant, with a knack for calming the horses and connecting with them like no one I've ever seen; she never loses her patience with any of them, from our feistiest colts to our slow-as-molasses old steeds.

But fuck, she gets under my skin. It's not her fault, it's mine, because I'm having a hard time ignoring that not only is she gorgeous, but the more I get to know her, the more I realize she's totally oblivious to her looks and her sassy, alluring charm. Which means she thinks nothing of it when every ranch hand I have bends over backward to get up early and deliver her coffee in the morning, or when they offer to take on some of her morning chores for her. These pricks have never shown up early for work a day in their lives, and all of a sudden, they're in the barn before the roosters rise and happy as fuck about it?

Ivy is thrilled they're all ‘so nice', as she's told me on many occasions, which leads me to believe for how experienced she presents herself to be, she is a bit naive about the opposite sex.

This has me both keeping an eye out for her constantly and sobering myself up from getting caught staring at her too. I'm holding it together, but it's only been a few weeks and I'm pretty sure the balance of it has aged me ten years already.

I salute my younger brother Cole goodbye out my window as I pull out of our town pub's parking lot. He's standing in the doorway of the Horse and Barrel watching me go, grinning like a fool at me driving Ivy's truck off the lot.

I'm only her chauffeur because my sister CeCe and her girl crew adopted Ivy as one of their own tonight. Inviting her to celebrate CeCe's new engagement ‘Not Angels'–style. Which basically means, drink way too much, and dance all night long on the Horse and Barrel dance floor. So here I am, leaving anyone behind us with a bumper sticker that says " cowgirls just wanna have fun. "

I look over at her smug grin, and I gather she thinks her book smut has embarrassed me.

"I'm sorry I made you blush at my romance novel," she hums as she pulls her hair down, not sounding sorry in the slightest. I watch in my periphery as it tumbles in waves around her shoulders.

"It takes more than a little smut to make me blush," I retort.

Ivy makes a wounded face at my words.

"It's a steamy romance book, not smut , and it was just getting to the good part when I got to the bar. I was looking forward to it for on the way home. I didn't expect you'd be driving me." She snickers, still not a hint of embarrassment in her tone.

It's not lost on me that not only does she read it any chance she gets, she also just drives around town listening to full-out porn on any given day and owns it. I'm all about a woman being confident in her own skin and enjoying sex and everything it has to offer, but because I'm my own worst enemy, I scoff at the term she used— romance— loud enough for her to swat at me.

She laughs, the cocky laugh of too many "Nash and CeCe are engaged so let's party" shots. "Well, we can't all be grumpy prudes, so excuse me for enjoying a good love story."

I'm just going to keep my mouth shut here. I'm the furthest thing from a prude she'll ever meet. In fact, I'm a firm believer that there should be no limits when it comes to sex. To hold back would be a waste in the one area of life you can let go—an escape.

So … grumpy? Sure. Prude? Not a fucking chance.

"Oh no you don't, don't even think you're staying quiet. Inquiring minds want to know, what's making you huff out all those judgy noises at me? Have you got something to say about my choice in literature?" Ivy challenges, then adds, "Cat got your tongue?"

I scrub my face with my free hand. I'm still not completely used to this smug little firecracker and the way she manages to get under my skin.

"Come on now, spill it," she says, cocking one eyebrow at me. I turn to her for a split second while I drive.

"The plot of this book has fucking nothing to do with love or romance," I deadpan, pointing to the dash.

"Yes, it does," Ivy argues defensively, feigning shock before she adds, "I mean, they both seem to love her in their own way."

They? Jesus fucking Christ.

"Alright, I'll bite. Let's start with this. What's it called ?" I ask as we pass the Laurel Creek town sign and start cruising through the dark countryside.

"What's it called?" She repeats my question, taking her plush bottom lip between her teeth.

"That's right. This steamy romance you're hell-bent on defending, what's the title?" I look over at her, counting the seconds she sits in silence. "What's the matter?" I ask. "Smutty book name got your tongue?"

Ivy grimaces. "No … it's just, that's not a fair question because the title doesn't sound romantic."

Now I'm invested.

She looks down to check her nails, in the dark no less, as if they need her attention desperately.

"What's the name, Trouble?" I repeat.

Ivy sighs and stares out the window. " Filthy Lords of Sin ," she whispers, barely audible.

I nod. "My mistake. Sounds mighty romantic . "

Ivy huffs out a breath but doesn't say one more word on the subject and keeps her eyes out the window.

I rest my fucking case.

I let her off the hook and get the radio working. Colter Wall croons to us as we drive. I settle into it. But the silence only lasts all of three minutes because this woman must talk cheerful chatter at all times.

"What a beautiful party for the sweetest couple. I know I've only been here a little while but I really like your family. They're all so nice."

"Yeah, they're all just swell," I say, sounding way more bitter than I intend, before I add, "Never thought I'd see Nash settle down."

