Cowboys & Kisses (8 page)

Wyatt laughed softly as he made his way to my door.

“Wyatt,” I said, stopping him.

He turned, his brown eyes fixed on me.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” And then I remembered what I was thanking him for. “For fixing the swing.” He smiled. “So…thank you,” I said.

He nodded. “You’re welcome.” His voice was soft. “Sweet dreams.” His gaze traveled over my face before he smiled, slowly. He left, Pickett at his heels, and my heart in my throat.

The picture of Lindie caught my eye.
What am I doing, Lindie? What the hell am I doing?

Knowing Lindie, she’d tell me to grab him and hold on tight. She said having a boyfriend kept things interesting. She always had a boyfriend—changing them often and still managing to keep them as friends. That was just Lindie. Even if she broke your heart, you couldn’t help but still love her.

She used to tease me about how completely unavailable I was and how, when I finally did let a guy in, it would be the forever guy.

Wyatt was
not
that guy.

***

Four days of avoiding Wyatt was hard work. He was everywhere—half-naked, smiling, and…there.

I headed out first thing in the morning, running long and hard, knowing he’d be the first thing I’d see when I rounded the final bend in the track he’d mowed for me. And when I did see him, standing on the rickety scaffolding, a strange bubble of excitement and hope rose up inside of my chest.

I’d pretend I didn’t see him, not acknowledge him, and head straight inside for a cold shower. After my shower was breakfast—another exercise in torture since Mom now insisted on making the boys a huge spread. I helped, to hurry things up, making French toast or pancakes, cracking eggs, pouring juice or milk…and aware of where Wyatt was every second he was in the room.

I managed not to make eye contact with him. Or touch him. Whatever
almost
happened the other night, whatever stupid, irrational stuff he made me feel—I had to get over it.

Distance.

Attitude.

Going to work and pulling twelve-hour days at Mom’s almost-respectable clinic…

Mom had been making sandwiches for the boys to take to the arena in the evenings, which was a relief. I’d almost made it through the week without slipping up when Dad came home for the Fourth of July. Nothing like walking into the kitchen to find your parents in a seriously intense lip-lock…first thing in the morning.

“Morning,” Mom said to me when they’d finished eating each other’s faces. I grunted. “Your father got home late last night,” she continued. I grunted again.
Like I could miss your make-out session?
“Since it’s Fourth of July and all.”

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. Today was Fourth of July?

Dad was standing beside her, his hand resting on her waist. But he was looking at her with such—

“Morning, Mr. Cooper.”

Morning, Wyatt
. I pulled the orange juice from the refrigerator and carried it to the table. Five places were set. A plate of bacon was already waiting, a bowl of scrambled eggs, too.

I didn’t look up, but I suspected Dad was shaking hands with him. “Wyatt, I can’t tell you how impressed I am with the work you’ve managed the last week.”

I couldn’t argue with that. But I kept my attention on pouring orange juice into each glass. Much safer. No staring or blushing or…drooling.
Dammit
.

“Dax is helping out, Mr. Cooper,” Wyatt said.

Dax snorted. “I’m trying. You’d have more done if you didn’t have to show me how to do everything.”

I dared to look up, then, at Dax. Not Wyatt. I wasn’t that brave…or stupid.

“I appreciate that too, Wyatt.” My father’s voice was warm, sincere. “I haven’t been around to teach the kids what they need to know out here.”

Out here. In Hell.

“I appreciate your work, too, Dax.” I could hear the pride in Dad’s voice.

Screw you. I’ve done work too. I’ve helped Mom. Without being asked. But you don’t need to thank me.
I put the orange juice back in the refrigerator and closed the door carefully, refusing to cave and slam it.
I don’t need anything from him.

Mom turned, offering me a plate piled high with fluffy pancakes. I took it, happy for the distraction of rearranging the table. “Let’s eat,” she said, smiling as Dad pulled her chair out for her.

What is going on?
When did we become a family from a sappy TV movie? We were way more reality-show material…a really messed-up reality show.

I sat, ignoring the fact that Wyatt sat right beside me. Ignoring his yummy smell…the heat that rolled off of him.
Give it a rest, Allie, he’s just
sitting
there.
Instead, I watched my parents. The way Mom blushed when Dad looked at her. The way Dad was looking at her. The way he touched her hand when he passed her the syrup.

I was now officially living in another dimension. I stared at my empty plate.

