by Ellie Hall
Her lips parted and her eyes dipped as though his word choice prompted her to think about the kisses they’d shared—and not the candy kind.
“I do. It fits the space and—” She lowered onto the couch. “It’s comfortable.”
He sat down beside her with a grunt as he kicked his ankle onto the coffee table.
She sprang to her feet. “I should get us something to eat. Do you need more ice?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, but brought him fresh ice and a drink before disappearing into the kitchen.
His eyelids were heavy and once more, he dozed.
Wyatt woke a short time later to the scent of something lemony and delicious. The faint smell of onions also filled the air. Wyatt pressed himself upright and examined his ankle. The swelling had gone down and when he stood up, the sharp pain wasn’t nearly as agonizing as it had been earlier that day. Norm was right about staying off it.
Wyatt hobbled into the kitchen where Charlotte wore an apron over her outfit and sliced a pizza into triangles.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind. His breath whispered across the bare skin of the nape of her neck. He trailed kisses there. She sunk back into him, setting down the kitchen utensils.
“I hope you don’t mind frozen pizza. I mean it’s cooked, but—” She stumbled over the words.
“I kept it in the freezer for emergencies. The local pizza joint doesn’t deliver out this way.”
He spun her around and planted his lips on the freckles popping on her shoulders then worked his way up the front of her neck, to her chin, teasing her slowly, adoringly until he reached her lips. She tasted lemony and bright, like sunshine, like something eternal.
“Wyatt,” she breathed as their kissing turned up the temperature in the kitchen at least a thousand degrees. “The lemon drizzle cake is going to burn.”
He hadn’t even noticed the timer going off in the background.
She insisted he sit while she set out dinner. After they ate, they moved to the new couch as thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Was there dessert?” Wyatt asked, shifting closer for another taste of her mouth.
She popped up from the cushion. “Yes, I made lemon drizzle cake. My mother used to bake it whenever it rained.”
“You grew up in London. So that was like every day.”
She giggled and put a plate in front of each of them.
“Smells delicious.” He took a bite and moaned as the buttery, yet light and lemony flavors melded on his tongue. “It is delicious.”
Her phone beeped. She checked it and then set it next to her plate, which remained untouched on the coffee table.
“Are you full? You hardly ate your pizza.”
“I’m just—” She hesitated.
“Everything okay?”
“Montgomery is badgering me about custody and all kinds of nonsense.” She brushed her hand in the air like it was nothing. “Just thinking.”
He understood if she was preoccupied with her numpty ex, as she’d called him. However, if it had to do with Kim’s comment about them being lovers, and having a quarrel, then she wasn’t alone in her uncertainty or contemplation.
The word lovers had sunk into his mind and moved beyond his head and into the center of his chest like a stone tossed into a pond. It remained there, lodged deep. He wasn’t ready to inspect it, especially not when he’d crossed a line that he’d told himself he wouldn’t even put his toe on.
“In ordinary circumstances, I’d suggest we take an after-dinner walk; it’s a good time to think and talk, but considering my ankle is messed up and that it’s about to rain, would you like to play cards instead?” he asked.
“That’s the opposite of thinking and talking, so sure.”
Her answer surprised him. He went to a kitchen drawer, got the deck and helped himself to a second slice of her lemon drizzle cake. “It’s just a small one,” he called, assuring.
“I’m glad you like it. What’s the game and what are we wagering?”
“What games did Will teach you?”
She let out a long belly laugh. “Darling, I taught William everything he knows,” she said in her proper British accent.
“You’re a skilled card player?”
She tilted her head as though sizing him up. “Quite skilled.”
“Very well then. What should we wager? Hmm. A kiss? An island? You and Birdie visiting at the end of the summer?”
“All of the above.”
They finalized the rules of play and as the clock circled toward midnight, Charlotte had won three kisses, that served to fully dull the pain in Wyatt’s ankle—he reckoned he also won in that instance. She’d also scored a trip to an exotic locale of her choosing and was closing in on winning rights to one of Wyatt’s islands when his opportunity to retain some of his dignity as a card shark appeared then slipped through his fingers. She was quite skilled and not above bragging about it.
She slapped her cards down, jumped to her feet, and did an adorable victory dance. “Now, you, Will, and I can all be island owning neighbors.”
Despite his ankle, he got to his feet because once again, that was a win for him as well.
“Does this mean I get to name the island or will you do that before you sign it over to me?” she asked.
He pressed his palm to the stubble growing in along his jaw. “It’s called Ile Amor,” he said in his best French accent.
“Je l’aime.”
“Does that mean you approve?”
She laced her arms around his neck. “Very much.”
“How about you say that in French?” he said, hovering near her lips with his.
“How about you kiss me?” she replied.
Chapter 21
Charlotte
Charlotte laid in bed late that night, recalling how each time her lips landed on Wyatt’s was better than the time before. She feared she might get addicted, which wasn’t entirely a bad thing, at least for the next days before she went home. Then she’d be able to quit cold turkey because there’d be an entire ocean between them. No Wyatt equaled no kissing and she’d get on with her life as if nothing had ever happened.
