He pulled the door open and I slid across the truck’s bench seat. Once he was beside me I moved, curling into him—my arms around his waist, my face buried against his neck.
He froze, the muscles along his side and back tightening beneath my touch. But then he relaxed, sliding his arm around my waist and pressing me against him—no space between us. Just the way I wanted it. All I knew was that there was something powerful in his touch, his scent. That with him next to me, I felt like things were going to be okay. A dangerous, silly, illusion…but I was too drained to worry about it right now. Instead, I let my fingers run down his side, along his rigid muscles. I listened to his breathing, the way it hitched when I turned my nose into his chest.
By the time we drove down the gravel drive toward home, I was terrified all over again. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t let him in. I couldn’t care. Because then I’d have to worry about losing him…
My parents were sitting on the front porch swing when we got there. I didn’t bother looking at either of them as I made my way up onto the porch, Wyatt behind me.
“Have fun?” Mom asked.
I shrugged. “Bonfires aren’t really my thing.”
“Fireworks were nice,” Dad said. I assumed he was talking to Wyatt.
“Yes, sir,” Wyatt agreed. “They pulled out all the stops.”
“Perfect view from right here,” Mom said, patting Dad on the knee as she said it.
I leaned against the porch railing, staring into the sky overhead. There were still millions of stars up there…so why didn’t they look as magical now as they had then?
Wyatt joined me but he didn’t touch me. I glanced at him, but he was staring up at the sky too.
I heard Mom yawn. “I’m turning in. It was a long hot day for me.”
“Night, Dr. Cooper,” Wyatt said.
“Congratulations on tonight, Wyatt,” she said. “What happens next?”
“I’m not sure yet. All-around offers some big college scholarships…but I’m not thinking of going pro.” He smiled. “If I can’t get the money, I’ll follow Hank to the Marines after graduation. Then college.”
“Sounds like you have a plan,” Dad said. “Any degree ideas?”
“I’d like to do what Dr. Cooper does.” Wyatt smiled. “Large animal, preferably. Hook up with one of the rodeo circuits, maybe. Or have a clinic somewhere close to home.”
“Wyatt,” My mother moved closer to him. “Hurry up. I’d love a partner.”
He laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Night,” she said as she went inside.
“Why Marines?” Dad asked.
And though it irritated me that he asked, I wanted to know the answer too. Steers and rodeos and Marines, too? Was he an adrenaline junkie?
“Some friends of mine are Marines. Money’s not bad, sir.” He shrugged. “I’m a good student, but I know better than to expect a lot of money in academic scholarships. I work, but I have bills so I’m not putting much back.”
My father nodded, but didn’t say anything as he headed to the front door.
He had bills? Really?
“I’ll be over in the morning, sir,” Wyatt said.
“I’ll be here, son. You get some rest.” He paused. “When will Dax be home?” I knew he was talking to me, even though he was looking at the porch swing.
“Soon,” I managed.
He nodded. “Night.”
We listened to the creak of the stairs as he made his way up to his room. He and Mom were at the other end of the hall from me, lots of squeaky floorboards between us—just the way I liked it.
Leaving me and Wyatt alone.
8 CHAPTER EIGHT
“You good?” Wyatt asked me.
I nodded. “Throat’s going to be sore tomorrow.” He smiled. “But I’m good.”
“I’ll go get Dax,” he murmured, his gaze falling to my lips.
Just like that I was hot and bothered and confused all over again. You should kiss me. Right now.
Wait. No… I didn’t want to get involved with him. No matter how amazingly awesome he was—and he was, I knew that now. He deserved better.
When he took a step, I took a step back. I couldn’t lead him on. I’d been sending him, and myself, mixed signals all night. No more. “Okay…I’ll text him. So he knows you’re coming.”
“Nah. I’ll get there soon enough.” Wyatt moved closer, leaning on the porch railing in front of me.
Close enough to touch, if I wanted to. And I wanted to, I really wanted to. I sat on the swing, sitting on my hands.
