Swift and Saddled: A Rebel Blue Ranch Novel

After Dusty left, girls’ night went off without a hitch. We ate, we drank, we were merry. And we got all of the curtains done. I promised Emmy that we would add some roses to them this week. Teddy gave me a full history of Taylor Swift’s discography, explained to me the relationship between Twilight and My Chemical Romance, and offered to take me shopping at the boutique she worked at. Cam, who probably kicks ass at trivia, told us all about Wyoming’s weirdest laws—don’t even think about taking a photo of a rabbit between January and April.

And I had a nice time.

Usually I feel out of place in situations like that, and by the time the night was over, I would’ve convinced myself that everyone there hated me and that all of us would be better off if they never saw me again.

But I didn’t feel that way about that night. I felt good.

The best part about the night? I was back at the Big House by nine-thirty.

Cam drove me back, since she had to pick up Riley anyway. I learned that she and Gus were never actually together, but they’d decided to co-parent Riley. “I’m lucky that my daughter’s dad is also my friend,” she’d said. “And he’s really great at both.”

The dynamics of this group of people were so interesting to me. Maybe it was the wine, but I didn’t think before I asked, “Are they all as…good as they seem? The Ryders?”

Cam let out a little laugh that told me she understood what I was saying. “Yeah, honestly, they are,” she said. “They have their flaws—except Amos,” she joked. “Gus is entirely too stubborn and rigid, Wes is too accommodating and has a bad case of middle-child syndrome, and Emmy bottles everything up and has issues with control, but at the end of the day, all three of them would put everything on the line for each other and the people they love, and I feel lucky that my daughter and I are a part of that.”

“What do you mean,” I asked, “about Wes?”

“The accommodating thing or the middle-child thing?” she responded. I couldn’t tell for sure in the dark, but I thought she was smiling.

“Both.”

“Honestly, they’re probably related. Ever since I’ve known him, Wes has just been so fucking nice—even if it meant being so at his own expense. His friend wants to ask the girl Wes likes to the prom? Oh, that’s okay. They’ll have a nice time. You have a flat tire? He’ll change it for you even if it means he can’t get to where he’s going.” I understood what she was saying, but it confused me because I didn’t understand why this nice guy seemed to be into…me. “He does the same thing for his siblings and for his dad—he takes care of them, and sometimes I think he thinks that’s all he’s good for.”

“But it isn’t,” I said, feeling the need to defend him.

“I know it. His family knows it, but I don’t think he does. I think this guest ranch was his way of proving it to everyone else, but we already know. I hope he proves it to himself.”

It’s funny. Wes and I were so different but had found ourselves in the same situation—both of us felt we had something to prove.

After Cam dropped me off, I didn’t feel quite ready for bed, so I decided to do something I hadn’t done since I got to Meadowlark: take the shower. Wash my hair, deep condition, exfoliate, shave my legs—the works.

Honestly, my bathroom at the Big House had the best shower stall I’d ever been in, and I felt I needed to take advantage of that.

After I was clean, smooth, and warm, I stepped out of the shower into the cloud of steam that I’d created and went through my full skin care routine—complete with one of those peel-off gel facial masks. I even decided to pull out the cute pajamas—a black silk tank top with white lace trim and matching shorts.

Between the shower and the lack of self-loathing I was feeling after girls’ night, I felt like a new woman.

I snuggled down under my bedcovers, rubbing my legs together and basking in the smoothness. I pulled out my laptop and went to a streaming app—the one with How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.

Nothing could’ve made my night better. Except maybe popcorn. I fucking loved popcorn, and now that the thought had crossed my mind, I couldn’t get it out.

I had no doubt that the giant Rebel Blue pantry had microwave popcorn. I looked at my phone. It was just past midnight. The house would be quiet, and I would just pull the popcorn out before the microwave beeped.

I padded out of my bedroom, down the hall, and out to the kitchen. The pantry was at the back of the kitchen, and its shelves were stocked like a grocery store. I switched on the light and started looking for popcorn.

I found it on a high shelf near the front. Movie theater butter. Excellent. I was about to reach for it, but then I heard the front door close. I flipped the light off and waited. A few seconds later, Wes appeared in the kitchen.

Huh. I thought he was already home. He nearly walked by without noticing me, but at the last second before he made it to the hallway that led to our rooms, he stopped and looked over at me and did a double take.

Even in the dark kitchen, lit only by moonlight, I could see his bright eyes track up and down my body. I was suddenly very self-conscious about my choice of pajamas. Of course this would happen the one time I wore something other than a giant T-shirt and sweatpants to bed.

His throat worked as he looked at me, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. “Hey,” he said. His voice was gruff.

“Hey.”

“Did you have a good night?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I really had. “Did you?”