But who was she trying to kid? She wasn’t the kind of girl who had a fling. She didn’t want a throwaway romance. She wanted forever. Wyatt wasn’t that kind of guy. So what was she doing? She knew better. He’d said she was contained. It was true; she was always in control. She had to be in order to provide the stable life Birdie needed, the one, truth be told, she’d never had growing up with Maman.
Her mother was carefree, as Sydney often said. Following her whims and living in a fantasy land. She was playful and spontaneous, moving from flat to flat, going out with different boyfriends, and spending money she didn’t have. Charlotte loved her mother deeply, but in the end, she was the one left to take care of her and pick up the pieces of her life: to deal with debt, medical bills, and other matters that were left open-ended.
She admired her mother’s spirit to a degree but wasn’t built the same way. She never understood how Maman didn’t fret over all the little things, how she could just go out on the town when the water bill was due or remain so positive even at the end when the doctor’s answers came slowly and without much hope.
Yet, something about Will seemed to draw that out of Charlotte. The trip to the ranch for instance. Ordinarily, she’d never had done something so spontaneous and irresponsible. When she thought about him, when she kissed him, when he made her smile it was more than hope kindling in her chest. It was much more. It was something so powerful that she’d never actually even felt it for her ex. Something like it but not it.
After receiving an email from Monty’s lawyer earlier, she felt quite the opposite for the man she’d once married. But she was still on vacation and it was no use thinking about it. No, instead, she’d think about Wyatt’s lips on hers. However, the content of the email fought its way into her mind, stomping all over her good mood and tamping out the embers in her chest.
Montgo
mery wasn’t the man she thought he was. When it came to men, she had a lousy track record. Wyatt may have been the man she wanted, but he wasn’t the man she needed. He’d said it himself and then wouldn’t talk about it when she’d brought it up. He didn’t want a family and she came with one built in—a daughter she adored and who needed her focus and attention, not a woman who was carefree and in love.
Charlotte rolled onto her side.
In love. If she hadn’t been lying down in bed, she’d have staggered and probably turned her ankle like Wyatt. She’d skirted that word and its definition. She’d sidestepped, hopped around, and practically did a jig to avoid it just as she avoided cleaning out the townhouse.
No, she wasn’t in love. She was the proud owner of an island called love, well, in French and she loved the lemon drizzle cake. She wasn’t in love. She couldn’t be in love with a person who didn’t believe in true love. That was reserved for people who weren’t like her: lovers who dined at outdoor cafes late on lazy Sunday mornings, who kissed over the sugar bowl, who’s hand found the other’s without even thinking.
She tossed the sheet off and flopped onto her back.
Lovers. Kim had referred to them as lovers. It was clear there was an attraction between Wyatt and her. They enjoyed each other’s company. They made each other laugh and sometimes agonize, she supposed, but that was because they weren’t afraid to be honest.
But they were afraid of something else. Or at least, Wyatt was. Forever. And that’s what she wanted. Someone who could commit to her and Birdie and the future.
She sunk into the mattress, irritated that she was recycling the frustrating and hopeless thoughts instead of sleeping. Pulling out her phone, she realized there was something she hadn’t done since the night Wyatt burst into her room, thinking he’d heard a man’s voice.
In all the nights since, she hadn’t listened to Sydney’s message and cried herself to sleep. Instead, she blissfully dozed off.
She tapped the screen and Sydney’s voice came to life, scratchy and tired but warm and imploring. When it reached the end, the screen went dark. However, the tears didn’t come.
When Charlotte woke the next morning, a card and several boxes wrapped in gift paper were on the kitchen counter. The house was quiet as the sunshine streamed in, casting a patchwork of light on the new furniture.
She opened the flap to the envelope and pulled out the card. Two concert tickets fell out. L Ryder was printed on the face. Her eyebrows lifted. Apparently, the band that had played at her brother’s Wedding Eve party was playing locally and Wyatt had gotten tickets. She read his note.
Good morning, Sunshine.
I have a few things to catch up on today and will be out or in the barn. Make yourself at home. I’m looking forward to spending your last night here listening to the same music we did on the night we first met.
-Wyatt
P.S. I hope everything fits, Cowgirl. See you at seven, ready to go.
She tore into the wrapping and pulled out a pair of designer jean shorts and a cute tank top. In a second box were a pair of cowboy boots—cowgirl boots in matte leather. In a third box, was a brand-new hat that was much like Wyatt’s only it actually fit her head and didn’t threaten to lower over her eyes. He must’ve spent a fortune.
She put everything back in the boxes and tidied up the paper. Going to the concert was silly, considering his ankle. She couldn’t possibly accept the clothing, shoes, or hat. It was too much.
She groaned. He said to be ready by seven. That left her with the rest of the day to fret. Which she did while reading, eating lunch, taking a walk, visiting the horses, and then packing up her belongings for her departure the next day. Mostly, she was excited to see Birdie but the truth was she didn’t exactly want to leave. Birdie would love to meet Dusty Rose, but Charlotte had to stand firm in her resolve not to introduce people into her daughter’s life who’d just end up leaving.