“What are your plans? After high school?” he asked, surprising me.
“I…I wanted to be a physical therapist. Sports medicine,” I said.
“Wanted?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Things aren’t as clear cut as they used to be.”
He nodded. “Shit happens.”
I laughed then, completely surprised. He laughed too. We stared at each other, awareness growing.
My words ran together: “You’ll need to clear out some of the stuff in your truck if you’re getting Molly too.”
He smiled, nodding, his eyes steady on my face…driving me crazy.
I stood. “I’ll help.” Anything to distract me.
We moved his saddle, ropes, and three large bags of who-knows-what into the truck bed. Why I felt the need to watch him, the way he moved, was beyond me. But I did.
“Thanks,” he said, standing in front of me, his hand resting on the hood of his truck.
“Sorry I didn’t help you with it before.” My gaze got tangled up in his.
He moved closer. “I’m not.” He leaned forward but didn’t touch me.
Oh God… I felt myself stiffen and pressed my eyes shut. I wanted this. Finally…
I…I couldn’t handle this. Oh, Wyatt.
He didn’t touch me, but I felt his warmth, knew he was close, knew something was coming. I was terrified… I was thrilled…
His lips were soft, brushing my forehead, lingering just long enough for his breath to lift my hair.
“Night, Allie,” he spoke against my skin, never touching me.
It was only after he climbed into his truck that I could really breathe again.
***
Dad was in town for the next five days. He seemed to be everywhere I was, which was seriously irritating since I didn’t want to see him.
My days fell into a routine: Running before the sun was high enough to cast a shadow. Home. Shower. Clinic with Mom. Since she hadn’t hired any office help, I’d volunteered. It kept me away from the house, Dad, and Wyatt.
Wyatt acted like nothing had happened. Like nothing had changed. He still smiled at me. And when I did catch him looking at me, he seemed to be waiting for something…
Which was what I wanted, right? Not for him to look at me that way, no, but for him to be normal—not to act like there was…something between us. Because there wasn’t. Couldn’t be.
I couldn’t do it. Not to Wyatt.
“Allie?” my mother asked. “Did Mrs. Floyd leave her phone number?”
I nodded, opening the patient information forms I’d been inputting since our new computers arrived. I wrote the number on a sticky note and handed it to Mom.
“Thanks. Once I give her a quick call, we can head home,” she said over her shoulder, heading into the back.
Dax arrived, looking sweaty and dirty. “Hey.”
“You look gross,” I said.
“You look great yourself,” he countered.
“What are you so happy about?”
“Got a truck.”
I stared at him. “What?”
“I. Bought. A. Truck.”
I continued to stare at him. “How the hell can you afford a truck?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been working for Dad.”
“So he bought you a truck.” I wasn’t mad—just surprised. “That’s nice.”
He smiled. “I thought so. I was going to drive Mom home. Can y
ou drive her car?”
Dad had been pretty clear: no telephones (except for emergencies), no computers (unless it was for school), and no vehicles (no exceptions). I crossed my arms over my chest. “Dad said yes to this idea?” He nodded. I frowned. I wasn’t allowed to drive. That was one of the…consequences.
“Call him,” Dax said.
I stuck out my tongue at my brother. “You’re hilarious.”
“Hey, Dax,” Mom said. “Okay. Prissy is doing well and everyone’s settled in for the evening. Let’s go home.” Her phone rang. “It’s your dad. Hold on.” She answered. “Hey, Hon. Yes…Yes…Oh…Sure. See you soon…I love you too.”
Dax and I exchanged looks.
I love you too… I guess things really were better between them. I wanted to be happy for them, for Mom. But I was…was what? Was I jealous?
“Here you are, Allie.” She smiled, handing me her keys.
I took the keys and set them on the counter. “I’ll turn everything off and be right behind you.” They both nodded and left.
I shut down the computer, poked around the office straightening brochures, and emptied the trash, then flipped off the lights. I was locking the door when I saw Levi.
