by Erin Wright
“Soooo…how has he been as an inmate?” Chloe asked inquisitively. “He’s never been the most outgoing of guys the few times that he’s come into the restaurant.” Chloe worked as a waitress at Betty’s Diner, the breakfast and lunch diner across the street from the courthouse. She’d worked there since she moved to Sawyer eight years earlier.
“Oh man, I’m sure he was downright joyful when he came to the restaurant compared to now. He’s…not the most cheerful of men.”
Which really was too bad. All of the Miller boys were handsome, but there was something…something undefinable about Wyatt that made her heart go into overdrive every time she was around him.
Which she’d admit out loud about the same time that she set her hair on fire.
She looked down and fiddled with her napkin. Was there no way to control her damn hormones? She was a grown adult, not a lovestruck teenager. She knew that Wyatt was a good idea, just like shooting herself in the foot was a good idea.
Now she just needed to tell the butterflies in her stomach that.
“Oh my God, you like him.” Chloe stared at her, wide-eyed with shock. “You like Wyatt Miller!” she hissed, leaning across the wobbly table.
“I do not!” Abby hissed back in true seventh-grader fashion, but she couldn’t help herself. It would not exactly be a bonus to her career if this rumor were to get out. Sawyer was a small town, and it didn’t take much to start a rumor. Usually nothing more than a glance that lasted two seconds too long and people were suddenly getting married.
Or at least the gossip made it sound like that.
“Okay, so Ms. I Don’t Like Wyatt Miller, what color are his eyes?”
“Dark blue,” she ground out. Obviously. Who wouldn’t notice his eyes? It wasn’t like she had to pay special attention to him in order to notice his eyes. They were bright and captivating and she’d have to be blind not to notice that they reminded her of stormy clouds hanging over the mountains, promising rain and thunder and lightning.
It didn’t mean anything at all to notice that.
“Interesting. And what doesn’t he like to eat?”
“Well,” Abby said defensively, not really wanting to answer but not sure how to get out of it, “he has an almost vitriol hatred of tomatoes. Not ketchup or salsa, just raw tomatoes. I’ve been meaning to tell you that I think you should leave them off his sandwiches when you make them at the restaurant. He’s pretty good about eating the sandwiches, other than the tomatoes of course, and he eats most kinds of chips, but he’s not real fond of the Sun Chips—”
“Listen to yourself!” Chloe practically howled with pleasure. “I told you, I told you, I told you!”
Abby sat back, her face turning a brilliant red under Chloe’s watchful gaze. “He’s…a little on the handsome side,” she finally allowed, “but nothing more than that. My father would have a heart attack if I dated Wyatt Miller. Lordy, can you imagine?”
“I’d pay money to see your dad be told that. I think they’d need a spatula to scrape him off the ceiling.” Chloe grinned at her and Abby rolled her eyes. Chloe liked needling people just a little bit, which was exactly why they were best friends. But even Abby couldn’t imagine telling her father that she was dating Wyatt.
“The whole fistfight in the parking lot…Well, Wyatt was trying to stop Richard from driving drunk, and after what happened to his wife and child, can you really fault him for it?”
“That’s true,” Chloe mused, “but you have to admit that Wyatt tends to solve problems with his fists rather than his head. This isn’t the first time he’s beaten someone up.” She shot Abby a pointed look and Abby grimaced.
“Yeah, I know. Dammit, I wish his personality matched his looks. He’s a damn good-looking guy. He’s so handsome, and yet, so negative.”
She thought back to the last few days. That wasn’t strictly true.
Ever since his visit with the counselor, he’d been a little different. She wasn’t going to say cheerful because she wasn’t sure if Wyatt was capable of cheerfulness, but not quite so sullen and pissed off. He said please and thank you. He said hello when she walked by. When he’d run out of Louis L’Amour books in the county jail library, she’d stopped by the Friends of the Library building in town and bought a grocery sack full of paperback westerns for him, telling herself that she wasn’t treating him any differently than she’d treat another inmate.