Her phone beeped. People like Montgomery.
Charlotte groaned and turned the ringer off.
“Darlin’, I’m home,” Wyatt’s voice called with his low and irresistible drawl.
Charlotte stuffed her feet in the boots and clipped into the hallway.
He stood at the other end of the hall, looking as handsome and rugged and alluring as ever. He sucked in his lips and let out a low whistle. “Don’t mind if I do and you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to. You look mighty fine, Charlotte Wheaton.”
She couldn’t help the smile that lifted her lips. For his pleasure, she plunked the hat on her head.
He growled, low in his throat. “Now, how am I supposed to take you out, looking like that?”
“Exactly. I struggled with this all day. You must’ve spent a ton. I can’t accept these gifts, Wyatt.”
He tucked his chin back. “You can and you will.” There was a finality in his voice that would’ve served him well in the court of law.
“It’s thoughtful and I’m grateful, but you should save your money and not spend it on me.”
“I’d buy you the sun and moon and wrap them in fancy paper topped with a bow if I could.” His deep blue eyes smoldered.
Her chin sunk into her chest. “But you can’t give me forever,” she mumbled.
“Pardon? I couldn’t hear you. I just came in from the barn after checking on Wally who was repairing one of the stalls with power tools.”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Then, let’s go. We have dinner ahead of us and a live band to see. Yee haw!” he said, holding out his elbow for her to take.
“What about your ankle?” she asked when he slid into the driver’s seat a few minutes later.
“It’s not too bad. I’ve had worse.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to drive and to go to a concert?”
“Spending time with you is always a good idea. Plus, I didn’t want to leave you here all alone today but had to take care of a few things in the city.”
“You mean you were already in Austin earlier?”
He nodded. “It’s not all that far. Nothing beats driving this old truck.”
“After seeing you behind the wheel of the McLaren, I’m surprised to hear you say that.”
“I hope to keep surprising you for a long time.”
But not long enough. That nagging truth was back and it sunk into Charlotte’s stomach like a cold weight.
They cruised to Austin, stopping at Wyatt’s favorite taco restaurant and sat at a corner table with a basket of chips between them. He talked her through the assortment of salsas, ranging from mild to five-alarm.
“I’m not usually a fan of anything spicy.”
“It takes a while to build up your tolerance, but I’ve never met a man from Texas who doesn’t like his hot sauce.”
“I’m not a man nor am I from Texas.”
“But your man is,” he said with a wink.
And maybe for that night, it was true, so she’d hold onto it while she could.
The server soon brought out several plates with a variety of tacos.
“This is enough food to feed the ranch.” Her eyes grew as she surveyed the meal.
“Not the way those guys eat.”
“I have a confession.” Her tone was serious, dire.
Wyatt looked up. “What’s that?”
“I’ve never eaten a taco.”
His head jerked back with surprise. “How is that possible?”
“Well, technically I had one once, but it was nothing like these. It was a stale, crispy shell that broke when I bit in and the filling tasted like dirty dishwater.”
“Nah, that is not a taco. You’re in for a treat.” He set several different tacos on the plate in front of Charlotte and it all smelled and looked so good that she didn’t know where to begin.
It was a messy meal and the juices dripped all over her fingers, but the flavors were so delicious and spicy, they erased the worries from her mind.
They talked about Wyatt�
�s passion for working with the horses, which prompted him to utilize the ranch as a rescue, and what he envisioned for the future.
After they’d put a solid dent in the meal, Wyatt checked the time. “We’d better head over to the concert venue.”
Charlotte couldn’t help but focus on how little time they had left together because the tough truth was, she wanted more.
Wyatt left the truck with the valet when they arrived. The line wound around the building and they bypassed it. The employee smiled when Charlotte gave her the tickets. “I see someone likes to spoil you.”
Charlotte wrinkled her nose.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” Wyatt said as he led them to the prime seating with a full view of the stage.
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
Wyatt scrubbed his hand down the back of his neck. “Why is that? Why is it so hard for you to accept gifts, spend money, and all that? For instance, the man who made that hat on your head put some of the cash I spent on it toward his son’s college fund. L Ryder donates money from ticket sales to a dog rescue. Money isn’t bad. It can help people.”
Charlotte shrugged off discomfort. “When we were growing up, we never had enough. Maman was frivolous with money. She’d treat us to a big meal out and then fret about paying the bills the next day. Will was the same when he started earning from modeling. It’s just not something I feel good about, especially knowing we might need it later. Plus, it’s better to stay focused on the essentials.”
“But being happy is essential and getting amazing seats at a concert can make people happy. It makes me happy. Does it make you happy?”
She shrugged and nodded.
“So is seeing your favorite cowgirl dressed up in the duds you got her for a night out.” His lips quirked. He smoothed his hand down her arm and caught her hand in his. “Because she looks darn good, if I do say so.”
“Wyatt—” she started.
“Listen. I know you’re going to object, but did it ever occur to you that doing things for you makes me happy. I imagine Will feels much the same way. I remember what you said about not liking when he treated you to things, but why take that way from him?”