“Hey, Allie.” He pulled his massive Blazer into the parking lot. What was it with big vehicles, anyway? Lindie would say the bigger the car, the smaller his— “How’re you doing?” he asked.
Code for: You still crazy? “I’m fine. How are you?” I asked.
“I’m great. Any plans for this weekend?” he asked, leaning out of his truck window.
“Well, I—”
“A bunch of us are going to float down the Medina, before it gets too shallow and all.” He waited.
“I’m not sure. I might be working.”
“You don’t think you can get your boss to give you the day off?” He bobbed his eyebrows up and down playfully.
I unlocked Mom’s car and opened the door. “You’re trying to get me into a bathing suit, aren’t you?”
“Hell, yeah.” He nodded. “I mean, I want to go out with you. But the bathing suit is all good too, not gonna lie.”
I smiled. “I’ll let you know.”
“You better.” He winked, then revved his engine, peeling out of the parking lot.
“What a tool,” I murmured as I climbed into the car.
I sat there, double checking the mirrors and adjusting my seatbelt, before I ever started the engine. Once I’d pulled out of the parking lot I was Super Citizen, following all the signs and lights, going the exact speed limit. I wasn’t exactly nervous—I loved driving and feeling free and independent—but I wasn’t exactly used to it anymore.
By the time I pulled onto the gravel road I’d relaxed enough to turn on the music, blasting it a little. Dad and Wyatt were up on the scaffold. Dax was doing something on the ground, and Mom was nowhere to be seen.
“Looks great,” I said as I got out, admiring their work.
Wyatt wiped his face on a bandana, giving me time to run inside before I had to make eye contact with him. Avoiding eye contact was key with us. Once I was lost in his sweet honey gaze, I was done for.
“Allie,” my mom called me from the kitchen when I came in. “I wanted to ask you something.”
I leaned against the counter. “Shoot.”
“Your father and I…well, Saturday is our twentieth wedding anniversary.” She paused.
“Oh, shit, Mom. I totally forgot.”
“You don’t need to apologize for anything. A wedding anniversary is really for the couple. Anyway, I was wondering if you felt comfortable enough being here, you and Dax, while your Dad and I went into San Antonio for an overnight? Maybe even the weekend?”
I blinked. “Did… Have you…” I swallowed. “Dad’s good with this?”
Her smile stiffened a little. She knew what I was asking. Does Dad trust me?
She nodded. “He is.”
“We’ll be fine.” I smiled, playing with her keys. “So…” I shook my head.
“What?” she asked.
“You and Dad…” I shrugged, uncomfortable. “You guys seem to be…doing well.”
She nodded, her cheeks coloring. “I know your father and I have had some ups and downs, but—”
That’s putting it mildly.
“We’re in a good place,” she finished.
“Well…good. Go, enjoy San Antonio. Dax and I won’t burn the place down. He’ll probably be trailing after Molly the whole time and I’ll…I’ll paint my room.” I’d been meaning to do it since we moved in.
Her brows rose. “Really? That sounds like a great idea. Make a list of what you want and Dad can make sure it’s all here before we leave.”
I nodded. “Okay.” I had no idea what I would do—but it might be okay. Distracting, at the very least. Distracting from… “Mom?” She looked at me. “I know this might sound mean, but… Well, is there a way Wyatt can have the weekend off?” I asked. “I feel bad about him being here all the time and—”
“He and Hank have some rodeo or something this weekend. He’ll be leaving in the morning. I know how you feel, he’s such a hard worker.”
Wyatt would be gone all weekend? I hadn’t gone forty-eight hours without Wyatt since we’d moved here.
“Good,” I said. “Good,” I repeated, trying to sound like I meant it.
She opened the refrigerator, poked through it, then frowned. “I’m too tired to cook tonight.”
“I’ll do it,” I offered. “I’ll make…something.”
She stared at me. “Are you sure?”
I sighed. “I can cook, ya know. Which is good since you guys are leaving us alone for the weekend, remember?” She frowned. “Mom, I’m messing with you. Go…take a shower or relax…or something.”
