“How did this happen?” she asked, worried about the calf, praying he’d grow big and strong.
“Lucky the bull got out of his pen, and...well...got lucky one night.”
Her cheeks burned, then went scorching when she caught Wyatt’s gaze, and he winked at her.
“Thank you—both of you—for your help. My assistant is almost here, so you two can take off,” Luke said, wiping his hands on a rag.
“I didn’t do much. It was Wyatt’s singing.”
“Nah,” Wyatt said. “Call if you need anything,” he said to Luke, then held the door for her.
She and Wyatt walked outside, the lights from the barn illuminating the path. “I didn’t know you could sing,” she said, keeping her voice quiet.
“I don’t.”
“I just heard you—”
“That’s nothing.”
She put her hand on his arm to halt his progress. “It’s not nothing. You have an amazing voice. Have you ever thought about singing for a living?”
“No.”
“You’re so talented. A voice like yours should be shared.”
Wyatt looked up at the sky filled with stars. “Used to sing for my mom. She’d be real sick from chemo, said it was the only thing that made her feel better.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d been sick. She must have been proud of you. I’m sure she’d want you to share your gift.”
“Not interested.”
She started to say something, but a huge yawn took over, and she covered her mouth, embarrassed.
Wyatt pulled her into his arms. “You should head on up to bed. It’s nearly one a.m., and you need some sleep.”
She lowered her head to his shoulder, slid her arms around his waist. Knowing he was right didn’t help. Sleeping next to him—or not sleeping—was all she wanted to do.
“’Night, Wyatt,” she whispered, and forced herself to pull away.
“Frankie.” He stopped her, then held her against his hard body, tilted her head up and kissed her so thoroughly her toes curled, and she swore she saw fireworks behind her closed eyelids.
He lifted his head and stepped back, but kept a hand on her till she was steady.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, she resolutely followed the path to the lodge, but turned back at the door. He was right where she’d left him, watching her. She waved at him, even though she couldn’t see his face in the dark, then went inside.
He’d knocked her normal, safe, boring world on its axis, and she wasn’t sure that was such a bad thing.
Chapter Ten
Francine woke up out of a sound sleep, the remnants of a delicious dream she’d been having about Wyatt lingering on her mind. She rolled over and muscles she hadn’t used in a long time—a really long time—protested. Reality set in, and she remembered the time they’d spent in the cabin the evening before.
Did she have any regrets?
She looked at the clock and decided to think about it later. She could either go back to sleep for an hour or go for a walk, something she used to do but hadn’t for a long time. Since Johnny was still at the sleepover, she decided to use the energy filling her body for the walk and clear her head.
She dressed quickly in her new jeans and sneakers, pulled on a thick jacket, and headed out of the lodge, just in time for sunrise. Earbuds on, favorite playlist set on shuffle, she stretched for a few minutes, then set off at an easy pace.
The morning came alive around her as she walked on the path around the lake. But it was still so early she hadn’t encountered another soul. She rounded a corner and noticed a familiar lakeside cabin.
Wyatt’s.
She grinned to herself, thinking she could just drop by for a surprise visit. Or a little bit of early-morning lovema—
She stopped dead in her tracks.
The cotton candy–pink sports car she’d spotted a few times racing along the ranch roads sat next to Wyatt’s truck, gleaming like a beacon in the early-morning sun.
She couldn’t imagine any of his brothers driving a pink car. Maybe it was Kelsey’s? While she was debating whether to turn back or continue on, his cabin door opened. Instinct driving her, she stepped off the path and behind a tree.
A life-size Barbie doll walked out the door. Long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, which Francine swore bounced when she walked, big boobs, a tiny waist, tight jeans—pink, of course—and a matching pink puffy jacket.
Wyatt followed the woman—hell, girl—out to her car. Barbie shifted a couple of books in her arm and reached out to give him a one-armed hug. He didn’t respond, kept his hands on his hips, but he didn’t shove her away, either.
Francine clenched her teeth so hard she was afraid they’d soon be nothing more than enamel dust. A burning sensation started in her stomach, spreading up through her chest until it almost consumed her, making it hard to breathe.
She stepped backward, but a branch snapped, the crack echoing like a gunshot in the quiet morning.
Wyatt turned her direction and seemed to look right at her, eyes squinting, his mouth—the mouth she’d kissed over and over the night before—quirked in a frown.
She turned around and flat out ran back the way she came. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he called her name.
Putting on a burst of speed, she tried to outrun the intense feeling of betrayal, of not being enough. She passed the lodge but couldn’t face anyone at the moment, so she kept running, down the path and around the outbuildings.
If her pink suit and shoes hadn’t already been ruined that first day, she’d have burned them on principle. Right then and there, she swore she’d never buy anything pink again.
Her chest heaved, and she finally had to stop. Her blind run had taken her to the corral, and she walked over to the wood fence. Leaning against it, she watched a couple of horses run and play in the grassy circle. She tried to slow her breathing so she wouldn’t hyperventilate. Tears clogged her throat, making it hard to inhale.
Was Barbie with the pink car the reason he’d decided not to take her back to his cabin the night before?
