Wyatt: Return of the Cowboy (3 page)

“I really appreciate you letting me stay here,” Wyatt said. “I can pay you—”

“I wouldn’t hear of it.” Did he think her destitute?

“Maybe you’ll let me take you out to dinner one night. Seth, too.”

“We’ll see.” Her guard lowered slightly. Wyatt probably hadn’t intended to offend her.

“I really need to go.”

She squeezed past him, acutely aware of their thighs and arms brushing and the unsteadiness of her breathing. Throwing open the door, she all but leapt out of the motor home and bolted into the house.

It had been a mistake inviting Wyatt to stay with her, and not just because of the old, angry feelings he stirred inside her.

* * *

Wyatt stepped outside the motor home. The snow had stopped falling while he’d settled in, but the air remained icy cold. He rubbed his hands together, debating on returning for his gloves. Evening came early this time of year, and it would get even colder before long. Already the sky was growing dark.

He headed for the side gate, not wanting to disturb Paige by traipsing through the house.

“You leaving?”

He spun at the sound of Seth’s voice. “Just to the market. I need a few supplies. Coffee in particular.” He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts he hadn’t noticed the boy.

“Mom’s inside. Paying bills.” Seth gripped a coiled lariat in his right hand.

It was then Wyatt noticed the roping dummy with its plastic calf head not far away, the snow surrounding it trampled down by boy-sized boot prints.

“You like to rope?” he asked.

Seth shrugged and slapped the rope against his leg.

“You any good?”

“I’m better than Jerome Pickler.”

“That’s saying something.”

“Mom told me you’re a rodeo champion.”

“Was. For a while. Bronc riding, not roping. So, I bet you’re better than me, too.” Wyatt sidled closer. “Want to show me some of your throws?”

Seth shrugged again.

“Come on, maybe you can teach me a thing or two.”

To Wyatt’s surprise, the boy raised the lariat over his head and began twirling it. His throw landed nearly on mark.

“Not bad. Try again.”

Seth did better his second attempt, though he didn’t quite nail it. “Takes me a while to warm up,” he said, reeling in the lariat, which glided over the snow like a slippery snake.

“Sure.” Wyatt moved so that he was standing directly behind Seth. “I knew an old cowboy once. He used to say the secret to roping calves was imagining the lariat was your arm, only longer, and you were reaching out to pet the calf right between the ears.”

“That’s dumb.”

“It is, kind of. But it helped me.” Wyatt had done passably well in both tie down and team roping but nothing like bronc riding. In that event, he’d excelled until his fall.

Seth twirled the lariat again. This time, his toss landed true.

“Wow!”

“Good job,” Wyatt exclaimed.

Seth appeared in awe of himself, even going over to the practice dummy for a closer inspection. His entire face lit up. “That was neat.”

“Keep throwing tosses like that and you’ll be competing in the junior rodeo soon.”

“My dad, he roped. He worked as a wrangler at Thunder Ranch. Before he left.” Seth rewound the lariat. He didn’t look at Wyatt.

“I worked there, too. Summers during high school.”

“Mom says you went away after you and her graduated.”

“I did. Not because I wanted to.”

“She said you’re going away again after the anniversary party.”

“Yeah.”

Possibly sooner if the reconciliation with his family didn’t improve.

Seth hung the coiled rope on the calf head, his brow knitted in consternation.

Such a serious expression for such a young kid.

“I could watch you practice tomorrow,” Wyatt said. “Tell you stories about being a hand at Thunder Ranch.”

“Naw. I don’t want to learn how to rope better.”

“Why not? You’re good.”

“Because I’m staying in Roundup. With my mom. All the cowboys she knows leave.”

Seth’s statement hit Wyatt like a kick in the belly. “It’s not like that.”

The boy didn’t appear to hear him. Hands shoved in his coat pockets, he shuffled to the back door—where Paige stood, sorrow welling in her green eyes.

Wyatt was responsible for some of her sorrow. What he wouldn’t give to erase it.

“Come inside, Seth. Dinner’s ready.”

Wyatt advanced a step.

Paige gave her head a not-now shake, then shut the door, leaving Wyatt alone, cold inside and out.

