Wild Love (Rose Hill Book 1)
Wild Love: Chapter 4

My teeth strum along my bottom lip like a pick on a guitar string. I grip my steering wheel as my eyes remain locked on my brother’s house, also our childhood home.

After two weeks of moping around, jobless and directionless and brimming with self-pity, I’m officially back in Rose Hill. The town where I grew up. The town I rarely come back to. The town I didn’t realize I missed until I desperately needed the comfort of coming home. A safe place to land while I nurse my wounds and figure out my life.

I just drove up the steep gravel driveway, the same one I fell down as a small child. With scraped knees and blood all over my brand-new white sneakers, I cried as my brother hosed me off like I was a horse. I’d been devastated, but today I chuckle as I recall it.

It’s funny how a moment that felt so low can eventually make you smile.

My gaze drifts over the farm which sits on the west edge of town. Cliffs above the property separate our land from the highway. That main thoroughfare was literally blasted through the mountains long ago and now a chain-link fence attached to the rock keeps loose pieces from tumbling onto the road—or us.

On the left, I see the picturesque lake. It takes me back to all-day tubing and teenage keg parties on its shores in the summer, skating, ice fishing and snowmobiling in the winter.

I look right and see my parents’ house much farther up the hill. Just the peak of the roof pokes out of the trees. When West took over the farm, they moved “away,” or so they claimed.

The truth is, they’ve spent their entire lives worrying about West, and I’m not sure they can handle having him too far out of sight.

Glancing back at my brother’s place, I suck in a deep breath to give me the guts to walk in there and pretend I’m doing so great.

Right before I ask if I can crash for a bit.

“Fuck it, Rosie. Get your ass in there,” I mutter before shoving my car door open and striding toward the front porch. I don’t bother locking my car. If someone has the balls to hike onto our land to steal my shit, then I applaud their fortitude.

Honest to god, I’d ask them where they get it because I am fresh out.

I don’t think I’ve taken a single breath since that deep one in the front seat. Now I’m just holding it as I reach up to knock and get this over with. Just before my knuckles make contact, the door swings open and all that breath I’ve been holding is sucked right out of my lungs.

By Ford Grant.

My stomach drops to my feet with the most unsettling lurching sensation.

I have to tip my head back to meet his emerald gaze. He’s always been tall, but now he’s just… big.

“Ford.”

He stares at me, and the weight of his gaze has my heart thundering against my ribs.

“Hi.”

His dark brows furrow, and I can’t help but notice his hair, which used to be more auburn, has darkened in adulthood. It’s a deep brown now, the russet tone only shining when the light hits it just right.

Neatly trimmed stubble frames his high cheekbones. The tan skin on his throat flexes as his Adam’s apple bobs above the V of his khaki-colored tee.

God. It has to have been at least a decade since I last saw him. You’d think he’d have grown less awkward in that time but apparently not. Because he’s standing stock-still, staring like he’s never seen me before.

So, I stick my hand out and quirk one side of my lips up. “I’m not sure if you remember me. My name is Rosalie Belmont. We used to spend July and August shit-talking each other while trailing after my brother, Weston Belmont.”

He shakes his head, face impassive, when he steps onto the porch and reaches out to me, his warm hand enveloping mine. “Right. Rosalie. I must have gotten so good at tuning you out that I forgot you entirely.”

A laugh lurches from my chest and unwanted tears gather in my eyes.

Teasing has never felt so good. So comforting.

“Ah, the good old days.” The words are a whisper as I drop his piercing gaze and rub the tip of my nose.

I don’t want to look at him because, for all his biting words and bored facade, I know Ford is a good person and he’ll see right through me.

He was there when Travis Lynch broke my heart. Picked me up from a party on the other side of the lake and drove me home, casting glances my way as I scribbled vile, immature things about Travis in my journal. And then stayed silent when I rolled down the passenger side window and chucked it into the trees on a dark, winding road.

We never talked about that night. There wasn’t much to say. My older brother’s best friend, who antagonized me at every turn, witnessed my total meltdown over a guy who peaked in grade 10 before dropping me off at my parents’ house without another word.