She’d thought Wyatt was different than her scumbag ex.
What was wrong with her?
It was getting late, and she had to get back, get ready for the day. As she reached the circular drive in front of the lodge, the soft roar of an engine sounded behind her, and she glanced around.
Wyatt’s truck.
She ran up the few steps to the front door, desperate to avoid him.
“Mommy.” Johnny’s voice calling her finally penetrated the fog in her head.
She turned around and saw Wyatt lifting Johnny out of his truck. Now she couldn’t avoid him.
“Mornin’, Frankie,” Wyatt said.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said, kneeling down to hug her son. “Did you have fun last night?”
He nodded. “It was so much fun!”
“Well, you can tell me all about it when we get upstairs.” She stood up. “Thank you for picking him up,” she said, forcing herself not to look up at Wyatt.
“No problem. I thought before day care he might want to see the calf born last night.”
“Oh. Sure. That’s fine.”
Wyatt and Johnny started walking down the path to the cattle barn, then Wyatt turned around, held a hand out to her. “You coming?”
“Come on, Mommy!” No hope now of escaping to her room.
She pasted a smile on her face and joined them, stuffing her hands in her pockets. They entered the barn and walked to the pen housing the cow and her calf.
Wyatt lifted Johnny up so he could see over the gate. “Your mom helped deliver that calf last night.”
Johnny turned his head to look at her, his eyes as big as fifty-cent pieces. “You did? Wow.”
“I didn’t do anything. Mr.
Luke and Mr. Wyatt did all the work.” She held on to the top of the gate and looked over the top at the sweet brown calf as he nuzzled his mother.
Wyatt set his hand on top of hers where it rested on the wood slat. “Don’t sell yourself short. You helped calm her down.”
She frowned, looked sideways at him, and moved her hand from beneath his.
He met her gaze, confusion in his eyes. “Hey, Johnny, stay here a minute and watch the calf for me, okay?” He set her son on the ground, and he peered through the slats at the cows.
Wyatt took her hand, wouldn’t let go when she tried to take it back, and led her to the other side of the barn.
“What’s up, Frankie? Something wrong?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I thought we had something special last night. Now you can’t stand the sight of me.”
“Is that what you tell all the women you sleep with?” she asked, hating the tears in her voice.
“What? I haven’t been with anyone ’cept you in a long time.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face. “I saw her this morning, Wyatt. Don’t give me that.”
“Who?”
“Teen Barbie with the pink car. Coming out of your cabin practically at the crack of dawn.”
“Heather?” His eyes shifted away from her, then back, a poker expression on his face. “Remember the other day you knocked those books off the counter at my cabin?”
“Yes.”
“She’s helping me study for a big test I’m taking in a few weeks.”
“At six in the morning?”
“She lives on a ranch nearby, and she’s a teacher in town. She comes over early to go over lessons, then heads on to school afterward.” He brushed a lock of her hair off her cheek.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Thinking your dad was right, and that I’m going to hurt you? I don’t play around on women.” He cupped her chin, looked so deep into her eyes she swore he could see her soul.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, ashamed of herself for doubting his integrity.
Wyatt looked over his shoulder at her son, then gave her a fast kiss, his lips igniting a fire in her lower belly.
She’d taken a leap of faith the night before, and again just now.
She just hoped she didn’t live to regret it.
* * *
WYATT DIVED INTO WORK, morning blending into late afternoon, but Frankie was never far from his thoughts. It still bothered him that she had thought he could leave her the night before, then have another woman over. He’d almost been tempted to tell her what Heather was tutoring him on, but it was a matter of pride.
A brilliant businesswoman, Frankie had worked her way up in her father’s company. He still found it hard to believe she was attracted to him. What would a woman with a master’s in business want to do with a guy like him who hadn’t finished high school? Who’d been called lazy and stupid growing up?
Which was why he’d decided to buckle down and do what it took to cope with his learning disability and get his GED.
He knew this—whatever it was with Frankie—wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Frankie had a life in New York—one that would afford Johnny the best opportunities and education available. They deserved that kind of life. Besides, her father would never allow it. Any day now, she’d wake up and realize she was staging her own little rebellion by seeing Wyatt. Then she’d hightail it back to New York, and that would be it. He’d be left with the memory of her, the feel of her skin, the way she sighed and moaned in his arms—
A shout outside the barn caught his attention, followed by a scream.
He ran out the door and looked for the source. Another shout drew his attention to the patio near the lodge door. An older man held on to a teenage girl’s arm, and a teen boy in full black leather stood in front of him, fists clenched.
“Is this who you’ve been sneaking off to see?” the man yelled at the girl.
“I’m sixteen and I can see who I want!” she screamed at him. She tried to pull away again, the fringe on her brown jacket swinging wildly.
Yep. Father and daughter.
Wyatt thought he recognized the man as one of Frankie’s coworkers.
The boy held out his hand to her. “Come on, let’s go.”
She tried to shake her dad’s arm off and yank free, but he gripped it tighter.
Wyatt worried this would escalate. He shot a quick text to Frankie, and another to Kade.
