Wyatt

by Michelle Horst

  “You still want me to phone this in or are you fine dealin’ with him?” I ask. I’ve dealt with the kind that just don’t want any help. It would be sad if she’s that kind though.

  “Of course call the cops!” she shrieks. He turns around and the moment makes her back up to the door, fear etched over her face.

  I place my hand on his chest and ‘gently’ push him back against the wall. “No movin’, Sir.” I glance over to the girl who’s plastered herself against the wall. “Who is he?”

  “How the hell should I know?” She screeches at me.

  “Scarlett,” He starts and I give him a light shove into the wall.

  “Sir, it’s your constitutional right to remain silent, if you move I will be forced to restrain you by any means. Don’t make me do that,” I warn and then I phone for backup.

  The minutes are long, ticking over real damn slow if you’re the one waiting for a car to pitch up.

  “Sir, we’re gonna take this nice and slow. Go down on your knees,” I order. He’s still holding his hands up and then he goes down. “Real slow does it now.” I don’t want him pulling any stunts on me.

  I hear the whoop outside from the patrol car and glance at Scarlett. “You mind lettin’ ‘em in?”

  She darts into action. I start stepping back from the perp. I have no badge to identify myself with. I shove the gun behind my back, and cover it with my shirt before the other cops come in. I wouldn’t be happy finding an armed man on a scene so I’ll spare them that as well.

  ~*~

  Chapter Two

  Scarlett~

  A freaking break! Is it so much to ask for one stupid break?

  I studied my backside off. I just want to put up my feet and relax. But no! On day two of my so deserved vacation I get the letter.

  If love was bricks we could’ve built a house by now with what I feel for you. JP

  Firstly, the guy can’t write a letter worth the paper it’s written on. Who writes that kind of crap?

  Secondly, who still stalks in this day and age? Get Facebook! There are plenty of people on there to stalk.

  I close the door behind the cops, pleased that they’re leaving and taking that sicko with them.

  The highlight of my day was when Wyatt rocked up. I almost broke my neck jogging back to the cottage. Even did the stupid stretches outside, like a hormonal teen. But he watched.

  He wasn’t the only one that watched. Sick stalking bastard!

  The only reason I didn’t go down to the bar was because I saw Wyatt still standing out on his deck. I was contemplating going over, and doing the whole ‘hey, how have you been thing’, when the sicko jumped me.

  He carries quite a punch. I swear I saw stars for a while back there.

  “You okay?” Wyatt asks.

  “Yeah, thanks to you,” I say. I’d smile but it hurts.

  I’ve never been in a situation like this before. You know, one where people attack you for no reason and then this hot guy saves you. I have no clue as to what to do next. I don’t think the ‘hey, how have you been thing’ is going to fly anymore.

  “You should get some ice on that,” he says, pointing to my head.

  “I should,” I agree. I get the ice tray out.

  He looks good. I haven’t been here in years and the last time I saw him we were teenagers. But wow, he sure looks good. “So, how have you been, Wyatt?” I end up saying anyway.

  Seriously, I have no social skills.

  He looks a bit surprised. “You remember me?” he asks.

  Do I? Who will ever forget him? I spent the better part of my teen years pining over him.

  “Yeah, but it’s been a while,” I admit. “Seven years.” A lot has happened in seven years.

  “You used to come out here with your sister and grandparents?” he asks.

  I grab a dish towel and I turn the ice over on it.

  Everyone always thought they were our grandparents. Our parents had us real late in life. They met in their forties and wanted kids, so they had me and Morgan. To them we were miracles and they showed us that every day. There was the world and then us, just the four of us. While the kids went down to the beach to play volleyball we went out with our parents. I was happy living in my bubble with my family. What kid wouldn’t want parents and grandparents all squished into one.

  “I used to come out here with my parents and sister,” I answer. Sadness fills my heart. I’ll never get to come here with them again. Now it’s just me and Morgan.

  I take hold of the dish towel and start banging it against the counter, trying to release some of the pent up anger at the same time.