Normally, they just didn’t house long-term inmates, so they didn’t have the problem of running out of reading material for them. She’d go buy westerns for any inmate that they had longer than a week or two.
Any inmate at all.
“I wish you could see the look on your face right now,” Chloe said with a huge grin. “I’m not sure if you’re trying to fool yourself or not, but you sure aren’t fooling me. Wyatt is damn easy on the eyes, and I’m pretty sure you’ve noticed that. You can’t tell me otherwise.”
Abby shrugged. “Doesn’t matter one way or the other. After New Year’s, he’s going up to Ada County to be heard by a judge there. Hopefully they’ll look at the extenuating circumstances, and the fact that Wyatt’s been locked up for weeks and weeks previous to his hearing in Boise, and they’ll let him go home. It’s too late for him to finish his harvest; either his brothers stepped up to the plate and did it for him, or he’s screwed financially. But either way, he’ll be out of my hair soon enough.”
“I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair,” Chloe sang softly, grinning teasingly, “and send him on his way.”
“Exactly.”
And she ignored the pang that shot through her at the thought. That was indigestion, and nothing more.
Chapter 7
Wyatt
“Miller, the phone is for you.” Officer Morland worked his way down the cell block towards Wyatt’s cell. Wyatt froze, numbly setting down the worn paperback western Abby had brought him, and just stared at the cop. He hadn’t seen his brothers since the morning five weeks ago when he’d told them to go away.
But who else could it be? It wasn’t like friends would be calling the jail just to chat and catch up on old times.
Maybe his lawyer?
Morland opened up the cell door, letting Wyatt past him before following him up to the phone banks. “You have 10 minutes,” he said, not unkindly, before heading back up front.
With a steadying breath, Wyatt picked up the phone. “He–hello?” he said, hating the waver in his voice.
“Hey Wy, it’s Declan.”
Oh. Good.
If Wyatt had to pick a person in the world to call him, it would’ve been Declan. It was kind of shocking how nice it was to hear his brother’s voice, actually. Wyatt closed his eyes against the unwelcome prickle in his eyes. When in the hell had he become such a softy?
Being locked up sure was messing with his mind. He had to get out of here before he turned into a blubbering fool.
“Hey. How are things?” he got out, a little more gruffly than he’d intended.
“Pretty good! Working together with Stetson and Jorge, we got your sugar beets harvested and shipped off, so that’s taken care of for the year. A real good harvest, actually. Your bookkeeper will go over the payments with you, but you should be able to easily make your yearly payment to the bank with the way prices have been looking lately.”
“Thank you,” Wyatt broke in. He wasn’t used to thanking people, but his harvest was something that had been weighing on his mind. He’d thought about inquiring after it through his lawyer, but his pride hadn’t allowed him. To find out that his brothers had come through for him in the end…well, even he could manage to rustle up a “thank you” for the occasion.
“Sure, sure. Listen, Christmas is coming up soon – I thought I should stop by and see how you’re doing. Chat a little.”
“Oh yeah?” Wyatt said, taken off guard by the offer. He hadn’t had a single visitor since they’d locked him up, unless he counted his lawyer or his counselor. Which Wyatt most definitely di
d not. “That’d be good. I’ll be here, so just…stop by whenever you want.” As if I have a choice. The unspoken truth hung in the air.
“Great, I’ll be by this afternoon.”
“Okay, uhh…I’ll see you then.” It felt weird to be making plans to hang out with his younger brother, but a good weird way. A break from Larry McMurtry, the western author he’d moved on to after finishing every Louis L’Amour he could lay his hands on, sounded damn fine right about then.
Declan hung up, but Wyatt held the phone against his cheek a little longer, unwilling to lose that connection just yet. Along with the welcome news of the harvest and his impending visit, Declan also mentioned the unmentionable: Christmas.
Wyatt was going to be spending Christmas in jail, after already missing Thanksgiving, which had to be just about the most depressing thought he’d ever contemplated.
