Cowboys & Kisses (25 page)

He nodded. “Me too.”

We sat there in silence for a few minutes.

“Back to tomorrow. You ready?” he asked.

I stood and opened my closet. “God, no. Not in the least.”

Dax laughed. “Right there with you.”

“Allie,” Mom called from downstairs. “Dax. Wyatt’s here.”

It’s safe to say that those four words changed everything. I went from feeling edgy and frustrated to…euphoric. My heart felt so full, my chest tight, and I had to move.

“What are you waiting for?” Dax asked, laughing.

I looked at him and shrugged.
What was I waiting for?
My feet barely touched the ground as I ran from the room. How had I not heard his truck? Because I was considering Molly-revenge scenarios? Scenarios I wouldn’t think about—for Dax’s sake. Honestly, I didn’t want that kind of negativity anyway. I was sad for Dax, but if he was
handling
it,
me getting in the middle of
it
wouldn’t help.

There was only one thing I knew right now: I wanted to be with Wyatt. To make sure he was okay, that his lunch went well, that his dad wasn’t around… And he was here, so I could ask him about all of that.
This anticipation is crazy.
I’d only said good-bye to him a few hours ago, even if it felt like days…

It was only when I was on the bottom step that I realized I probably shouldn’t run across the room and plant a serious kiss on him. Which was going to be really hard because that was exactly what I wanted to do. I walked casually across the living room floor to the kitchen, practically vibrating with repressed enthusiasm.

He was standing, his back to me, talking to my father. My mother was looking at him, clearly upset. She kept trying not to look at his eye, but I knew she was having a hard time with it. Physical violence wasn’t acceptable, ever, no exceptions. My parents believed that, heart and soul.

I walked into the kitchen, not sure how to act. I knew that whatever I wanted to do, I shouldn’t do it in front of my parents. “How’d it go?” I asked.

He turned and I winced. The white of his eye was dark red, like all the blood vessels had burst. It was purple and swollen and angry, but the cut through his eyebrow wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it was. Or maybe it was just too swollen to see it clearly.

He frowned. “That bad?”

“Painful, maybe.” Dax followed me into the kitchen.

Screw it.
I slid my arms around his waist. “Makes you look rough and tumble—which is a good thing for a rodeo cowboy.”

He hugged me with one arm, hesitantly, and laughed softly.

I looked up at him. “So?” Even with one good eye, I could tell he wanted to kiss me. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.

“What did they say?” Mom chimed in.

“Make ’em sweat. Don’t tell ’em a thing,” Dax teased.

Wyatt shook his head. “It went really well, Dr. Cooper. They want me on their team and are willing to pay for most everything to get me there.”

My heart went crazy. No deployment. No worrying about combat or fighting or death or war. A good school, doing what he loved, close by—depending on where I ended up. I was so…so
happy
.

“Congratulations, Wyatt,” my father said, shaking Wyatt’s hand.

I stepped back, but he grabbed my hand. “Thank you, sir. I know I’ve been given a chance here. There are a few things I need to figure out, but I will. I’m not going to mess this up.” His hand was tight around mine.

A few things to figure out? He’s amazing.

“Congrats.” Dax shook his hand too. “I’m glad it’s gonna happen for you, man.”

“Just promise me you’ll try not to break anything.” My mom—ever the mom.

“Yes, ma’am. Injuries slow you down.” He smiled, even though it had to hurt to do so.

“Wyatt…” My father cleared his throat. “I’ve got something I need a hand with out in the barn, if you have a second?”

I frowned. “Right now?”

“It won’t take long,” my father said, glancing at our joined hands.

Oh my God
. Did he just
smile
? So Dad was good with this? Welcome to a whole new level of weird—as if that was possible at this point.

Wyatt squeezed my hand and followed Dad out the back door.

I felt a little confused. And a lot deflated. Wyatt just got here and I wanted to hear everything about his meeting. I wanted him to stay. I guess I didn’t do a good job of hiding my emotions because Dax laughed and Mom hugged me.

“Your father didn’t want to talk to Wyatt about
things
in front of everyone. He’s a proud young man, something you made clear. So let them talk in private. Hopefully, Wyatt will listen to what your father has to say.”