  “Whoa,” Wyatt says next to me, “you’re killin’ the ice. Let me have it.”

  I hand him the towel now filled with the abused ice. I’m starting to feel the impact of the night. There’s a throbbing starting on the side of my head and my arm feels stiff from where I banged it against the floor.

  “Hold still,” he whispers, and I freeze as he moves in on me.

  He presses the towel lightly to the side of my face, and I flinch away from the cold touch. I glance down so I don’t have to look at his blue eyes that are soft with kindness. My eyes lock onto his feet. He is barefoot and I still only reach his shoulder!

  Standing here and having him hold the ice to my head is numbing what little sense I have left after tonight. It’s not because he smells like some kind of delicious spice. My eyes travel up the worn jeans that sit just right on him. I keep going until my eyes are on his shirt. It’s a deep crimson color.

  He was definitely right in front of the line when heaven handed out good looks. They blessed him with that tall, dark and handsome look that makes most women go weak in the knees.

  He moves a little closer lifting the ice away from my head and then he leans down. Is he actually inspecting my head?

  Okay, it’s safe to say it’s not the ice numbing my brain. Standing an inch away from him, I follow his arm all the way from where it’s resting on the counter next to me, up, and up, and up some more until I reach his shoulder. One of us needs to say something real fast! The air is getting loaded with something and it’s making the birds and the bees hum and chirp in places they shouldn’t be humming and chirping.

  It’s because he went all Rambo tonight! I should just keep my level head attached to my shoulders.

  I haven’t been close to a man in a long while and now there just happens to be an extremely hot one in front of me. One I’ve had a crush on for like … forever.

  Hot does not begin to describe him but it’s a pity he knows it. The way he stood on the deck this afternoon, smirking. He’s a player all right and I don’t have time for players.

  “So you really don’t know the dude?” he asks, and I scowl up at him.

  “Do I look like an idiot,” I snap. “Didn’t you listen when I told them what happened?”

  “No, actually I was busy haulin’ his ass off,” he says in that same calm tone he was using in the room. Then it was comforting, now it’s irritating!

  “Oh.” The word pops from my mouth. “Thanks for that.” I step away from the ice. It’s starting to numb my brain, for real. “I got here two days ago. I got this letter telling me about love and bricks, and building houses and crap. I mean, go stalk people on Facebook and Twitter like the rest of the world does!” I take the towel from him and empty the ice in the basin. “He said he was watching me today. He said he wasn’t going to share me and then wham. I went flying and then you came in.”

  “He wasn’t gonna share you with who?’ he asks.

  I blush. Why I’m blushing, I don’t know. I’m not the blushing kind.

  “I … I don’t know…” I lie and try to avoid telling him what the guy said about seeing me watching my new neighbor. I keep myself busy folding the towel.

  Is it just me or is it getting warm in here? Did the AC cut out?

  “It doesn’t add up. No guy stalks a girl just for two days. That’s not normally the patt
ern,” Wyatt says.

  I turn around and I stare, like full on glare-stare at him. Why does it feel like he’s interrogating me? I didn’t do anything wrong!

  I cross my arms over my chest. “So then tell me the pattern then, Officer Holden, so I can join in on the stalking next time. We can throw a stalkers party. Have them all over,” I bite the words out. I’m really trying to stay calm. I’m doing my best. But it’s hard. My head is hurting something fierce.

  “Just Wyatt,” he says softly, and I look down at his feet again so I don’t have to look at his eyes that are busy going all gentle again. “I’m not on duty.”

  “Just Scarlett,” I quip back at him. If I get nervous I joke. If I get scared I joke. If I get sad I joke. I joke a lot.

  I head over to the fridge and lean into it. “You want some OJ, or coke.” I look over the meager contents in the fridge. “Other than that I can only offer you coffee or water?”

  “I’m not a juice and water kinda guy,” he says and I look at him from over my shoulder. He’s leaning against the counter, looking like he has all the time in the world. His eyes travel up from my feet, stopping at my butt and then finally he looks at my face.

