He squeezes my hand tighter. “Please? I’ll brush her too. And feed her carrots.”
I sigh dramatically. “Well, since you’re negotiatin’ now…”
His eyes widen.
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “You can ride her after school. But only if you listen to Matilda and finish your homework first.”
Wyatt pumps his fist. “Yes!”
Then he launches himself into my legs, hugging me tight around the waist.
I rest my hand on his head, ruffling his hair.
“Love you, Dad.”
My chest tightens in the best damn way. “Love you too, buddy.”
The bell rings, and he runs off toward the entrance, turning halfway to wave, nearly tripping over his own boots.
I stand and watch until he disappears inside.
Everything I do is for that kid.
Everything.
Which is why last night shouldn’t still be stuck in my head.
But it is.
Every damn second of it.
The drive back toward the ranch is quiet except for the rumble of the engine and the thoughts I can’t shake.
Cherry-red curls. Green eyes. The way Lola said my name when she came apart in my arms. The way she looked afterward, shaking and trying to pretend she wasn’t affected.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to ignore the fact that my cock is twitching in my boxers as I drive.
My phone rings through the truck speakers, snapping me out of it. I glance at the screen and instantly feel my jaw tighten.
Ashley. My ex and the bane of my existence, who just so happens to be Wyatt’s mom.
I consider ignoring it. Then answer anyway. “What?”
A sharp exhale comes through the line. “Wow. Good morning to you, too, Hunter.”
“What do you want?”
She sighs dramatically. Same damn performance every time. “I’ve got Wyatt’s birthday presents. I figured you’d want to pick them up before tomorrow.”
Wyatt’s birthday. Six years old already. And she’s missed all six, well, except the day she gave birth, if that counts for something.
“I’m busy,” I say flatly. “Can’t make it today.”
“Well, I can come by the ranch later,” she says. “See Wyatt. Drop them off.”
My stomach twists. Absolutely not. She hasn’t bothered showing up for months at a time, and now she wants to just swing by and play mom? And usually, her niceties last all of ten minutes before she’s screaming and shouting. Or reaching for the vodka.
“No,” I snap. “He doesn’t need you droppin’ in and out whenever it suits you. And the last thing we need is you getting arrested for drunk driving.”