“Cool,” Dax said. “I’ll go start cleaning out Grandma’s old sewing room. It’s big and far enough away from the rest of us to give him some privacy.”

Mom nodded. “Great idea, Dax.”

“What?” I asked. They’d actually talked about this? About Wyatt living here? “Are you guys serious?”

“We agree Wyatt needs a base, some security—a home. I know you’re not all that fond of us, but I think we’re better than what he has. There’s not a single reason for Wyatt not to go to college. Your father and I can help with that, too.”

There was no arguing that they’d make sure he stayed on track. They nagged the crap out of Dax and me. But I knew we’d get accepted to the schools we wanted to go to; they’d been making sure of that for the last three years. As long as I didn’t screw it up, I’d be able to go anywhere I wanted to. I was headed to SMU after high school graduation—or at least that had been my plan. Lindie and I’s plan, anyway. Dax wasn’t sure where he wanted to go yet, but he had options. Music was his life. He wanted to play, and teach.

“He might say no,” I murmured.

“He probably will try,” she agreed. “But your father’s not going to take no on this one. And neither will I.”

I followed her into the sewing room. It was on the front of the house, downstairs. It would totally work for a bedroom and had a decent closet, but there wasn’t a full bathroom downstairs so he’d have to clean up in the bathroom Dax and I shared.

Grandma’s old sewing table was way too heavy to lift, but we managed to push it into the far corner. Dax and I carried the few boxes we found into the attic. On my way back down, I located some clean sheets and towels. Mom wiped down the large wooden rocking chair and the old wrought iron bed that Grandma had used when her knees hurt too much to go upstairs. Once that was done, Mom and I made up the bed and Dax swept the floor.

I heard the screen door—it was in serious need of some oil on the hinges—and headed back into the kitchen. Dad was at the sink, alone.

“Did he leave?” I asked. “He was upset, wasn’t he? I knew he’d get embarrassed—”

“Allie.” He looked at me, his hazel eyes boring into mine. “Wyatt went home to pack. You and Dax go help him with his stuff. I’m going to start getting the barn ready for the horses.”

I stood there, staring at him. “Really?”

“He argued, but so did I.” He looked at me—a long assessing look—and shook his head.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head again. “Nothing. Come on. Let’s get this done before dinner.”

Dax and I made the drive to Wyatt’s house in silence. I guess I was still processing everything that was happening. It was all happening so fast.

We bounced along a rutted dirt road and rounded a large bunch of cedar trees to find a mobile home. It was small, old, with visible signs of wear and damage. The front paneling was patched in places and had several black-rimmed stains. A single air conditioning window unit sat in a tiny window on the front of the house, while the other two windows were covered with plywood. The sagging roof was a patchwork of odd shingles and mismatched sheet metal.

A lone wind chime hung off a board that had been nailed to the roof. I stared at it. Something about that chime made the place a tiny bit less…depressing.

The horse barn didn’t match. It was a big, traditional-looking wooden building with a hay loft and two massive open doors. It looked like something out of a movie or children’s book, without the red paint and smiling animals. It was easy to see where Wyatt spent most of his time—keeping Pecos’ home safe and surprisingly neat.

One of the stall doors was open to the pen or paddock or whatever you called the large fenced-in area for animals. Pecos trotted forward, his caramel-colored ears pricking up as Dax pulled up beside Wyatt’s truck and parked.

Wyatt came out on the porch, a strange look on his face.

“Hey!” I was all smiles, jumping from the truck and running up the wooden steps—straight into his arms.

He pulled me against him, hugging me tightly.

15 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I sighed, relaxing into him. “We came to help,” I murmured.

“You didn’t have to,” he answered, his voice against my ear. “Not much to get.”

“Then it won’t take long,” Dax said, brushing by him and into the house.

Where the uncertainty came from, or the case of nerves started, I’m not sure. But I had a hard time looking at him.

He tilted my face towards his, his eyes almost gold in the bright afternoon sun. “You look pretty.”

I was smiling so big my face hurt.
He thought I was pretty?
“Mm?” My gaze was fixed on his mouth.

He smiled. “Mm.” His voice was husky.

“What’s going and what’s staying behind?” Dax called from inside.

