Lyla Sage came galloping into the romance genre with enough wit, soul and spice to launch a thousand happily ever afters. Wild and Wrangled is no exception. As perfect a second chance romance and yearning-palooza that has ever existed. The Rebel Blue Ranch Series is a must read ― No.1 New York Times bestselling author Tessa Bailey
A beautiful, comforting, and wildly satisfying end to our beloved Rebel Blue! This book is as tender as it gets while also serving up the hottest, down bad cowboy I've ever read! ― Sarah Adams, New York Times bestselling author of Beg, Borrow, or Steal
Wild and Wrangled is as sweet, achy, and sexy as we've come to expect from Lyla Sage. Dusty and Cam make my heart hurt and my skin tingle. This is absolutely my favorite of the Rebel Blue Ranch series! ― Julie Soto, USA Today bestselling author of Not Another Love Song
Dusty and Cam's story shines with what I love so much about Lyla Sage's world: It's comforting and soft, filled with hot cowboys (important), and it serves as a reminder that home will always be there waiting for you when you're ready to go back. ― Jessica Joyce, USA Today bestselling author of The Ex Vows
A swoon-worthy, show-stopping conclusion to the Rebel Blue series. Lyla Sage truly shines with Dusty and Cam's story, flawlessly weaving fun flirtation with aching tenderness . . . Tattoo this book on my body like Dusty's ink, please ― B.K. Borison, USA Today bestselling author of First Time Caller
The romance genre at its finest! Cam and Dusty's chemistry leaps off the page, and their second chance romance melted my heart ― Falon Ballard, author of Right on Cue
Deliciously addictive . . . The banter is explosive, the chemistry is electric, and the journey is as sizzling as it is emotional and vulnerable. Simply perfection. I'm down bad for the Rebel Blue Ranch series and anything Lyla Sage will give us ― Elena Armas, New York Times bestselling author of The Fiancé Dilemma, on Lost and Lassoed
Teddy and Gus are spicy, sizzling, enemies to lovers perfection! I loved every moment of their feisty banter, their steamy sexual tension, and their touching emotional journey as they found home in each other's hearts ― Chloe Liese, USA Today bestselling author of Once Smitten, Twice Shy, on Lost and Lassoed
Delicious tension, heartwarming vulnerability, characters you can't help but root for, and more simmering heat than a Rebel Blue summer sun. Teddy and Gus are what off-limits, opposites-attract romance dreams are made of ― B.K. Borison, USA Today bestselling author of First Time Caller, on Lost and Lassoed
Lyla Sage delivers another scalding hot romance . . . Lost & Lassoed burrowed deep into my heart, and I know it's going to stay there for a good long time ― Kate Stayman-London, bestselling author of Fang Fiction, on Lost and Lassoed
Deeply sweet, charmingly funny, and the perfect amount of sexy . . . the atmospheric, romantic rides of my dreams that I'll gladly return to again and again ― Tarah DeWitt, author of Savor It, on Swift and Saddled
Wrapped me up in a welcoming embrace and never let me go. I'd give anything to stay in Meadowlark ― Hannah Bonam-Young, author of Out of the Woods, on Swift and Saddled
Tender, swoonworthy, and achingly romantic . . . I disappeared into the pages and never wanted to leave ― B.K. Borison, author of First Time Caller, on Swift and Saddled
A sweet, slow burn that feels like sunshine in written form ― Lana Ferguson, USA Today bestselling author of Under Loch & Key, on Done and Dusted
This steamy read delves into the world of forbidden love set in a small hometown. With plenty of tension and heat, this book will definitely keep you up at night ― Wide Open Country, 'The 20 Best Books of 2023, according to BookTok', on Done and Dusted
About the Author
Lyla Sage lives in the Wild West with her loyal companion, a sweet, old, blind rescue pitbull. She writes romance that feels like her favourite things: sunshine and big blue skies. She is the author of Done and Dusted, Swift and Saddled, Lost and Lassoed and Wild and Wrangled. When she's not writing, she's reading.
@authorlylasage
--This text refers to the paperback edition. From the Back Cover
After being left at the altar, Camille Ashwood rents her dream house in Meadowlark, Wyoming, only to find herself neighbors with Dusty Tucker, her first love, forcing them to confront old wounds and rekindle a connection that might lead to forever. Original. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
Cam
In my opinion, there was almost nothing better than a good checklist. Crossing things off was probably the best feeling in the world. Today, my checklist was supposed to be easy—mindless, even—because, for the first time in who knows how long, there was only one thing on it: get married.
I’d done everything else. I got the marriage license, showed up to the chapel, and wore the ballgown my mother picked out. It should’ve been simple—walk down the aisle, listen to the generic vows the officiant was told to use, and plant one on my fiancé.
So why was I sitting in the diviest dive bar in all of Wyoming, wearing my wedding dress, drinking straight vodka?
As with nearly every large project, getting married required more than one person. But group projects had never been my strong suit. I didn’t like putting my fate in the hands of others, but today I thought I’d be fine. How much harm can one other person do to something so easy?
A lot, actually. Because if just one person doesn’t show up, everything goes to shit.
Well, my groom didn’t show up, and everything went to shit.
I thought about the note he’d left—noble of him—as I picked up my glass of vodka and took a healthy swig.
Camille,
I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it.
Graham
I ignored the eyes of the other Devil’s Boot patrons that were burning into the back of my skull, wondering why poor Camille was sitting at the bar in her wedding dress when she was supposed to be getting married.
I felt the alcohol burn all the way down my throat. I took another sip. And another. He couldn’t do it? This whole thing was his idea. He was the one who said it was going to be okay, that we would be as happy as we could be.
And then he didn’t show up.