Chapter Three

Wyatt hadn’t been inside the Northern U.S. Savings and Loan since he was sixteen—which was the last time his father had trusted him enough to make a deposit of the saloon’s cash receipts.

Not that Wyatt had ever stolen from his parents or even considered it. But he’d committed enough other sins, including lying and dishonoring his father and mother. They’d had plenty of reasons not to trust him—and plenty of reasons to believe his admission that he’d caused the automobile accident resulting in his brother’s injury.

Why hadn’t Jay set them straight? The purpose for their lie had ceased to matter years ago.

That must be why he’d sent Wyatt the invitation to the party.

“Good morning, how can I help you?” The teller asked brightly.

“Is Jay Malone available?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I didn’t think to call first. But I can wait if necessary.”

“May I tell him who’s here?”

Wyatt’s gaze strayed to the pair of offices on the opposite side of the bank lobby. Through the large window of one, he spotted Jay, a phone pressed to his ear, his fingers tapping on an electronic tablet.

“Wyatt Malone,” Wyatt answered, turning back to the teller. “His brother.”

Her jaw visibly dropped.

Evidently Jay didn’t talk about Wyatt much with his coworkers.

“J-just a moment.” She scurried off to knock on Jay’s office door.

He motioned her in, said something into the phone and hung up. A second later, his head snapped sideways, and he smiled broadly at Wyatt through the window. The next instant, he was on his feet and out the office door on the heels of the startled young woman.

“Hey!” He skirted the teller counter and met Wyatt in front, pulling him into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

The same question their father had asked of Wyatt, only his brother said it with gladness rather than anger.

“It’s great to see you.” In that moment, any remaining resentment Wyatt had toward his brother evaporated. “That suit looks good on you.”

“Dad told me you were in town.”

What Wyatt would have given to hear their conversation. Did his brother admit to inviting Wyatt or had he played dumb? “Can you break away for an early lunch? My treat.”

“Sorry, got an appointment.” Jay motioned for Wyatt to accompany him. “Come on in. I have a few minutes before my client gets here.”

The other bank employees cast curious glances in their direction while pretending to work.

“I’m impressed.” Sitting in the visitor chair across from Jay’s desk, Wyatt noted the various plaques, certificates, awards and commendations prominently displayed. On the desk was a framed photo of Jay at a ground-breaking ceremony. “You’ve done well for yourself. You must be proud.”

“I keep busy.”

“I see that.”

As kids, Jay hadn’t minded the incredibly strict rules their father imposed. Ted Malone was determined his sons not turn out like some of their regulars in the saloon. Paige’s mother, for one. If anything Jay thrived under their father’s heavy hand. He’d been an honor student, star athlete and rule-abiding son.

Whereas Wyatt—a C student at best and more interested in horses than sports—had rebelled. By seventeen, he’d made a name for himself. The wrong kind of name.

Both boys had changed, Jay in college and Wyatt after high school graduation—which was why Jay had been drinking the night of the accident and Wyatt sober. Their father, however, either didn’t see the changes in his sons or refused to believe them.

“You here for the party?” Jay asked Wyatt.

“I’ve been wanting to come back. Make peace with the family.”

“Why now all of a sudden?”

Unlike their father, Wyatt and Jay spoke on occasion. Once, twice a year on birthdays or Christmas. Wyatt called his brother, not the other way around. They spoke for maybe a half hour, just long enough to catch up.

Wyatt’s conversations with his mother weren’t much longer but considerably more personal. Or, they had been until their disagreement in the hospital.

“It’s actually not that sudden,” Wyatt said. “I had a lot of regrets about what happened. Nothing like an extended hospital stay, having the doctors tell you just how close you were to dying, to give those regrets new meaning. I’m sure you feel the same.”

“I did at first.” Jay picked up a pen and began tapping it on his desk blotter. “What young guy doesn’t dream of playing pro football?”

“And you were good enough.”

“We’ll never know. But, as you said, I’ve been doing well. The bank hired me right out of college and promoted me every few years like clockwork.”

“How’s Kerry Anne and the girls?”

Jay rotated his computer monitor, showing Wyatt the screen saver picture of his attractive family.

“Very nice.” Wyatt had two new regrets to add to his list: not attending his brother’s wedding and not being there when his nieces were born. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

“You’re coming to the party then?”

