Cowboys & Kisses (29 page)

I thought about knocking, but a clap of thunder changed my mind. I opened the door and slipped inside, leaning against the closed door to get my bearings. The digital alarm clock on the bedside table cast everything in a pale glow. Pickett was curled up in the corner, snoring. And Wyatt—Wyatt was sleeping on his stomach, shirtless, his sheet draped low around his waist.

I could breathe easier. He was here. He was safe. He
was
wearing something underneath that sheet, wasn’t he?

Oh. Good. Lord.
Now my heart was thumping for an entirely different reason.

17 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I stood there, frozen, staring. Seriously? He should be a model. An underwear model…or something.

He rolled, flipping onto his back and throwing his arm over his face. I held my breath, but the sheet stayed in place.

Now his chest was on display…his beautiful sculpted chest.
Not breathing
. I almost lost my hold on my sheet. How could someone so wonderful be so gorgeous?
Lightning lit up the room, jolting me from my staring session, and making me move, quickly, to the edge of his bed. I sat by his feet, the springs on the bed squeaking loudly.
Great
.

“Allie?” He moved, leaning off the side of the bed. A light came on…from under the bed?

“I-I needed to know you were…back safe,” I whispered. “Sorry I woke you up.” I was lying. I wasn’t sorry I’d woken him. If I hadn’t woken him, he wouldn’t be looking at me, scooting closer to me, making me forget about the storm. It wasn’t the first time I’d dreamed about being with Wyatt…in bed…up close and personal…half-naked, even.
But this time I’m not dreaming. He’s here. I’m with him.
I smiled at him. “So, hi,” I whispered.

“Hi. You okay?” His voice was pitched low. He slid closer, one long leg sliding around me.

“Yeah, sure,” I murmured. It was so hard to breathe.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“I always run around the house with the sheet over my head.” I tried for humor, but my voice was tight and quavering. “You have a flashlight under the bed?”

“I’m used to power outages.” Which made perfect sense. “Miss me?” he asked softly.

“I thought that was sort of obvious.”

“I missed you.” His arms slipped around me, pulling me against him. Somehow that made it easier to breathe…and harder to think. His scent wrapped around me, like his muscled arms, his lean thigh… I shivered in his arms, overwhelmed. “Just a little rain. Nothing to worry about.” His voice was low, soft, wonderful.

I believed him. Fear was quickly being replaced by sensations that were just as powerful, but completely different. My head fell forward, against his bare chest, my cheek against his shoulder. I took a long, deep breath—drawing him into my lungs—and managed to sound almost normal. “How’d you do?”

“Came in second.” He yawned, making my head go up and down against his chest.

“That’s great.” I stared up at him. It was kind of hard not to notice how tired he was.
Dammit
. “I really am sorry I woke you.” I was…now.

“You didn’t. I’ve been tossing.” His gaze was dark in the dimly lit room, dark black-brown-warm-and-wonderful. His fingers brushed a hair from my eyelashes.

The thunder made me jump, the springs of the bed squeaked, and the flashlight rolled out from under the bed—illuminating us on the bed. Wyatt, all backlit rippling muscles, was mind-blowing.

“Storms bother you, too, huh?” I sounded breathless.

“No.” His jaw clenched. “I was worried about you.”

“Oh,” I managed.

His smile grew, his gorgeous dimples making my stomach hot and heavy. He took my hand in his and pressed it to his lips.

Hot and heavy
and
twisting in an alarming way.

He smile dimmed a little. “I wanted to see you but I didn’t want to risk it.”

I slipped my arm around his waist. “Risk it?”

“Slipping into your room. At night. Thought your folks might not appreciate that.” He sounded worried. “I wanted to…but…”

He was right. Him, in my room, at night—probably not a good thing. He was, after all, the golden boy. I hadn’t really thought through what would happen if Dad found me here with him—in his bed in the middle of the night.
Probably not the best idea I’ve ever had.
But I’d needed to know he was safe. And now, being wrapped up in his arms, in him, I felt too good to leave. Being with Wyatt made me feel loved and wanted…and a little crazy.