He didn’t even warn me, just left me the note on the dressing room table. As I was reading it, Amos Ryder knocked on the door. Amos was my daughter, Riley’s, grandfather, but he was also the closest thing I had to a loving and steady father figure. I’d originally asked him to walk me down the aisle today, but my actual father wasn’t very pleased with that and did what he normally did: threatened to cause a scene, take away my and my daughter’s inheritance, revoke her trust fund—that sort of thing.
So I gave in. I always give in.
But when I needed someone, my dad was nowhere near the scene. Amos, however, was always there when it mattered. Ever since the day Gus, his son, told him I was pregnant, Amos has treated me like another daughter.
He had spent the morning of the wedding with me because I asked him to. Amos was a good person to have around when you were worried that nerves might get the best of you. He was calm and strong and steady—like a river, Gus had always said. I always wished he could’ve sat next to me when I took the bar exam—no doubt I would’ve passed on the first try.
“Come in,” I croaked, and as soon as I saw his black-and-gray hair and soft green eyes, tears bubbled up in my own. I wasn’t sad because Graham wasn’t here and wasn’t coming but because I’d already given up so much of myself for this wedding, and now it wasn’t going to happen. I was sad about the complete waste of time and effort.
“Cam?” he’d said as he closed the door behind him and rushed toward me. “What’s wrong?” His eyes zeroed in on the note in my hand, and I watched his face fall. He knew.
Instead of answering, I let out a shaky breath and hugged him. He hugged me back. Riley, who had followed her grandpa into the room, jumped in the hug, too, even though she didn’t know what was going on. That girl just loves a snuggle.
“Let’s go see if your dad is here, Sunshine,” he said to her. She nodded excitedly and twirled in her flower girl dress. She was so damn excited to throw petals and walk down the aisle before me. My chest constricted. How could I even tell her what had happened?
“Can you . . . can you send him back here?” I asked quietly.
Amos brought Gus back less than a minute later. I told him Graham wasn’t coming and that I needed him and his fiancée, Teddy, to take Riley for the rest of the day. Since I’d had a second to compose myself, my voice was professional—unfeeling, even—but the look Gus was giving me was anything but. His nostrils flared, and I could almost see him biting his tongue—trying not to let his anger get the best of him.
“I need to get out of here,” I said as I ripped the veil out of the low chignon it had been secured in just a few minutes earlier.
“Go,” Gus and Amos said at the same time. “We’ll take care of it,” Gus followed up. I trusted them to do that. I ran out the back of the church—not in a runaway bride on her way to freedom sort of way, but in a jilted bride who needed to keep moving so she didn’t crumble type of way.
Well, that was depressing as hell.
And now I was here mainlining vodka at three in the afternoon. I was sufficiently buzzed—the tension in my neck and shoulders loosened by the alcohol. Maybe I’d stay here all day—listen to Hank Williams wax poetic about tears and beers from the jukebox until the sun went down. Then, maybe I’d ride the mechanical bull in my wedding dress and give the town even more to talk about.
I picked my drink up again and was deeply disappointed when the only thing that met my lips was ice. I wanted vodka. And chocolate. And jalapeño cheddar Cheetos.
Right as the front door opened, my eyes locked on the bottle of vodka that was on the other side of the bar. I saw Gus, his brother Wes, and the man who owned that bottle of vodka, Luke Brooks, ramble through it.
I knew they were looking for me, that they wanted to make sure I was okay, but I couldn’t deal with it yet. I didn’t want to know what happened at the church or how my parents reacted or what people were saying.
So I pushed myself up and over the bar, grabbed the bottle of vodka, and slid out of my stool as quickly and quietly as possible. I headed for the bathroom, but I saw Wes notice me and, sure enough, a second later—
“Cam!” Gus called, but I kept moving.
Damn it.
“Are you really stealing from my bar right now?” Brooks asked.
“You look great, though!” Wes followed up.
I only had a few more steps to the bathroom. I could make it before they got to me. “Cam,” Gus said again. “Let’s talk!”
“I’m good,” I called back without looking. “Is Riley okay?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. Gus wouldn’t have come here before Riley was taken care of. He was a good dad—the best dad.
“Yes,” he said right as I reached the bathroom door. I opened it.
“Then we’re good!” I said as I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, making sure to lock it before I pressed my back against the old wood. I stared at the yellow tiles on the floor before I sank down to it—bottle in hand.
There was a knock. “Cam?” It was Gus. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here and talk.” I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to drink. And eat.
“I’m fine here,” I called through the door. I listened to him continue to try to cajole me out, but I didn’t budge. I sat on the floor of the Devil’s Boot bathroom—the place where probably half of Meadowlark’s population had been conceived—and I didn’t even care. My gaze was unfocused and my eyes heavy.
I tried to cry—really I did—but nothing came out. I wanted to cry. I would have loved to feel something about the fact that my life just got turned upside down.
Instead, I was numb. Blissfully and comfortably numb. Maybe this was a good thing—that I didn’t feel anything. My feelings had always gotten me in trouble.
I don’t know how long I stayed there, my wedding dress puddled around me, or how long Gus knocked at the door. He was persistent, but after a while the knocking stopped.
All I could hear was the music from the jukebox—it slid its way under the door, and I welcomed it into my fortress. It felt nice, being wrapped in it. I didn’t get wrapped in things—music, arms, embraces—very often.
I didn’t register that the music was the only thing I could hear—no talking, no bar patrons, or stools skating across the floor—until there was another knock at the bathroom door.
It was softer this time—like the person doing it didn’t want to disturb me or something. Three taps. They were on beat with the music. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
Une série qui se lit toute seule (plutôt intermédiaire dans le niveau d'anglais).Lia
