Wild Card (North Ridge #1)

“Oh really? Tell me one thing that proves otherwise.”

“I’ll have you know that I have my own Instagram account.”

My mouth drops open. “Oh, you do not.” I start reaching into my pocket for my phone, ready to call him on his bluff.

“Actually, it’s Polly’s,” he says. “Or it was until I realized horses can be pretty damn boring. And then it became Fletcher’s, because, you know, it’s Fletcher and that dog is a ham. And the chickens started making an appearance. Sometimes a few calves and heifers. So really, now it’s the account for all the animals here.”

I glance at my phone, not surprised that Samuel still hasn’t texted back to my I miss you, and then open Instagram. I have my own account, too, but it’s private and I rarely post. I mainly use it to follow our clients or other ad agencies to see what they’re doing.

“Look up Ravenswood Ranch,” he tells me, and I type it in.

Sure enough, there’s an account composed of artfully taken photos of the animals with “punny” captions. He posts every couple days or so, and there’s already over 1,000 followers which is a lot for someone who obviously isn’t trying very hard.

“You almost look impressed,” he says.

“The key word is almost.”

He grins at me, and for a moment I’m shocked at how damn easy our banter is. For a second, it’s like nothing has changed at all. For a second I feel like I’m home.

And for once, I don’t push the feeling away.

But as we’re staring at each other, smiling, his grin begins to falter. He slams back the rest of his lemonade and gets up. “Thanks for the drink. Cooled me right down.”

He hands the jar to me and I’m so taken aback at how abrupt he’s being that I almost don’t feel that tiny spark when his fingers brush against mine. And let’s be honest, it’s not a tiny spark but a surprising jolt of electricity.

“Where are you going?” I ask as he starts down the steps.

He raises his brows, probably as surprised as I am that I asked that, and puts on his hat. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Oh,” I say, and I’m surprised at how disappointed I feel. It’s not that I didn’t get a chance to properly talk to him, it’s just that it was so easy just now. It felt like old times and it felt good.

“See you around, Rachel,” he says, tipping his hat to me like a goddamn old-fashioned cowboy, then saunters off toward the ranch house. Naturally, my eyes are trained on his ass as he goes.

I watch until he disappears and then exhale so harshly, it’s like I’ve been holding my breath this entire time.



A few days pass and it’s funny how I actually don’t see Shane around. My mother and I have eaten dinner at Hank’s twice and Shane was off somewhere, doing something or other. I get that the man is busy, but now I know for sure he’s avoiding me.

What’s most aggravating is the fact that the less I see him, the more I want to see him. It shouldn’t be that way, but it is. Maybe it’s because I’ve got it set in my mind now that I have to talk to him, I don’t know. But even so, I’m not seeking him out. I’m just not that brave, even though both Fox and Del’s words keep running through my head.

I’m bored out of my mind. I’m so used to working, to being busy every single moment of every single day that I’m having a hard time adjusting to the fact that I’ve got nothing to do. I do what I can to help my mother, but she seems to be doing okay and brushes me off every chance she gets. I still cook and clean for her but that doesn’t take up too much of my time. I’ve tried reading but I just can’t get into any books right now. My mind just wants to think about two things. And when I say think, I mean worry.

It wants to worry about work. The reception here isn’t that great and the wifi is pretty shitty, so emails take forever to send and load. Even though I’ve asked to be CCed on every single email that’s going to Pete or that Pete sends out, I’m getting less and less of them, and when I finally do get them, it’s old news. So, of course, it looks like I don’t really care about the clients when I do.

And then I want to worry about Shane. Maybe worry isn’t the right word, but more often than not, my mind keeps being drawn back to him. It’s probably because I have too much time to think.

But then the opportunity presents itself. Hank sees me moping about on the porch, all hot and irritated and bored, and asks if I wouldn’t mind lending a helping hand.

“Of course,” I say, grateful for something to do, to feel useful. I lift myself off the rocking chair, wiping my sweaty palms on my shorts. “What do you need?”

“Well,” Hank says cautiously, rubbing at his moustache. “Shane’s in the stable and I know there are some repairs to be done. Maybe see if he needs some help.”

Oh, I see.

“That’s not a problem, is it?” he asks.

I paste a smile on my lips. I don’t want to get into this with Hank, not while I’m living on his property. “Not at all. I’d be glad to help.”

I head down the sloping grass to the stable, feeling my heart start to kick up with each step I take. When I get to the stable, it’s dark and empty, the familiar smell of grain, hay, and manure reaching a happy place inside of me.

I hear the sound of rushing water, so I go around the corner to where the tap is.

And my mouth drops open.

Shane is shirtless and rinsing himself off with the hose. Beside him is his buckskin mare, Polly, but I barely see her. All I can see is the river of water as it runs down the hard, tanned planes of arms, chest, and torso.

Fuck me. When Shane was younger he was in fine shape, albeit a little on the thin side. Now he’s filled out completely. He might not be a hulk or a beast like Mav or Fox, but he’s fucking fit as hell and absolutely ripped. He even has those sharp V muscles on his hips, something he’s never had before.

“Jesus,” Shane swears, finally noticing I’m there. I guess I have been standing here silently and gawking at him like an idiot.

I immediately try and play it cool, lifting my chin. “Hey. Sorry to interrupt your shower.”

He gives me a small smile and pushes his wet hair off his face.

My god, he’s so fucking gorgeous.

Everything inside me is churning, and I’m on fire, inside and out.

“Only way to cool off,” he says and gestures to Polly tied up to the post beside him, who I now realize is also wet. “Figured I’d take care of the both of us.”

“Your jeans are all wet,” I point out. How observant of me.

“They’ll dry in a second,” he says, turning the hose over in his hands. “I could take them off if you want.”

Don’t fall into the trap, Rachel. Keep your cool.

I ignore the comment. “Your dad said you probably needed my help.”

He cocks a brow. “Did he now?”

I shrug. “Yeah. And honestly, I need something to do. I’m going crazy with boredom.”

He studies my face for a moment, his golden eyes so intense that I fight the urge to look away. “That doesn’t sound like the Rachel I know.”

Good.