For a split second I wished I was wild-and-rebellious Allie again—just long enough to throw myself at Wyatt guilt-free. I didn’t want to think about my father right now. I didn’t want to think about anything but me and him.

“Things any better with your dad?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I’m sorry things are so hard, Allie.” His voice sounded so sincere.

“You’re sorry? For me?” After everything he’d been through? “Wyatt… You’re kind of…amazing, you know that?” I looked up at him, loving the sound of his heart under my ear, the shift of his back muscles beneath my hand. “Yeah, my dad and I aren’t exactly in a happy place, but it’s just the way things are.”

“Your dad doesn’t seem all that unreasonable.” He seemed hesitant. “I don’t exactly have the best measuring stick to compare him to, but I like him.”

“He’s not unreasonable. I like him too,” I agreed. “I don’t
not
like him, I guess. We’re messed up, we don’t
get
each other. He wants a loving, smiling daughter. I want a loving, smiling father. Which is kind of hard, since I sort of made hating on him my second favorite hobby—after soccer.”

He didn’t say anything, but he looked…sad.

“I don’t have any excuses, Wyatt. I wish I did.
I
did this.”

“Allie…”

“When I was old enough to kick a soccer ball, he made it my thing—
our
thing.” I shrugged. “I gave it one hundred and ten percent. I wanted him to be proud of me. My victories were his victories, but so were my losses. It was a lot of pressure. Making State Select Team changed things. My coach, my team…Lindie…made me realize I didn’t need to prove myself to him anymore. I played for the team, for me. And the less I listened to Dad, the more frustrated he became.”

Wyatt didn’t say anything. But the frown on his face said enough.

“I told him I had a coach, I needed a
father
. I wasn’t all that nice about it. I know it sounds stupid and selfish now. I do.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “And then after Lindie’s accident I went a little…mental.”

Wyatt’s voice was soft. “Losing her like that…you were upset.”

“I was. And him sitting there, not saying anything while I lay in that hospital bed—knowing I’d killed Lindie. I said horrible things to him, told him I knew he’d wished I’d died instead of Lindie.” I could still see the shock on his face…the anger…the sadness. “Part of me believes…believed it. Now it’s too late for me and him. Just too much
stuff
. I don’t want to disappoint you but I don’t want to lie to you either. I
am
a mean girl. I am. Or I was. I’m trying not to be now. I really am trying not to be.” I sucked in a deep breath. “I-I don’t know how to have relationships…” I shook my head.

His hand cupped my cheek. “He’s your father. It’ll never be too late to make things right with him.”

I leaned into his hand. “I hope you’re right.”

He smiled. “Don’t give up on him.”

I nodded.

“Don’t give up on yourself,” he added. “One thing my mom would say, the past can make you or break you, but which one is up to you.”

I nodded, repeating the words softly to myself. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” he asked.

“Smile. Live. Love.”

“She had another expression. Momma was full of them. Fake it ’til you make it.” He shrugged, his hand rubbing up and down my arm, his heart thumping steadily beneath my cheek. “I did a lot of faking it until I met you.”

It was my turn to frown. “
Me
me? The bitch me?”

He sighed. “You’re hurting, Allie. I get it. The anger. My dad’s not your dad, but I get hating your father and still wanting his respect—maybe his love. I understand.”

“You do?” It was a revelation. He understood. Sort of. “But you have an actual
right
to feel those things. I don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re this awesome, caring, gentle guy. Lindie’s death was
my
fault—”

“You didn’t make the car hydroplane.”

“No, but I—”

“You weren’t driving drunk. In an ice storm.” He paused, whispering, “Dumb shit.”

“He wouldn’t have driven us if I hadn’t—”

“Allie.” He tilted my face back, our eyes locking. “The eighteen-wheeler?
That
driver lost control on the ice.
His
brakes locked up. He hit your car. It
was
an accident.” His fingers slipped through my hair. “I know you said things to Lindie you wish you could take back, that you two fought, but you can’t own this.”

“How do you know all of this?” I asked, feeling nauseous.

“Dax.” He looked at my hand in his. “People.”

“
People?
”

“Around town—the little old ladies that sit in Peggy’s on Sunday nights… It’s not hard to find out anything if you know who to ask. And I know everyone.” His smile was uncertain.