  I close the fridge and turn to face him. The corner of his mouth lifts that little bit more.

  I’ve done plenty of first bases.

  I’ve experimented some with second base.

  The look on his face is telling me he’s thinking third base.

  “Quite some night,” I say, just for the hell of saying something.

  I take a can of coke out and wonder what to do now. It doesn’t look like he’s going to go soon.

  “Yeah, not what I had in mind myself,” he comments. The way he’s looking at me makes the bees and birds come back to life with a force. He’s well trained in the art of staring. The kinda stare that makes you feel like a person is peeling back the layers, looking too deep.

  “Is it just you here, or your whole family?” I ask and then I flush. Where the hell did that question come from? I shouldn’t care if he’s here alone or with someone.

  “Just myself.” He doesn’t offer anything else. “And you?”

  “Me, myself and I,” I answer. A trio of bad company. I’m really surprised he’s still standing here. I’m not good company at all.

  “How long you stayin’ for?” he asks. This thing we’re doing is starting to work on my nerves. I ask a question, he asks a question and yet nothing is being said.

  “Not sure, was thinking a week.” I have to go get my apartment sorted out before I start working. “And you?”

  Ugh … his turn.

  “’Round the same.” He pushes away from the counter and starts toward me without any warning. I grip the can tighter when he stops right in front of me. “How do you feel?” he asks.

  “With my hands,” I try to joke the unnerving feeling away. He’s standing so close to me. His mouth quirks up at the corner. “Fine…I’m good,” I mutter the answer anyway.

  “Good,” he repeats. “You know you’ll have to go to the station to press charges.”

  I do the glare-stare thing again. I’m so not doing that! I want nothing to do with that man! I take a breath and put the can down before I drop the thing.

  “Press charges.” Great, now I’m echoing him. “I’m not going to be around that long and to drive up and down if the case even makes it to court … gosh, is it even worth the trouble?” I’m musing, just thinking it over.

  But Wyatt doesn’t seem to be thinking along the same lines as me.

  “Seriously?” He gets the same look on his face he had back in the room. His features set into hard lines and even though I don’t know him all that well, I can tell when someone is angry. “You’re just gonna let him walk? Just like that?”

  Yeah, he’s upset.

  “Well let’s see,” I straighten out and start counting the facts down on my fingers. “One, what if he has no prior history? Two, nothing really happened. He wrote me a freaky letter. He-”

  Wyatt pushes his hands through his hair and the gesture breaks my concentration. Oh wow, he shouldn’t have done that. Now his hair has that I’ve just had sex look.

  “He?” he asks, waiting for me to finish and when I don’t his body goes all tense. “Should I have given him a few more minutes with you? Would you have pressed charges then?” He takes a breath, opens his mouth but stops whatever it is he wanted to say and takes another deep breath instead. “Sorry,” he apologizes, “but I’ve seen what obsessions can lead to.”

  I’m not going to even think in that direction. “Wyatt, I live almost five hours from here. I’m starting a new job in two weeks. I can’t get involved in this. There’s no forced entry, my door was open. It’s really my word against his. I don’t have the letter anymore. He’ll get off with a slap on the wrist,” I state my argument and hope he’ll leave it at that.

  “How can you be so sure?” he asks.

  “They’re not going to waste their time with him, why should I? A restraining order, yes. Maybe some community service. My time is not worth that,” I explain it to him patiently. I have plenty of patience but it doesn’t seem to be one of his virtues.

  “It’s cause of people who think the way you do that I drive out to the same damn house once a week,” he says. He’s by-passed upset and gone straight for pissed off. He steps back and shakes his head at me. “What will it take before y’all open your eyes? One day people like me might not get to that house in time!”

  He turns around and stalks away. I watch him go and I stand stunned for a few seconds before I go to lock the door behind him. It’s been a long night and I don’t even want to think about what he just said. As right as he is, it’s just too much trouble.