But. I know he saw the gutted look in my eye that night—know he stared just a little too long. And I know if I meet his gaze now, he’ll see it again.

“Auntie Rosie!”

Thank you, Lord. The voice of an angel. Saved by hell on wheels with blond pigtails. “Emmy!”

She shoves past Ford and launches herself at me with enough force to knock the wind from my lungs a second time along with one fat tear from my eye. I quickly swipe it away. But over Emmy’s shoulder, I catch sight of Ford glaring at the traitorous tear’s path like it personally wronged him somehow.

I roll my eyes at him and turn all my attention to the little girl in my arms. Warm and wiggly. “Dang, girl, knock it off with all this growing business.” I heft her up with a grunt. “Soon I won’t be strong enough to lift you.”

She cackles and lands a sticky kiss on my cheek. I try not to cringe. I love my niece, but I draw the line at messy faces and runny noses. Makes me want to hose them off the way West did me.

Still waiting for that maternal gene to kick in, I guess.

“What are you doing here?” Emmy pushes back to look at me, one pudgy, sticky palm on each of my cheeks.

“That’s my question too,” my brother announces, startling me as he wanders up from behind Ford.

I squeeze Emmy tighter. I’m not above using a six-year-old as a shield against these two men. “Surprise?” I squeak at my brother with a totally over-the-top grin on my face.

Thankfully, West isn’t one to dig. He’s not big on sharing feelings—unless it’s with his fists—so he smiles and forges ahead until he’s hugging me too, squishing his little girl between us.

“You need to bathe this hellion, West. She’s sticky and smells like orange juice.”

“Orange freezie,” she corrects solemnly.

“Before dinner?”

“Whoa, whoa, Rosie Posie. You don’t get to show up outta the blue and judge my parenting. This is my week. Mia is always on my ass, so I don’t need you to pile on too.”

I arch a brow. “Maybe Mia is onto something more than your ass?”

Emmy giggles maniacally, clearly amused by us tossing the word ass around so casually.

Now it’s my brother’s turn to roll his eyes. Their marriage may not have worked, but he and Mia are excellent co-parents, and I admire the hell out of them for that.

West ignores my jab and carries on with his questioning. “You just drive out as a surprise, or you staying for a bit?”

Before I answer, I put Emmy down and watch her tear back into the house, announcing to her brother Oliver that I’m here. My eyes cut to Ford again. Arms crossed and chin dipped low, he’s staring hard enough to unnerve me. “What are you? His bodyguard?”

“Ha!” West barks out a laugh. “I don’t need a bodyguard. And if I did, I wouldn’t hire the World’s Hottest Billionaire.”

My eyes bulge, and I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing. I saw the article—picked it up and even read it—but I don’t want to give Ford the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Ford Grant is a billionaire? Do they mean junior or senior?”

West laughs, but Ford groans and shakes his head. “I’m going back inside. You two assholes have fun out here.”

I watch him walk away, probably a little too closely.

Definitely a little too closely, based on the way my brother gently punches my shoulder. “You better not be checking him out.”

I let out a playful scoff. “Whatever. It’s not every day you get a clear shot of… what was it? The World’s Hottest Billionaire?” I make sure I say it loud enough that Ford hears me.

West chuckles. “Playing with fire, sis. What would Ryan say?”

My shoulders tighten, and I swallow before turning my eyes back up to my brother’s, the same shade of blue as my own.

Then I tilt my head from side to side four times.

West nods three times.

And that’s about the entire conversation we’ll have about that.

It’s exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I needed. I’m not ready to decide a single thing about Ryan until I clear my head and can make a rational decision.

“So, dinner?” my brother asks. “Spare room or bunkhouse?”

“Yes, to dinner, and I’ll take the bunkhouse, please.”

He turns and I follow him. Relief floods my system. I knew I could count on West to save me from myself. What I didn’t count on was Ford fucking Grant with his eagle eyes and billion-dollar ass.