“It’s why I’m here.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jay hedged.

“I thought you wanted me there. You sent me an invitation.”

“Even if I knew where you were, I wouldn’t have invited you. Not with the way Dad feels.”

Not invited him?

“Come on, Wyatt.” Jay gave a mirthless chuckle. “You know how it is.”

“No, Jay, I don’t. Tell me.”

His brother’s perfect-politician smile slipped. “I can’t have you making trouble while you’re here.”

“For Mom and Dad?”Wyatt looked again at the photo on his brother’s desk, at the plaques and certificates, at the nameplate with the title Vice President engraved after Jay Malone. “Or you?”

“Me?”

“You’re afraid I’ll tell people it was you and not me who ran Dad’s car off the road.”

All pretense was gone from Jay’s face. “Let it go, Wyatt. What difference does it make now?”

“Everyone in town thinks I’m responsible for your shattered kneecap.”

Everyone except Paige. Dinah Hart was also in the car. Only, like Jay, she’d been drinking heavily and didn’t remember what happened.

For twelve years, Paige had kept the secret alongside Jay.

“Who cares what everyone thinks?” Jay tossed the pen down.

“I don’t like people believing the worst of me. Especially Dad. Not anymore.”

“Why? It’s not like you live here.”

“I might be moving back.”

Wyatt was just as surprised as his brother at what came out of his mouth. Yet, the second it did, he realized returning to live in Roundup was what he’d wished for since those long months in rehab. Not just a reunion, or even a reconciliation, but a chance for a new life among the people he loved the most.

They might not accept him, still think of him as the rebellious teen who’d caused a tragic car accident.

“And do what exactly?” Jay asked. “Not much call for bronc riders.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of teaching bronc riding.”

Jay barked a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious. I’m going to open a rodeo school. Might as well be in Roundup.”

What Wyatt didn’t tell his brother was that he’d already opened another school in Wyoming three months earlier. Helped open, to be more precise. He’d partnered with an old buddy. Although still in the startup phase, enrollment for the summer programs was steadily increasing.

“Where are you going to get the financing?” Jay asked. “Not at this bank.”

“I have financing already in place.”

Wyatt didn’t need a loan. He’d spent the first half of his rodeo career living on a shoestring. As the years passed and he did better, he stockpiled his winnings and modest earnings from a few endorsement deals. Turns out, he possessed a knack for managing money. While not rich, he’d succeeded in accumulating a decent-sized nest egg.

“Opening a rodeo school’s a risky venture.” A thin sheen of sweat had developed on Jay’s brow. “Take it from me. I handle a lot of loans, personal and business. You need a plan.”

“Got one.” And a partner, if Wyatt wanted to bring in his buddy Emit Gridley.

“A few world championships don’t qualify you to run a business. Do you even know the first thing?”

Wyatt changed his tactics. “I can’t rodeo anymore. I want to make something of my life. Like you have. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Why here?”

“Because the life I want to build includes a relationship with my family. Please, Jay. Help me. If I’m to have any chance of succeeding, I need my reputation intact.”

“You! What about me?” His brother’s complexion turned a dangerous shade of red, and his voice rose. “I have a job. A family depending on me. A position on the town council. If people learn I drove drunk, I’ll be ruined.”

“You were twenty.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re not going to lose your job over a mistake you made twelve years ago.”

“How do you know? You’re nothing but a washed-up cowboy. I’m not sacrificing my career, everything I’ve accomplished, just so you can feel better and make nice with Mom and Dad.”

The harshness of Jay’s outburst galvanized Wyatt. He rose from the chair slowly and deliberately.

“I understand where you’re coming from, Jay. But I’ve paid long enough for something that wasn’t my fault. I’m going to see to it the truth comes out.”

Jay also stood. “No one will believe you over me. You made sure of that when you left.”

“Then what are you so worried about, brother?”

“I’m not.” But the look of panic in Jay’s eyes said differently.

* * *

Wyatt flung open the heavy glass door, not caring about the commotion his heated exit from his brother’s office must have caused. He stood for a moment in front of the bank, debating. To the left was his truck, parked in the lot. Beyond that, the Open Range Saloon.