  ~*~

  I doze on and off for about three hours, my usual thing. I don’t get along with sleep. I grab a breakfast bar and head out to the beach to watch the sunrise. It’s become a habit to go outside when I wake up at four am. The air is cool and fresh then. For that single moment it takes for the new day to break on the horizon I forget everything.

  I head back in to get my bottle of water before heading out for my morning jog. It’s nice to go so early, there aren’t many people out who can watch me suffer. I’ve only taken up jogging in the last two weeks, so it’s still going slow.

  I try to jog at a steady pace, stopping every now and then for a breather. When you’re unfit the way I am you have no choice but to do this. Jog-stop-drink is my routine so I don’t go dropping and eating dirt.

  When I get back I see Wyatt standing out on his deck. After the way he left I’m not sure how to greet him.

  I decide on a quick wave but before I can slip inside the safety of my cottage he calls out, “Mornin’.” He smiles a crooked smile as if nothing happened yesterday.

  “Mornin’,” I greet back, as polite as ever.

  I go inside and close the door behind me, and resting my head against the wall I have to wonder what’s going on. I don’t like the way he unnerves me. I don’t like that he’s next door. I don’t like that I still have the stupid teen crush on him! It’s all a threat to my little peaceful life I’ve managed to create, one in which he is just a dream.

  I hide inside for the rest of the day but as night falls I drag on a light beach dress. White with the tiniest baby-blue flowers on it. I braid my hair from the neck down so it will be out of the way and I head out. I walk up the beach.

  There’s a nice little tiki-bar where a person can just relax, have a drink, dance a little, or shoot pool. I go so I can be between people. My neighbor seems to have the same idea. I should worry that I spotted him immediately.

  I’m not interested in guys. Really! It’s the last thing I have time for right now.

  He spots me, too, and a butterfly the size of Texas zooms into my stomach to wreak some havoc when he waves me over.

  “Evenin’, neighbor,” I greet him with a smile. I slide onto the stool next to him.

  “Evenin’. Surpri
sed to see the girl is alive and kickin’. You threw quite some disappearin’ act today,” he says. My stomach flutters some more because he noticed I wasn’t around.

  I order a drink and lean my arms on the counter so I actually have somewhere to put them. That unnerved feeling I have around him is back in full swing.

  “Yeah, still alive and kicking,” Seems I’m back to echoing too. I watch him take a sip of his beer and the way his throat works it down. Wow, just wow.

  My drink arrives and I’m thankful for it. It’s something to keep my hands busy with.

  Suddenly he holds his hand out to me. “Wyatt Holden,” he says, smiling a smile that can make any girl forget her inhibitions and drag him to the nearest bed. Well any girl but me, that is.

  I take his hand, unsure of what he’s playing at. I shake it and play along. “Scarlett Grayson,” I say, sounding even more unsure.

  “I just got into town, Scarlett,” he says, and I realize what he’s doing. A do-over. As if yesterday didn’t happen. I smile brightly. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing at a bar all alone?” he asks, and I struggle to keep from smiling ear to ear.

  He thinks I’m pretty.

  I switch over to joking. “Pretty girl, you say? Kinda quick with the compliments for a guy I just met. You sound like a stalker.” I grin widely.

  “Well, you’re a girl, aren’t you?” he shoots back.

  This I can do. I take a sip of my drink before I answer him.

  “You never know. These days I could be just about anythin’.” My smile stretches wider for about a second, because then he puts the beer down and angles his body towards mine.

  He takes hold of my one hand and brushes his fingers lightly over mine. Sparks shoot up my arm. My eyes dart to his.

  “The girl has small hands. I’ve never seen a man with such tiny hands,” he starts pleading his case of why I’m a girl.

  “Seen plenty of drags who had better manicures,” I say, and I’m surprised my voice sounds normal. My heart is beating wildly against my ribs, trying to find some way out.

  His hand starts trailing up my arm. It’s a whisper of a touch to just under my elbow.