Wyatt sighed and let go of me, taking my hand to lead me inside. “I wasn’t planning on taking much. It’s not exactly mine to take.”

I don’t know what I expected to find inside the shabby trailer, but this was not it. It was old but clean. An old cast-iron woodstove sat in the far corner; two ancient recliners sat on either side. Hummingbird-print curtains fluttered over the boarded-up kitchen window, and little china hummingbird knick-knacks lined the built-in shelving on the far wall. I moved closer, looking at the framed pictures sitting behind the porcelain figures. One was of Wyatt when he was little. God, he was cute. Big hat, big belt-buckle, big grin. I smiled, touching the picture.

Another was Wyatt, his dad, and a woman I knew must be his mother. Then another picture of just her drew me closer. She had Wyatt’s smile, the same light-brown hair. Her eyes were pale, more grey than copper, but she had the same warmth, I could tell.

What happened to you?
Seeing her now, I wondered how she could have left Wyatt. “She looks like you,” I said to him.

Wyatt looked at the picture of his mother, then picked it up and tucked it into his bag.

The last picture was Wyatt’s father and mother, at a rodeo. His father was smiling, holding a huge belt-buckle. I frowned. This Travis Holcomb looked nothing like the man I’d met at the rodeo. This man looked normal. Happy.

“Anything else?” Dax asked.

Wyatt’s gaze scanned the interior quickly. “That’s it.” Wyatt handed his bag to Dax then stooped to pick up a large wooden chest sitting just inside the door.

I wanted to poke around, to get a glimpse inside Wyatt’s everyday world. But something held me back. He wasn’t offering to show us around. If anything, he seemed eager to get out of here.

“Your dad around?” Dax asked the question I didn’t have the nerve to ask.

He shook his head. “Left this morning.”

“Left?” I asked.

“A delivery. He’ll be back next weekend. Maybe.” His laugh was short, hard.

That laugh hurt. How long had it been since his father was the man in the picture? How long had Wyatt lived alone? What had happened to his family?

Wyatt locked the door behind us and tucked the key into his pocket, balancing the wooden chest on his broad shoulder. He whistled and Pickett came running, barreling into the truck bed.

“Hey Pickett,” I cooed at the dog. Pickett’s stubby tail went crazy.

“You know he’s a working dog, right?” Wyatt grinned, sliding the chest into the truck bed next to a worn suitcase I hadn’t noticed before.

“Who needs love too,” I added, rubbing Pickett behind the ears.

Dax laughed, then asked, “What about Pecos?”

“I’ll bring Pecos and Daisy over once we get the barn ready for them.” I could tell he wasn’t happy about it.

“How long will that take?” I asked.

“Depends how much help I get.” He smiled down at me, closing the tailgate.

I love that smile.
I love him
. I covered his hand, still resting on the tailgate. “I’ll help,” I said.

“Dad’s already started,” Dax said. “If that’s it, I’ll head back.”

Wyatt nodded, opening his truck door. I slid in, taking my spot in the middle of the seat. When Wyatt slipped in next to me I reached up, put my hands on his shoulders, and leaned forward for a kiss. His breathy laugh brushed across my lips right before his mouth met mine. It was a long, firm kiss.

“Wyatt,” I said against his mouth.

“Mm?” he murmured, his lips traveling across my cheek to my ear.

I wanted to talk to him about his father. About his mother. But then his lips latched onto my earlobe and I sort of forgot everything else except how absolutely mind-blowing his lips felt on my ear.
Holy crap.
My hands went from resting to gripping his shirt, tugging him against me. I heard my breath hitch and grow ragged. Pure, unfiltered sensation was taking over. I wanted to pull away. No, no I didn’t. I wanted to pull him
closer
.

His hands slipped under the hem of my shirt, pressing against my bare back, sliding up. When his fingers slipped under my bra-strap—between my shoulders—he shivered, then went completely still. Something about that touch, skin on skin, made him stop. He was breathing hard—like me—when his mouth released my earlobe. He pressed his face against my neck, groaning softly. “Sorry.” His voice was gruff.

I was gasping.
Don’t stop—
which
was probably the wrong thing to say at this point. But since I couldn’t seem to form actual words yet, it didn’t matter.
Don’t be sorry.