Once she’d left the room, I stared around the kitchen. Grandma used to make the best fried chicken in the known universe. We’d been certain to make notes so I’d remember her tricks—with the warning that they were all “secret family recipes kept in our family.” When she’d said it, it was like it was our secret. And since she was magic in the kitchen, I’d felt special that she’d entrusted me with something so important. Important to a ten-year-old. I pulled the secret notebook from the cupboard—not exactly hidden—and flipped through the pages.
Grandma had been one of those people who made everything seem effortless. Kind of like Wyatt…
I scanned my big-lettered, loopy notes mixed with Grandma’s perfect script. Fried chicken sounded like a good possibility. I opened the fridge to make sure we had everything and got to work.
I cleaned some ears of corn and put them in the large pot to boil then started pounding out the chicken. “Soak it in buttermilk for at least thirty minutes,” Grandma always said. Yes. We actually had buttermilk. Go figure.
After the chicken was pounded and skinned, I covered it in a baking dish and placed it back in the refrigerator. I turned on the radio, making do with the only station we could get—country. Thirty minutes to kill…
I made ice tea. And mashed potatoes. Snapped beans. Then fried the chicken until it was golden brown. Grandma would be proud. We had some fresh peaches left so I attempted to put some sort of peach cobbler together, but the crust was a little too doughy. I hoped I could cover it with ice cream.
I’d just finished setting the table when I heard someone clear their throat. Mom. Dad. Dax. Wyatt. They all stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing various expressions. Mom was amused. Dad looked surprised—which wasn’t surprising. Dax was impressed. Wyatt was…didn’t matter.
“Hungry?” I asked. “I kind of went overboard.”
“It looks wonderful.” Mom waved everyone in. “Need help with anything?”
I looked around the apocalyptic mess that was the kitchen counter and frowned. “No. It’s all taken care of. And I will clean all of this up.” There was cobbler dough on the floor. And flour.
“Looks great, Al.” Dax sat, eyeing the table.
“Thank
s,” I said, washing my hands before pulling off the apron I’d used. It was covered too, with egg and flour and who knows what else.
“Sit, Wyatt, Allie made plenty,” Dad said to Wyatt, who was still standing in the doorway—where I was trying not to notice him.
“I didn’t know you were such a cook,” Mom said.
“I didn’t either.” I shrugged. “I was standing at the window and I thought of Grandma. I remembered how she made her fried chicken. I remembered how many hours I’d spent in here helping her…” I shrugged again.
“She made you a little apron,” my dad said. I looked at him. “It was red, like the one she wore,” he added.
I nodded. “I remember.”
His hazel eyes held mine. Dad… Sometimes I wish I could be that little girl you adored again. And sometimes I wish you would love me now.
I looked at my empty plate. An awkward silence fell.
“Pass the chicken,” Dax said. “And the potatoes. And the corn. Where are the rolls?” I stared at him. Dax burst out laughing. “Kidding. You’ve got something right…there.” He pointed to his eyebrow.
I threw a napkin at him, then wiped at my forehead. I held my breath as everyone took the first bite. It was one thing to make food that looked good, another thing for it to actually taste good. My food looked okay, nothing photo-worthy, that was for sure. But I had high hopes for the taste.
“Mmm.” Wyatt nodded as he chewed.
“Wow.” Dax took another bite.
“I’m never cooking fried chicken again,” my mother said, patting my arm.
“Agreed,” my dad said, not looking up from his plate.
It wasn’t much. One little word, no inflection or double entendre, just one word of approval. I smiled, my stress easing a little. Things had been more bearable since my screaming session. I glanced at Wyatt, but he was fully invested in eating everything on his plate.
I hadn’t caused any upheaval. I’d been behaving, contributing. I hadn’t crashed the car. I’d made dinner. Mom and Dad were trusting us.
“I hate to eat and run,” Wyatt said as he finished, “but Hank’s going to be at my place with the trailer soon.”
Cowboys & Kisses Page 10
