“Then we need to be clear on where this thing is going.” His gaze shifted to one of the hands he’d fisted on the side of the tub. “I’ve been married and divorced twice, and I’ve learned that I can’t sustain that kind of relationship. I won’t stop analyzing and second-guessing until I pick it completely apart. And you have to think about Hank. At some point, he’s going to be ready to rejoin the living, and he’ll need his sister.”
And today had proven Wyatt and Hank couldn’t coexist in her life.
He leaned forward to run his thumb along her cheekbone, his eyes suddenly burning bright. “I would never willingly do anything to hurt your brother…or you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
She’d always known, even when it was easier to pretend that he was picking on Hank. Even if Wyatt had been willing to take another chance, to put that battered heart of his on the line one more time, he wouldn’t ask her to choose between him and her brother.
Damn him.
“So I guess that’s settled,” she said, remarkably calm considering the howl of pain building inside her chest. “We have our fun until I’m finished here, then we never speak of it again.”
His fingers tightened a fraction, as if in protest. Then his hand dropped away from her face. “It’s better this way.”
In whose godforsaken opinion? She could see no good in ripping apart a connection that was the truest and strongest she’d ever found. But she also couldn’t see a future that wouldn’t eventually tear them apart.
“I hate this,” she whispered.
“I know.”
He gathered her into his arms and held on tight while the light faded and the room went cold.
Chapter 40
Melanie woke up alone on Tuesday morning. She had—reluctantly—sent Wyatt home the night before to pack and rest up for the flight to Reno. And to be honest, she’d needed to take a step back, if only to prove she still could.
No matter how much it hurt.
She dragged on jogging clothes, laced up her shoes, and headed outside. As she stepped into the hall, something thumped onto the floor—a box that had been propped against the door, sporting a Justin Boots logo. What the heck? She pried the lid open and inhaled the intoxicating scent of new leather. Peeling back the tissue paper, she sucked in another, even more appreciative breath. She had drooled over this exact pair of boots in the western store a block down the street—plain, brown square toes with a low roper’s heel, and tops stitched in an intricate floral pattern of pink, turquoise, and white.
She couldn’t resist. She toed off her sneakers and pulled on the boots. Of course they were the right size. She fished out the folded piece of yellow legal paper in the bottom of the box.
These will fit you better than those shoes.
The paper crunched in her fist. Damn him. For a guy who didn’t think he was good at relationships, he had a real knack for twisting her heart into a corkscrew, even from a thousand miles away.
How much worse was it going to be when she was the one who had to leave—permanently?
* * *
Wyatt landed in Reno on the heels of a morning thunderstorm. Puddles steamed on the pavement as he walked into the terminal, and there wasn’t enough product in the world to squelch the curl in his hair. By the time he got back to Pendleton, it would be totally out of control.
Sort of like his feelings for Melanie. He’d thought it was hard lying to her before, but nothing compared to looking her straight in the eye and insisting he didn’t want her to be a part of every minute of his future. Although, there had been some truth to what he’d said. He couldn’t have her, and he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever stop loving her, since he’d already tried every way he knew how.
So no, he would never get married again.
He’d had to say it. The way she was looking at him…Wyatt couldn’t take the chance that in her emotionally battered state she might finally give up on Hank and turn to him, if only for consolation. He might not be strong enough to push her away, so he’d had to throw up another block.
Why not the same, old tired one he’d used to screw it up at the very beginning?
The clerk smiled brightly as Wyatt dragged his luggage cart up to the desk. “Welcome to Reno! Here for the rodeo?”
“Yes, and thank you.”
Not a question he usually got, but today he’d opted for jeans and worn his belt and National Finals bullfighter buckle, which he usually left in his suitcase unless he was making an official appearance. Also, the rope Melanie had given him was hanging from the cart. With plenty of time to kill at the rodeo grounds and dozens of potential coaches among the roping contestants, he just had to swallow his pride, ask for help…and take a ton of ribbing from them about how terrible he was.
He slid his gold member card across the desk, and the clerk tapped the information into her computer. “I have a Mustang convertible reserved for you, Mr. Darrington. Is that correct?”
It was what he’d requested, but it didn’t suit his mood. He leaned across the desk and hit her with his best smile. “It was…but I changed my mind. Could we look at another option?”
He was waiting outside baggage claim when a familiar figure strode out with one battered gear bag slung over his shoulder and another in his hand, weaving through the crowd like there was a prize for who got to the curb first. He stopped dead when he spotted Wyatt leaning against the side of the black short-box pickup.
Joe looked left, then right, then back at Wyatt. “Who are you supposed to be?”
Wyatt bared his teeth. “You’re welcome to grab a taxi.”
“Oh no. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to miss it.” Joe tossed his bags in the backseat, looking more respectable than usual in a blue Jacobs Livestock polo shirt and starched jeans. His hair was still a straggly mess, but Violet seemed to like it that way. He climbed in the cab and rubbed a hand across his own clean-shaven jaw. “What’s this?”
“I forgot to renew my monthly razor subscription.” Something for which Joe had given him no end of grief, gob-smacked that anyone would pay more than five bucks for a six-pack of plastic disposables. “If I can’t shave with a decent blade…”
“You don’t shave your precious face at all,” Joe finished, curling his lip in disgust.