Which is why he hadn’t contemplated it until now. In fact, he’d done a damn good job of ignoring that fact up to this point, quite on purpose, thankyouverymuch.
But as always, Declan was thoughtful enough to realize that he’d be alone on Christmas, and wanted to spend some time with him beforehand. Christmas was only four days away, and no doubt, Declan would be spending Christmas Day at the Miller farm with Stetson and his new wife, Jennifer. That was where the Miller brothers always gathered to celebrate the holidays.
Except for this year.
“You done?” Morland asked, popping his head through the door and peering at Wyatt.
“Yeah, I’m done,” Wyatt said, hanging the phone back in its cradle.
He followed the guard back to his cell, the door swinging back into place with a squeak. Wyatt climbed back onto his bunk bed and stacked his hands behind his head, staring up at the water-stained ceiling again. It’d been nice to hear his brother’s voice, and it was nice to think about seeing him that afternoon. He was surprised to realize that the anger and hurt he’d felt when Declan and Stetson had left him that day in his cell, not bailing him out like he’d wanted, wasn’t nearly as sharp or painful as it’d been before.
Was he forgiving his brother? He rather thought he was, and was surprised by the fact. He’d have to tell Rhonda when she came on Wednesday.
Of course, then she’d just ask what was going on with the sheriff, and had he forgiven him yet? Wyatt felt his chest tighten at the thought. There was one son-of-a-bitch he was never going to forgive. The man hadn’t bothered asking him for the truth all those years ago; had just listened to the rumors swirling around town and had judged him guilty. If the sheriff was going to be the judge, jury, and executioner without even bothering to listen to the defendant, then why should Wyatt forgive him?
It had happened so long ago – his wife and daughter were still alive. His dad was, too. Wyatt had been so damn frustrated with his dad and Stetson at that point. Years of arguing with them on how best to run a farm, and the two of them didn’t listen to a word he had to say. Finally, he’d had an opportunity to buy his own place and get out from underneath the thumb of his father, and he’d jumped on it like a dying man on a glass of water.
It wasn’t his fault that it was the sheriff’s farm that he was buying. It wasn’t his fault that the sheriff had had a couple of bad water years and hadn’t been able to make his payments to the bank. It wasn’t his fault that the sheriff had had his farm repo’d and put up on the auction block.
He’d caused none of those problems and yet, the sheriff still blamed him because Wyatt had the temerity to buy the man’s livelihood out from underneath him.
All of that probably wouldn’t have made him and the sheriff besties, but then, Wyatt had to go and celebrate at O’Malley’s the night of the signing with a couple of his buddies. He was so excited; he was finally going to show his father and brother how a real farm was run.
Damn pronouns. Wyatt knew which “he” he’d meant when he’d said, “I’m finally going to show him how a farm is run,” but by the time the rumor got back to the sheriff, that “he” had become Sheriff Connelly. The way the people of Sawyer saw it, it was bad enough that Wyatt had bought a farm that had been foreclosed on, but to brag about it afterward was just downright awful.
He’d tried to explain. He’d tried to tell a few people that the “he” was his father, but actually, it was really his brother. It was Stetson who’d insisted on raising cows on the Miller farm. Everyone knew that the Millers were farmers, not cowboys. They raised wheat and beets, not cows, dammit.
But that was Stetson to a T, going and screwing everything up by raising those damn cows of his. Wyatt had tried to tell them that cows got sick and they shit everywhere and they up and died on you for no damn reason at all, and only the village idiot would want to mess with them, but then again, didn’t that almost perfectly sum up Stetson?
In the end, Stetson kept his cows and his dad died and Wyatt bought the sheriff’s farm off the auction block and everyone in the county believed that Wyatt believed that he was a better farmer than the sheriff. After years of this persistent rumor floating around, Wyatt had long ago quit trying to explain himself and just accepted that the sheriff was never going to invite him over for tea and cookies.