Voices and tempers raised louder and higher, and he knew he had to step in. He started to walk over to them just as the boy lunged forward, shoving the dad backward till he let go of his daughter’s arm.
The sound of sobbing reached Wyatt, and he looked around. Johnny was crouched next to a wrought iron chair, crying. He must have sneaked out of day care again.
He ran toward Johnny just as Kade ran up the path, with Nash following as fast as he could, talking on the phone.
“Sheriff’s on the way,” Nash said as he passed Wyatt.
Wyatt reached Johnny and picked him up. “You okay, bud? Are you hurt?”
Johnny threw his arms around Wyatt’s neck, clutching him tight. “They scared me.”
Wyatt rubbed his back, trying to calm him down.
The door opened, and Frankie and her father ran outside.
“What happened?” she asked, stroking Johnny’s hair.
“Is my grandson hurt?” Wentworth demanded, his face pale.
“He’s fine. I think he got scared by the yelling.” Wyatt gestured to the argument just as the boy shoved the older man again, and this time he fell. The man got up and lunged at the boy.
Frankie gasped. “Peter!”
Kade and Nash separated them, keeping them from fighting any more. The sheriff’s vehicle and another police cruiser pulled into the circular drive, lights flashing. Sheriff Wolfe got out of his car, and two deputies hurried out of the second car. They split up and took over holding the teen boy and Pete.
The hypnotic strobing of the red and blue lights made Wyatt dizzy. The saliva ran in his mouth, and he thought he’d be sick.
“What’s going on, folks?” the sheriff asked, one hand on the butt of his weapon. He glanced at Wyatt, narrowed his eyes.
Great. He’d had plenty of run-ins with Sheriff Wolfe when he was a rebellious teen. His vision tunneled, and spots danced in front of his eyes. He needed to get out of there.
He started to hand Johnny to Frankie, but the teenage girl burst into tears and ran to Frankie’s side, nearly knocking her over.
“Ms. Wentworth, help me.”
Frankie wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “It’s okay, Layla. We’ll get this straightened out.”
“I’ll take Johnny inside,” Wyatt said and started to turn around.
“You need to stay here,” the sheriff said.
Ice skittered along the back of his neck.
The lodge door opened, and Kelsey and Pop walked outside. “Hey, Johnny. You want to come inside and have cookies and milk with Maddy?” Kelsey asked.
“That sounds good, bud. You’ll love Mrs. Green’s cookies.”
Johnny nodded, and Wyatt set him down. Kelsey took his hand and led him inside.
Pop moved forward. “Why don’t we all go inside and straighten this out.” He tilted his head toward the small crowd that had gathered. He led the way inside to one of the private sitting rooms at the side of the main room.
One of the deputies passed by Wyatt, and the odor of cigarette smoke, stale coffee and jail wafted off him. The breath backed up in Wyatt’s lungs, and he swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. He stayed by the door, ready to escape as soon as he could.
“Who wants to start?” Wolfe asked.
Pete, Layla and the boy all spoke up at once.
The sheriff raised his hands, then pointed at Kade. “You start.”
Kade shook his head. “Wyatt was first on scene. I came out when he texted me.”
Wolfe focused his attention on Wyatt, and the weight of his stare made his stomach heave. He focused on not puking in front of everyone, then felt a hand grip his. Frankie stepped closer to him, silently supporting him. He held tight to her hand, grateful.
“I was in the barn and heard shouting. I went outside and saw Peter arguing with that boy.”
The kid sneered. “I ain’t a boy, I’m a man.”
Wolfe glanced at him, his expression speaking volumes. “Pipe down, Brady.”
At least that glare wasn’t focused on Wyatt today, and he stood a little taller. “Looked like Layla wanted to go off with Brady, and her father was trying to stop her. Then Brady shoved Peter, Peter shoved back, Brady pushed him down. Then you pulled up.”
Sheriff Wolfe turned to Pete. “You’re not from around here?”
Peter shook his head. “I’m from New York, here with the Wentworths.” He nodded to Allen Wentworth and Frankie. “Layla’s my daughter. I brought her with me while her mother—my ex-wife—is in Europe.”
Wolfe turned toward Layla. “How did you meet Brady?”
“I went into town with a couple other kids, and we met at the movies.”
“I didn’t know about this, Sheriff. If I had, I’d have put a stop to it long ago. You can see he’s not the right boy for my daughter.”
The words echoed in Wyatt’s head. How many times had he heard those words? He studied Brady. The anger seemed to waft off the teenager in waves.
Just like Wyatt at that age.
“Can I go now, Sheriff?” Wyatt asked.
Wolfe’s eyes slitted as he looked toward Wyatt, followed by a half turn of his head. He jerked his chin toward the door.
Wyatt gripped the doorknob, whispered to Frankie he would check on Johnny. He escaped the sitting room, finally able to take a deep breath.
On his way to the kitchen, he swung into the restroom and splashed water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, trying to see if he was still that rebel teen covering up a learning disability, and grief over his mom, with anger and attitude. Trying to see if he was that defeated convict in a Texas prison.
Falling for the Rebel Cowboy Page 10