“I got my ass kicked, but yeah, I did.” I just nodded, not sure when the kitchen had gotten so small. “Were you looking for something?”

“Popcorn,” I said, pointing to it on the shelf behind me. “But I don’t think I can reach it.” I watched Wes swallow again and tried to tamp down the urge I had to lick the same trail on his throat.

He walked toward where I was standing in the pantry, and with every step he took, I felt goose bumps rising on my skin. When he stopped in front of me and leaned in, I let my eyelids flutter closed.

I told myself I didn’t know what I was waiting for, but that was a lie. I was an expert at lying to myself, but what I was waiting for never came.

I heard something slide off a shelf behind me and Wes’s voice saying “Your popcorn.” I opened my eyes to see him right in front of me. There was heat in his gaze and a smile on his face.

“Th-thank you,” I stammered. He nodded and took a step back, and that step felt like someone ripping a warm blanket off me. We stared at each other for a second, but he didn’t come closer.

Fine.

I walked past him, and I swear when my arm brushed his, there was an electric shock.

After I tore open the popcorn package, I unfolded it, tossed it into the microwave, and pressed the Popcorn button.

Wes was still in the kitchen—I could feel him—so I stayed facing the counter instead of turning back to look at him. After a few seconds, I heard his boots make their way toward me, and then I felt his hand trail over my shoulder and move my hair to one side of my neck, and a shiver rocked my spine.

Then I felt his lips on my shoulder. “Is this okay?” he murmured. It was actually a miracle that I could hear him, considering how loudly my heartbeat was echoing in my ears.

“Yes,” I breathed. He kissed my shoulder again, and then my neck. I heard him take a deep breath.

“Why do you always smell so fucking good?” he asked. I didn’t think he was looking for an actual answer, so I stayed quiet. “My truck smells like you,” he said. “And now I take my life into my hands every time I drive because you are all I can think about. This”—he brought his arm around me and pulled me to him, leaving no space between us—“is all I can think about.”

He moved my hair again so he could give the other side of my neck some attention, and when I felt his lips on my throat, I dropped my head back onto his shoulder and couldn’t help but let out a small moan.

“I like you, Ada.” His hand was under my shirt now, pressed against my stomach, and I ached for it to go lower, but my insecurities were starting to shout at me. Wes was a good guy. He was kind and thoughtful, and I had no clue why he would be interested in a woman like me. I’d spent my entire marriage basically begging my husband to notice me, see me, love me—to do something.

He never did.

When you’re treated a certain way for so long, you start to believe that’s how you should be treated. It left me feeling like there wasn’t anything about me that someone could love.

And now, there was Wes. He was all these wonderful things that sometimes I wished I could be: chatty, charismatic, and deeply thoughtful.

I was cynical, shy, and I didn’t really like that many people. Wes seemed to like everyone, and everyone seemed to like him—including me. I didn’t understand how we could fit.

I lifted my head from his shoulder and looked down at the floor. “I don’t know why you keep doing this, Wes,” I said quietly, still looking down at the floor. “I don’t know why you want me. I’m not…nice.”

“Ada,” he breathed. He used the hand that was on my stomach to turn me around to face him. The familiar buzz of electricity that appeared when he came near me hummed. I felt his finger under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You are earnest and talented, tenacious and funny.” I couldn’t have looked away from him if I’d tried. His green eyes gripped me and wouldn’t let go. “I would never insult you by calling you something as generic as nice.”

It wasn’t his words that got me—it was his eyes. From the first time he looked at me until now, I felt Weston Ryder saw me, no matter how hard I tried to hide.

“Kiss me,” I whispered. “Ple—” I didn’t get to finish asking, because his mouth was on mine in an instant.

Kissing Wes was the closest thing I’d ever had to a religious experience. It felt like the sky opened up and stars started falling around us, like lightning struck every place where our skin touched and like my heartbeat had turned into a thunderstorm.

One of his hands cupped the back of my head and the other was around my waist, holding me to him, but I couldn’t get close enough. I put my hands under his shirt and he sucked in a breath. “Your hands are fucking freezing,” he said against my mouth. I giggled like an idiot and brought them around to his back, clutching him to me.

He used the arm that was around my waist to lift me onto the counter. I wrapped my legs around him, and his hips rolled. I could feel his hardness pressed against my center, and I wanted more. I started tearing at his flannel shirt, pulling it down his arms, and he threw it to the floor.

One of his hands skated up my bare thigh until he reached the hem of my shorts, where he stopped, but only for a second. He moved his hand up to cup my ass, and I moaned into his mouth.

When was the last time I’d done this? I couldn’t remember.

When was the last time I’d felt anything near what I was feeling right now? Never. I knew that for sure.