But now…now he was stuck in the sheriff’s jail until at least January 3rd, his court date in Ada County, and he had to see Abby Connelly every day and he had to pretend that he saw nothing in her that he wanted, because the sheriff would okay him dating his only child right about the time that he burned the courthouse down to the ground. Wyatt had a better chance at becoming president of the United States than he did of winning over the sheriff.
Well, no matter what the counselor said on the topic, Wyatt could forgive Declan and move on, but he was never going to forgive the sheriff. He asked for it, refusing to even listen to Wyatt’s side of the story.
There were some lines that you just didn’t cross, and the way Wyatt figured it, that was one of ‘em.
Chapter 8
Abby
Declan came through the front door of the sheriff’s office, removing his hat as he entered the room. “Ma’am, how are you?” he asked, coming up to the front counter.
She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Declan, we graduated a year apart from each other. I’m pretty sure we can move past the ‘ma’am’ part.”
“That’s true. I s’pose my momma would only toss and turn in her grave instead of plain ol’ rolling over if I were to call you Abby.”
“I won’t tell her if you don’t.” Abby grinned at the middle Miller son, and as they walked to the back to the jail block, she wondered anew why she didn’t find Declan attractive. Well, she did, but in a totally clinical way. He was handsome and tall and kind and thoughtful and damn good-looking…
And he didn’t do a thing for her. Not a damn thing. She couldn’t begin to imagine kissing him. It would be like kissing her brother, if she’d been blessed with such a creature. Maybe it was because she’d grown up with him…? She didn’t know the cause of her complete and total apathy towards Declan, but she could state categorically that it was there.
Unlike his older brother, who despite his warming trends, still wasn’t the most pleasant human being to be around. He could be prickly and grumpy and snarky…
And just being around him made it hard for her to breathe.
Which just proved that you can’t choose who you’re attracted to, because no one in their right mind was attracted to Wyatt Miller. Not unless they were hankering for pain and misery.
Which Abby was most definitely not.
“Hey brother!” Wyatt said, swinging his legs off the bunk and hurrying the few steps to the cell door. “How are you?” They shook hands through the bars as Abby worked to unlock the door. Once she got it unlocked, Declan stepped inside and Abby pulled the door closed behind him.
“Just holler when you’re done,” she said, and headed back up front, leaving the brothers with their privacy. They weren’t large enough to have a visitor’s area, so Declan would just have to hang out with Wy
att in the jail cell until he was done. She heard Wyatt’s low chuckle as she shut the door behind her as the brothers began to chat, and she smiled to herself. It was good to hear him laugh. It wasn’t a sound she’d heard in years, and even as rusty as it was, it was still nice.
She got some paperwork done and finally heard Declan calling out through the thick door separating the front office area from the cell block. She hurried into the back and saw the two brothers standing side-by-side in the cell, watching her walk towards them. Seeing them next to each other made her realize how similar they looked, despite the blond tints to Declan’s hair compared to the dark, rich auburn locks that Wyatt was sporting. He hadn’t had his hair cut since he was booked all those weeks ago, and his hair was starting to get longer than convention usually dictated.
She liked it.
She fumbled at her keys on her belt and finally got the jail cell unlocked. “Thanks,” Declan said with a smile as he stepped out of the cell. She glanced over at Wyatt and found that he also had a small smile on his lips. He looked…almost friendly.
God, what a difference a visit from a family member makes.
She closed the door, making sure it locked firmly in place and then escorted Declan back up front to the main entry area to sign him out.
“Hey, I know it’s a lot to ask,” Declan said, his voice low, “but I need to talk to you about Wyatt’s dog, Maggie. She’s not dealing well with Wyatt being gone. She’s quit eating and she won’t move from the front porch. She just sits there, staring down the driveway, waiting for Wyatt to return. I think she may waste away to nothing if we don’t get her in here to see Wyatt soon. He’s already lost his wife and daughter; I just can’t stand the thought of him losing his dog, too.”