Wyatt shrugged, satisfied that he’d deflected Joe’s curiosity. He was not going to admit that he intended to keep the stubble for as long as Melanie was around to appreciate it.
As they eased into the stream of shuttle buses and taxis, Joe twisted around to look into the backseat. “Why are you packing a rope?”
“I bet Melanie I’d be able to catch a dummy five out of ten times when I get back to Pendleton.”
“Yeah? And what does she have to do if you win?”
“Kite-surfing.”
Joe gave a low whistle. “Do I dare ask what you’re wagering?”
The ring of Wyatt’s phone through the pickup speakers cut him off. Melanie’s name flashed up on the dashboard screen. Before Wyatt could react, Joe poked the answer button, then sat back and looked expectantly at Wyatt, mouth firmly shut.
“Hello? Are you on the ground?”
Wyatt bit back a curse. He’d been trying to work out how to tell Joe about the two of them, and this was not it. “Yes. I just picked Joe up. Is everything okay?”
“Hunky-dory. I just needed to ask…do you trust me, Chuck?”
He winced at the nickname. “That depends on the context.”
“We’re not standing at the top of a mountain, so you can breathe easy on that account. Which reminds me, if that ankle gets sore, you let Cruz pick up the slack. He’s young. He can take the beating.”
Ankle? Joe mouthed at him.
Wyatt let a slow breath stream out through his nose. “I’ll keep it in mind. What is it you want me to trust
you with?”
“Your checkbook. I’m fixin’ to spend some money.”
“On?”
“The bar.”
He wedged the pickup between a tour bus and a white courtesy limousine from one of the casinos. “Louie can write checks on the Bull Dancer account. What are you going to do?”
He heard the grin in her voice. “That’s the part where you’ve gotta have faith.”
God help him. Or whoever. Then again, short of turning it back into an actual brothel, how much damage could she do in ten days? “Let me know if I should recruit some new employees as long as I’m in Sin City Junior.”
“Nah, I’ve got the staffing handled. And thank you for your confidence.” He started to relax. He might just get out of this conversation without Joe too much the wiser. Then she added, “Oh, and Joe?”
“Yeah?”
“Keep him away from the strip clubs. I’ve heard he has a weakness, and you know how I am about sharing my toys.”
The phone clicked off. Wyatt stared straight down the road, the stream of traffic exiting the airport giving him an excuse to avoid even a glance in Joe’s direction.
After several excruciating moments, Joe asked, “Why is she calling you Chuck?”
“That’s the only question you have?”
“It’s the only confusing part. Sounds like everything else is proceeding according to plan.”
Wyatt shot him an incredulous look. “Whose plan?”
“Ours.” Joe cocked his finger, pointed it at Wyatt, and pulled the trigger. “Gotcha.”
Chapter 41
Wyatt had to pull over on the side of the road and put the pickup in Park. “You expect me to believe you made this happen?”
“Believe what you want.” Joe shrugged, unfazed by Wyatt’s death glare. “But do you honestly think Violet wouldn’t want to kick that shithead’s ass, with or without Melanie? Geezus. I had to bar the doors and hide the rifle while I talked her down. And she only gave in after I promised her we could tail you after the science fair.”
Wyatt goggled at him. “You were watching us?”
“Yep. Man, we damn near shit a brick when that cop drove by.”
“I never saw…how did you…”
Joe snorted. “Dude. We live in a house with two kids and still have sex. We’ve got sneaky nailed.”
Wyatt dug thumb and middle finger into his temples. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s because you make everything too complicated. Otherwise, this would’ve happened five years ago, like it should have. But no, you diddled around until we thought it was too late. When the shit hit the fan with Michael, we figured it was time to force the issue—so we sent you to the rescue.” Joe shrugged again. “Everything after that was pretty much a given.”
“You were so sure that Melanie would cause a big ruckus, and I would offer to take her away from it all?”
Joe spread his hands. “Were we wrong?”
No, they were not. He and Melanie had both done exactly as predicted. But Wyatt still couldn’t believe…
“If this is all true, why did Violet tell Melanie she thought it was best we hadn’t hooked up?” A tidbit Melanie had confessed the previous night.
Joe smirked. “What’s the quickest way to get Mel to do anything?”
“Just—” Tell her she couldn’t. Son of a bitch. She’d talked to Violet, then she’d invited him to drive up to the mountains, proof she could be civilized to him—and it had snowballed from there.
Wyatt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you happen to consider that my marriage to a woman like Melanie was a complete disaster?”
“Nope.” Once again, Joe shrugged off Wyatt’s withering glare. “Melanie is independent. Gabrielle was pathological, which is understandable considering how she grew up. But Melanie was raised on the rodeo circuit and the ranch, where you don’t survive without the occasional handout or hand up. You take it when it’s offered and give it when it’s needed. Hell, she didn’t even blow a fuse when she realized that you’d made that lawsuit go away.”
No need to ask how Joe knew. Melanie hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she didn’t keep anything from Violet. “What about the rest? Do you know what’s happening at Westwind?”