“What time is the parade?” Dax asked.

“Noon,” Wyatt said. “Should be pretty big, being the hundredth anniversary.”

“I’m excited,” Mom gushed.

Mom is gushing?

“I remember the parade,” Dad said. “Do you kids remember Grandpa Jack? He used to have a longhorn he’d saddle up and ride at the end of the parade. One year, I rode with him. I was about five.”

No snarky comments. No attitude
.

Mom laughed. “And I bet you were adorable.” Dad winked at her, all smiles.

I looked at my twin, wondering if he was seeing what I was seeing. Oh, he was, all right. His blue eyes went round, and his fork froze halfway to his mouth. He blinked, then looked at me. I shrugged a little, knowing he’d understand. We did have the twin-speak thing—when we wanted to.

He shoveled his eggs into his mouth and smiled. I sighed.
Dork
. So he wasn’t worried about the Twilight-Zone display of affection? This was weird. Different. Wrong. One more thing on the crazy list. I shook my head and turned back to the pancake I’d put on my plate. I poked it.

“There’s a dance tonight, too,” Dax added. “Before the rodeo, right? You ready?”

Wyatt didn’t answer, so I made the enormous mistake of looking at him. Mistake because once I started, I couldn’t exactly stop. Even though I really did want to. I
did
. But for some ridiculous reason, I was noticing how golden his skin was. His hair had light sun-streaks. His eyes were a warm look-at-me copper. And dammit, he was looking back at me.

Great.
Perfect.
A week of work…down the drain. My heart was lodged in my throat.

“You team rope?” Dad asked.

I blinked
. Stop staring, Allie.

“Yes, sir,” Wyatt said, his gaze sliding over my face.

I swallowed.
Any time now, Allie.

“So, a busy day.” Mom’s voice was soft.

Right. Mom. Dad. Dax. All here, at the table, with me and…Wyatt.
Who I will stop looking at now.
Thank God Mom was too googly-eyed over Dad to see my slip. Dad never looked at me, so no worries there. And Dax…Dax was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes bouncing between me and Wyatt.
Even better
.

“And the bonfire tonight, too? Promise you’ll be careful.” Mom was trying not to sound worried, I could tell.

Bonfire. Rodeo. Dance. Levi. This day gets better and better.

Dad piped up. “Bonfire?”

Mom placed her hand on his arm. “I told them they could go. They’re going together. Wyatt too.” As if
he
was safe?

Wyatt shifted in his chair, his knee brushing against mine under the table. I felt goose-bumps. Perfect example of how
not
safe he was. My first instinct was to pull away, but I didn’t want to be a total witch. Wait. I didn’t? That was my thing. If I was a raving bitch, it was a whole lot easier to keep my distance.

His jeans were in bad shape, the knees ripped out on both legs. When he leaned forward for another pancake, his skin pressed against my bare leg. I shivered.
Not breathing
.

He saw it, my reaction. I saw him see it from the corner of my eye. I frowned at my plate and pulled my leg away.

“So, since it’s a national holiday and all, does that mean we get a break?” Dax asked.

“Absolutely,” Dad answered. “You boys deserve a day off.”

“You all coming to the parade?” Wyatt asked.

“Definitely.” Dad was all enthusiasm. “Dance and rodeo too. This town knows how to celebrate, if I remember correctly.”

Wyatt sat forward, propping his forearm on the table. My gaze wandered, resting on the way the tendons in his arm shifted as he picked up his glass.

“You going to run today, Allie?” Dax asked.

I didn’t jump. I was proud of that. But the grin on Dax’s face told me he’d been watching me and he knew I was fixating on Wyatt…on his freaking forearm. I was losing it. “Yeah, I should.” I sighed.

“You didn’t eat anything.” My mom sounded worried.

“I will,” I offered, standing up and clearing my plate. We’d all picked up a few of Wyatt’s good manners. “When I get back.”

“Okay.” She was clearly in too good a mood to argue.

I pulled a water bottle from the refrigerator and headed out the front door without a backwards glance. By the time I’d circled the track a fifth time, I was dripping sweat. It had to be over a hundred degrees. The cicadas were chirping loudly. The air seemed to move, like steam rising off a fresh-made pie. And the grass crunched beneath my feet.
We need rain.

I risked a glance at the house as I passed, but the boys were nowhere in sight. Because they had the day off. I shouldn’t be looking at them anyway.