“But…why?”

“So I can be here for you. I need to be here for you.”

He was so matter-of-fact about it. I sat up, putting some space between us. Not because I was upset with him, but because I was going to cry. And I didn’t want to cry. Too many thoughts were racing together, bouncing off one another, making my emotions just as mixed up. I tried to calm myself, to take deep breaths, to count backwards and clear my head.

I don’t know how he made things so clear, but he did. One thing I accepted immediately, because it was true. He
needed
to be here for me. I needed to be here for him—I needed
him
.

But Lindie…The crash…
Was
it an accident? I swallowed. But…it
was
my fault, wasn’t it? Or…maybe not… The hope he stirred was powerful, and painful too.

“You mad at me?” he asked softly, anxious.

I looked at him over my shoulder. “No. I’m not mad at you. I just…It’s just that…” I had to keep swallowing. I didn’t want to fall apart on him but I sounded desperate. “I want to believe you.”

“About?”

“Lindie. The c-crash.” My voice hitched. “
I know
what really happened. If I hadn’t made her leave, none of it would have happened.”

“You would have left eventually, Allie, right?” He waited for me to nod, then kept going. “Say you two didn’t argue and you waited to leave, how would you have gotten home?” he asked, making no move to touch me.

I shrugged. “Lindie probably would have driven us back to her place.”

“In the storm, on the ice, at night, after drinking…” His voice faded away.

He was making sense, but my guilt was strong. I turned toward him. “We
might
have made it home just fine.”

“Maybe.” He nodded. “Maybe not.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” I argued.

“I know,” he agreed, sharing in my sadness.

We were quiet for a while. My mind was racing, turning over everything he’d said. Sitting here, not quite touching him but completely aware of him, I wished there was some way to convey how much he meant to me. I loved him, but that word didn’t seem enough…

“I wish I could change what happened, Allie, to make that hurt go away.” His voice was rough. “But I’m…I’m glad you’re here…with me…now.”

My heart responded. The guilt was still there, missing Lindie was still there, but his words stirred a vital warmth deep inside me. “Me too.” I couldn’t think of one place I wanted to be more, which really freaked me out. “But I don’t know how to make this work. You’re…you.”
You’re perfect and I’m me.
“You’ve been through enough. I’m…I’m…
me
.” I turned away, having a hard time getting the words out. “I…I…God, Wyatt, I don’t deserve you.”

He didn’t say anything. The only sound was the rain and thunder and our breathing. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I looked at him. He was staring at me, sad, tired…loving. “You’re going to have to get over that.”

I almost laughed. “What?”

“Thinking like that. You don’t deserve me?” He shook his head and reached forward, his hand cupping my cheek—finally touching me. “I love you, Allie.
You
make me happy. I feel like…I’m home with you.”

It was still raining. Thunder was still rattling the whole damn house. But nothing compared to the thumping of my heart. I was light-headed, euphoric, and overwhelmed all at once. Everything about this moment was perfect.

He loved me. I might not deserve him, but I knew—without a doubt—that I loved him. I loved him in a way that I didn’t understand yet, not really. It was so…complete. And it scared me, to accept what he was offering. His gaze held mine, boring into
me
without wavering.

His eyes held such promise, such faith. I knew, then, there was one thing that scared me more—losing him.

I moved quickly, kneeling between his legs and resting my hands on his bare chest. His skin was warm and smooth beneath me, making me breathless and shaky as I leaned forward to press my lips against his. “Welcome home, Wyatt,” I murmured.

It was a soft kiss, lips brushing feather-light. The sweep of air, the mix of our breaths, the stir of longing and love all mixed up. I smiled down at him.

He looked happy…and sort of like he was in pain. His jaw was locked, his nostrils flared, and a dark flush colored his cheeks. It was holy-hell hot, making my stomach quiver and every inch of me tense. Waiting. Hoping. Anticipating. His hands twisted in the sides of my shirt, like he couldn’t decide whether to pull me closer or hold me back. And all I could think about was kissing him again, with a little less sweetness and a whole lot of want.