I bit his lower lip and he moaned too, rolling his hips into mine again. “More,” I pleaded, but it didn’t work. He pulled back, and I wanted to scream.

A smirk was playing at his lips. “More?” he asked. His voice had taken on a playful tone. I nodded. He brushed the hand that was in my hair across my collarbone—his featherlight touch driving me to the brink.

“These are the silliest straps I’ve ever seen,” he said, snaking one of his fingers under the spaghetti strap of my tank top before gently pushing it off my shoulder. He leaned in and put his mouth where my strap used to be, and I clutched at his hair. I moved my other hand between us, being more bold than usual, and cupped him through his jeans.

He groaned against my neck, and I felt it all the way through my body. “Christ, Ada.” I loved the way he said my name. He pulled back again, and since my other hand was no longer holding him to me, I brought it to his belt so I could start undoing it, but before I could get very far, one of his big hands covered mine.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he breathed. “Do you like seeing what you do to me?” I looked down at his dick straining inside his jeans. I nodded, and he put pressure on my hands and groaned again. “I want to feel what I do to you,” he said, touching his forehead to mine.

Oh. Oh.

“Touch me,” I whispered. I normally didn’t like this part. I always got embarrassed. Was I too wet? Not wet enough? It was usually the second one. Sometimes my body didn’t like to cooperate. But still, I wanted this. I wanted him to touch me. His fingers were drawing circles on my thigh—inching closer and closer to where he wanted to be—where I wanted him to be. I opened my legs wider, inviting him in.

Our foreheads pressed together, both of us watched as his hand slipped under my shorts and between my legs. I gasped at the sensation of his finger sinking inside me.

“Fuck, Ada,” he growled. I watched his finger slide in and out of me, slowly. “Still want more?” he asked. His voice was lower.

“Yes,” I moaned, and he added a second finger.

“So needy,” he said. “Those city boys don’t know how to fuck you right, do they?” I shook my head. Pressure was building inside me, and it felt so foreign. I couldn’t take it anymore—I brought my hands up to Wes’s face and pulled his lips to mine.

He kissed me hard and steady, his tongue dipping into my mouth as his fingers pushed inside me. My breath started to come faster, and my hips started to roll of their own accord. His thumb brushed my clit, and I moaned, a breathy “Yes” falling from my lips.

“Help me make you come like this, Ada. Tell me what you need to come with my fingers buried inside of you.” I didn’t know. I’d never come like this—never during foreplay and never during sex. The heat making its way down my spine was unfamiliar to me, and all I wanted him to do was just keep going. I was desperate to see where this would go.

I was about to tell him as much when we were both jolted out of our lust trance by the sound of the microwave going off.

My life was a joke.

Wes, who reacted a lot faster than me, reached up and opened the microwave to make the beeping stop. Then he slumped over, laying his head against my shoulder.

Both of us were breathing heavily, but we could still hear footsteps coming down the hallway opposite ours. Wes turned, and he was broad enough to block me from view—at least that’s what I hoped as I pushed the strap of my tank top back onto my shoulder—especially in the dark.

“Weston?” Amos’s groggy voice came from the hall. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, Dad,” he said. He was trying to mask his heavy breathing but wasn’t doing a great job. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“It’s fine. Everything okay?” Amos yawned.

“Yep,” Wes said. “Needed a snack, so just making some popcorn.”

“All right, well, keep it down.” Amos’s voice was getting farther away as he walked back down his hall. “You don’t want to wake Ada.”

“No, we definitely wouldn’t want that,” Wes said under his breath, and I stifled a giggle. This was the second time Wes and I had been interrupted. I didn’t know what it was about him that made me revert to a horny teenager who threw all caution to the wind, but I liked it. I liked feeling the rush of joy that came from being around him. “Good night, Dad,” he said a little louder.

“Night,” Amos said.

When he was sure his dad was gone, Wes turned back to me. He was smiling, and my heart thundered in my chest again. He leaned in and kissed my temple, and I reveled in how intimate it felt.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let me walk you to bed.” I was about to tell Wes that I wasn’t tired, but instead of those words coming out of my mouth, a yawn escaped.

It looked like I had been successfully cockblocked by Amos Ryder.

Damn.

Wes grabbed my popcorn out of the microwave and helped me off the counter. My legs were wobbly, which made Wes laugh softly. “Shut up,” I said as I elbowed him in the ribs.

He walked me to my room, and we stopped outside my door.

“Do you”—I couldn’t believe I was saying this, I had to look down at the floor to get it out—“want to come in?” I peeked up at him. He looked conflicted.

“Not tonight,” he said finally.

“But another night?” I asked hopefully.

“Yes,” he said immediately. Another kiss on my temple. “Another night.”

I nodded—that was probably best. “Good night, Wes.”

“Good night, Ada.”