Two hours later I was climbing into the back of Dad’s truck. I tried not to wince at the sight of my father in boots, pressed jeans, and a straw cowboy hat—but I don’t know if I succeeded.

My mom was still smiling and peaceful. Maybe she was on new medication?

Dax, however, was completely wound up. Instead of his usual grunge t-shirts and baggy jeans, he was wearing the same slim-legged jeans as our father. I was relieved to see he still wore his combat boots and a t-shirt, albeit clean and anti-establishment-message-free.

“Molly going?” I asked quietly as we turned into town.

His panicked look was all the confirmation I needed. “Allie—”

I held up my hands. “Not a word.”

He smiled, his easy-going sweet smile. “Thanks.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not thinking it, though.” That made him laugh.

We parked in the parking lot of the grocery store and climbed out. I had no idea there were this many people in Black Falls, Texas. Or maybe they were all here for the parade? Which was kind of…pathetic. This was the best show around? A bunch of old people in full cowboy get-up. Sixty-something-plus women with way too much makeup on and hair sprayed so stiff it wouldn’t move in the light breeze that blew now and again. Kids wearing toy gun belts and riding their stick horses around their parents seated in lawn chairs or sitting on the tailgates or fender wells of pickup trucks.

I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling a little underdressed. I was in shorts and a tank top. And flip-flops. It was hot. Really hot.

There wasn’t much room. All along the parade route, cars and trucks, a few bicycles, and a horse or two lined the street. We ended up wedged between a truckbed full of loud senior citizens and a mini-van with the hatch open. There must have been a dozen screaming kids inside, so I moved closer to the senior citizens.

“Who’s this pretty little thing?” one of the women asked.

My mother had already introduced herself and Dad, while I’d tried my best to avoid one of the dirty, screaming kids launching pretzels from inside the van—making gun noises with each throw.

“This is Allie, our daughter.” I heard the laughter in Mom’s voice. She knew how I felt about kids. “Allie, this is Mrs. Gunter.”

I turned, going around the side of their truck to shake the old lady’s offered hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Gunter.”

“You and your brother are twins?” Mrs. Gunter asked. “You look nothing alike.”

I smiled. “I’m fine with that.”

Mrs. Gunter laughed. “Oh, you must meet my grandson. That boy will trip over his tongue when he sees you.” I honestly didn’t know what to say to that, so I just kept smiling.

Dax was laughing uncontrollably.

“Who’s your grandson?” my mother asked.

“He’s a good boy. Plays football at the high school. Raises steers for FFA. Goes to Sunday School every week.”

I wasn’t sure why Mrs. Gunter was telling
me
this since my mother was the one who asked the question. It was like she was campaigning for the guy or something. Creepy.

My mother was smiling. “He sounds like a good boy.”

Dax was still laughing. Dad was talking to a group of men, several feet away—away from the senior set and the child mafia.

“Levi,” Mrs. Gunter said. “Levi Gunter.”

“Allie knows Levi,” Dax chimed in.

“Oh, Lord, you’re
that
Allie?” Mrs. Gunter was all smiles then. “Well, of course you are. Sometimes it takes me a while to figure things out. Too much drinking, I guess.” I stared at her. She burst out laughing. “Oh, honey, I’m just playin’.” I laughed then, or tried to.

The sirens were the first thing I heard. Fire truck sirens. Loud… I felt Dax’s hands rest on my shoulders and didn’t shrug him off.
They’re just sirens
.

I didn’t wig out and run away, or hide in Dad’s truck, or go lock myself in the grocery store bathroom. I stood there, counting backward from twenty. I knew Dax’s touch kept me anchored. In the here and now—not then.

The fire trucks took hours to reach the other end of Main Street. Okay, maybe not hours, maybe it was ten minutes. It could have only been five minutes. But to me it felt like hours. They threw candy and beads as they passed us, and the dirty dozen scrambled out of the van and into the street after some of each.

Then the floats began. Rather, the farm trailers with all sorts of…interesting decorations. From a taxidermy float, complete with turkey frozen mid-flight and leaping deer, to every small Texas county and their elected peach, pear, apple, FFA, FHA, Rotary Club, or Lions Club beauty queen. I wasn’t a fan of the whole pageant thing, but it was obviously important to them. Here they were, at noon on the Fourth of July, in full formal gowns under the scorching Texas sun. But I had to give them credit; they kept on smiling and waving.