My best friend of twenty years and soon-to-be brother-in-law—officially. It was a surprise to say the least, when I found out he was seeing CeCe in secret all summer. But after I had the chance to calm down and realize what his intentions were, I knew without a doubt that they were perfect for each other. Even if their constant kissing and hand-holding makes me want to toss up my last meal, I'm glad Nash and my baby sister are happy together, and maybe they'll actually break the Ashby curse that has always plagued the three of us when it comes to relationships.

"I just have one question, and stop me if it's too personal," Ivy queries.

Ah, fuck .

"Don't do personal," I bite out.

"You don't say?" Sarcasm lines her tone. "I promise it won't sting, I'm just curious." She takes my silence as the go-ahead. "I just don't get it, what's the real story behind your family then?"

I blink at her, not understanding.

"I mean, they're all so nice and welcoming and they seem like fairly happy people, so are you like, adopted, maybe grew up in a different household? The long-lost brother that still holds a grudge?"

I turn to look at her. Ivy's blue eyes dance with all the trouble that earned her that nickname. I feel my brow furrow as she laughs at her semi-funny joke for way longer than warranted.

"You know … your face does things other than scowl?" she muses as we pull down the driveway of Silver Pines, my family's ranch and training center. My home. My responsibility.

I pass my cabin on the old dirt road to get her home. Ivy has taken Blue Eyes, our fifth cabin, as her humble abode for her time here. It's the one closest to mine. She could have chosen any of the cabins that were empty but she chose Blue Eyes for two reasons that she prattled on about. One, because her eyes are blue, which in my opinion is kind of an understatement. They're so blue they're almost violet some days, the color of a cloudless winter sky … or whatever.

And her second self-proclaimed reason was because the Blue Eyes deck backs onto the north woods, and she says she likes her privacy.

Probably so she can sit out there and read her smutty books in peace.

"Home sweet home," she quips as she turns to me. "Well, thanks for driving me home, Captain Joyful, it was a fun night aside from the last fifteen minutes, of course."

The only response I give her is a huff as I hop out of the truck and walk around to her side. Ivy removes my suit jacket from her curvy frame and hands it to me as she climbs out.

"I'm not cold anymore, thanks," she says as I take it and trade with her, dropping her keys into her palm. Our size difference is a lot more noticeable when we're only a foot apart. She barely reaches past the top of my shoulder even in those shoes she's wearing. I wait, expecting her to go into her house, but instead, she mumbles something like "not waiting one more second" as she struggles to remove her black heels in the grass.

"Mmm … goddamn, that feels good." She groans a throaty sound that makes me swallow, hard . "I've been wanting to do that all night." She giggles innocently as the other heel comes off and a few more inches disappear from her height. She turns a smile up to me.

I look away from her to clear my head of the noises she's making while she mumbles how good the grass feels on her bare feet, something about grounding herself to the earth, while I gesture to her front door. She looks at it, then back to me with an are you serious? face.

"I think I'll make it in, boss; you can go home now. I mean, you can see my porch from your porch." She points at my cabin, only two hundred feet away.

I shake my head. "I'll go home once you're inside."

She tips her head back and laughs as she saunters up her front steps. "Okay, I'll humor you," Ivy calls over her shoulder. "But only because I've had a few drinks. I'm a big girl though, I can handle myself." She pats her purse and winks. "Bear spray."

Of course she has bear spray in her purse. The little spitfire probably wouldn't even need it, she'd probably bond with the bear and feed it from her back door.

"Night, Chief, see ya early," she singsongs. Her door closes and I'm left standing there shaking my head at the whirlwind that is Ivy Spencer.

I toss my coat over my forearm and walk the short distance to my own cabin, Bluegrass.

My cabin is the biggest on the property besides the big house itself. It's the boss's cabin, the only one with two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and I've finally got it the way I want it after being back here since my separation. I did most of the work myself to update the kitchen, with Cole's help.

I walk through the front entryway and flick the light on. I breathe in a sigh of peace. This is my place. Dark log cabin walls and weathered wood floors fill the open space. It still smells faintly like leather and tobacco from previous residents over the years. The little kitchen straight ahead has new walnut cabinets and stainless steel appliances.

There is a good-sized living room to the left, with a floor-to-ceiling cobblestone fireplace and windows that look out to the big house and barns in the distance. It's the perfect place to sit with a whiskey at the end of the day listening to my favorite vinyl. It's also the only place I don't have to worry about leading everyone, about the ranch, my mom living alone as she gets older, filling my dad's boots, Janelle, the future.

This is my space to just be Wade, whoever the fuck that is these days. No time for self-reflection when you have an entire ranch to run and next year's derby pressure breathing down your neck. I loosen my tie and toe my uncomfortable-as-fuck dress shoes off. I'm mentally going over tomorrow's workday as I feel something light hit my foot while I'm hanging up my suit coat.

I bend down and scoop it up to get a closer look. Ivy was wearing my coat for all of twenty goddamn minutes. I bring the soft fabric to my nose and breathe in Ivy's sweet, sugary-like scent. Fuck me , it's nice. I pop the black satin scrunchie in the basket on my fridge as I head for the shower.

Finders keepers.