“Probably more than Leachman does. Thanks to Gil chatting up the warehouse guys, Violet can tell you damn near down to the fifty-pound bag how much feed has shipped out of the plant since Melanie left, and that the grant application she wrote was accepted—which is a big boost for R&D, whatever that means.”
“And what about Leachman? Did Gil find anything…”
Joe flashed an inscrutable smile. “I’m not allowed to share that information due to the manner in which it was obtained.”
“Jesus Christ,” Wyatt said. “It’s like a Texas rodeo mafia.”
Joe’s eyes lit up. “Violet will love that.”
And Shawnee would have T-shirts printed. Wyatt clenched both hands on the steering wheel. “Did your informants also tell you we found Hank?”
“Found?” Joe’s grin faded. “Was he lost?”
So Melanie didn’t tell her best friend everything. “She hadn’t seen or talked to him since New Year’s. That’s why she agreed to come to Oregon. I promised to track him down.”
“And?”
Joe’s expression got darker by degrees as Wyatt described Hank’s condition. When he finished, Joe swore. “What is she going to do?”
“I’ll hook her up with the best mental health professionals I know, but honestly? I don’t think she can do anything for now. Hank has dug in, and he isn’t going to budge until he’s damn good and ready. There’s a lot more of Melanie in him than you’d think.”
Joe cocked his head. “What are you going to do?”
“Try to help her accept it.”
“And then?”
Wyatt heaved a sigh. “Listen…I appreciate what you were trying to do, and I love you both—”
“Oh geezus.”
Wyatt squeezed a dollop of pleasure out of making Joe squirm, then shook his head. “This is way beyond Hank being an idiot. He’s going through some serious shit.”
“And you’re not?” Joe pointed at the dashboard screen. “What about all that?”
“We’re scratching a very old itch. When she leaves Oregon, it’s done.”
“You’re just going to let her walk away because of Hank?”
Wyatt leveled a stare at Joe. “If it’s me or him, we all know who she’d choose. Even if it was me, how long do you think we’d last if I was the reason he never spoke to her again?”
Joe swore and slammed back in his seat.
“Exactly,” Wyatt said and put the pickup in gear.
Silence reigned for the rest of the drive. When they arrived at the rodeo grounds, Cruz’s El Camino was already parked in their designated area. He stepped out of his ancient travel trailer, arms folded and dark eyes inscrutable as he looked from Joe to Wyatt, then back to Joe.
“We’re fighting bulls with Justin Timberlake?”
Joe laughed.
Wyatt flipped them off, then grabbed his cowboy hat from the backseat and jammed it on his head. As he slung his bag over his shoulder and started toward the locker room, Joe called after him. “Hey, Chuck! You didn’t tell me what happened to your ankle.”
Wyatt yelled over his shoulder. “She pushed me off a damn cliff.”
And he wouldn’t stand close to any steep drops if he were Joe or Violet. Regardless of their good intentions, their little scheme was practically a carbon copy of what Leachman had done to Melanie. The damage he and Michael had done was nothing compared to what she would suffer if this tore her and Violet apart.
Wyatt threw his bag down outside the door to the locker room and kicked it for good measure—with his uninjured leg. Then he sank down
on a bench and tried to figure out how to break the news without getting anyone maimed.
Himself included.
Chapter 42
As crews went, Melanie supposed you could call hers motley, though she preferred eclectic. It sounded more chic and less like a skin condition.
There was Louie, who surveyed the group with his standard air of fatalistic amusement, as if he didn’t expect much to come of all of this fuss but was prepared to be entertained by the attempt. Gordon sat at the bar sipping his post-walk glass of ice water and passing out Tootsie Rolls to Grace, Scotty, and Philip, and apologizing to Louie, who wasn’t allowed candy—at least while under Grace’s eagle eye.
And Grace avoided direct interaction with Melanie whenever possible. It was getting to the point that Melanie wanted to march straight up and demand, “What the hell, Grace?”
But then she would have to deal with the answer, and right now, between Hank and Wyatt and the ever-present doubt about her professional future, she had all the angst she could handle.
It was a relief to focus on the job at hand.
“Grace and Louie, you are in charge of un-decorating.” Melanie swept a hand around to indicate the walls. “We’re leaving all of the foundation elements in place—wallpaper, booths, railings—but the rest has to go. The mirrors, the velvet swags, anything with a gilt frame or a gold tassel is out of here.”
“Thank you, Jesus!” Scotty declared. “Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass that stuff is to clean?”
“I can guess. And while we’re on the subject…you and Philip are going to scrub every crack and crevice of that kitchen, floor to ceiling, wall to wall. I want that sucker to shine.”
The boys exchanged dour looks.
“We gettin’ a chef?” Louie asked.
“No.” Melanie winked at Gordon. “My test group wants real food.”
Louie grinned and patted his belly. “Now you’re talkin’ my language.”
“And what are you gonna be doin’ while we’re all bustin’ our butts?” Scotty asked.
Melanie offered a crooked elbow, inviting Gordon to take her arm. “We have to talk to a man about a fence. And then we’re going antiquing.”
Fearless in Texas Page 29
