My heart was lodged in my throat.
“I went to your room.” His voice was gravel, rough and uneven. “You were gone. I thought…I thought you ran away.”
I swallowed against the burn in my eyes.
My father—who never cried—had tears in his eyes. “That you left, in a storm.”
“I’m here.” I forced the words out. “I’m right here.”
He shook his head, his hands slipping from my shoulders. “I…I…”
“It’s okay, Dad. I’m here. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry.” I meant every word, taking his hand in both of mine. “For everything.”
We stayed that way for a while—him looking at me, me holding his hand. I could tell he wanted more, a hug maybe—something. But we’d spent too long keeping our distance for that kind of contact, which was sad. Dad had always given great big bear hugs.
“Your mom’s made breakfast,” he murmured, pulling back. “Go on and get dressed.” For the first time he acknowledged Wyatt. I waited for the tirade, the hostility, but Dad just nodded at him. Interesting.
I pulled the blanket around me and slid to the edge of the bed. Following Dad from the room seemed like the right thing to do, so I did, even though I wanted to say something to Wyatt. At the same time, I didn’t want to push it. Dad was handling my spending the night in Wyatt’s room with remarkable calm. I really wanted to keep it that way.
Dad gave me an awkward one arm hug before he let me go up to my room. Once the door was shut, I stood there, stunned. So many changes… Today was a new beginning, I could tell. It was time for me to get it together, be positive, be thankful. I had everything I could ever want or need.
“Good morning,” I said to the posters of Abbie Wambach, Mia Hamm, and Maroon 5 on my walls. I knew I was smiling like an idiot but I didn’t care. Even the fact that I had a killer physics test tomorrow and a five-page literature paper due Wednesday that I hadn’t yet started couldn’t chase away my grin.
I opened my closet and stood back. This week was all about Homecoming. I might be a reluctant Lady Cat, but I felt the need to show school spirit. Our colors were black and silver, so I tugged a black lace-up t-shirt from its hanger. I dressed quickly, tugged on jeans, black canvas flats, and silver hoop earrings. I brushed my hair out, put on a headband then took it out, before heading to the kitchen for breakfast.
Dax was sagging on his elbow—more asleep than awake.
Mom was bustling around. “Morning, Allie.”
“Morning.” I didn’t care that I sounded almost as chipper as she did.
Dad set his paper down and smiled at me. “You look nice.”
“Thanks,” I answered. “Black Falls colors. Homecoming week, you know. And our team totally doesn’t suck.”
“Good to know.” Dad nodded, sipping his coffee, still smiling.
Dax perked up then, looking from me to Dad with narrowed eyes. “Where am I?”
I laughed, rolling my eyes.
My gaze wandered around the kitchen. No Wyatt. I felt a twinge of guilt for keeping him up so late, but… I smiled as I pulled a bowl from the cabinet.
“Eggs and bacon and biscuits okay?” Mom chattered away. “Scrambled—your favorite.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I smiled, noticing the flowers on the table for the first time.
“Seriously,” Dax insisted, “I’m confused.”
Mom patted me on the shoulder, then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “It’s important to start the day off right.”
“Looks great, June,” Dad added.
Dax leaned back in his seat, scrubbed his hand over his face a few times, and shook his head. “Crazy storm last night. Were you guys electrocuted or something?”
Dad laughed, shaking his head. I saw him glance at me. It hurt to think he’d believe I hated him enough to leave in a storm. They all knew how storms wigged me out. That was what had earned me my sleeping pill prescription. I thought he didn’t worry over me anymore. Because I’m stupid. He’s my dad. He’ll always care and worry about me. I was lucky.
“It was pretty bad. Everyone sleep okay?” Mom asked, her worried blue eyes turning my way.
I shrugged, careful not to look at Dad as I confessed, “It did wake me up.”
“Morning.” Wyatt came in, his hair wet and his eyes bright.
“Morning,” Mom answered him, pointing to his chair with her spatula. “Lots of breakfast this morning.”
“Something weird is going on,” Dax whispered loudly. “Everyone’s getting along. So…I’m still asleep? This is all a dream?”
Wyatt sat, laughing a little at Dax.
Sitting there, seeing the smiling faces of my family gathered around the kitchen table, was almost dreamlike. Dad looked at Wyatt, then at me, before he turned back to his paper and coffee—a small smile on his face. He didn’t seem angry, just…relieved.
I glanced at Wyatt. He gave me a look, a slow smile that lit him up from the inside. If he wasn’t such a guy’s guy, I’d say he was beautiful. But I couldn’t—he wouldn’t take it as a compliment. He was a cowboy. Were cowboys beautiful?
Screw it. You’re beautiful.
“Letter on the counter for you.” Dad glanced at me.
I leaned over, grabbing the letter. It was from Texas A&M. I glanced at Dad, at Mom. They were both looking at me, waiting. I sat, terrified.
Mom passed the bowl of scrambled eggs around the table. “When did you get in, Wyatt?”
“Around midnight.” Wyatt passed the bowl on. “Hope I didn’t wake anyone.”
“With that storm going on?” Dad shook his head, glancing at my letter.
“Sleep okay?” Mom asked.
“Rough start, but I slept like a log, ma’am.”
She laughed. “Good. Dax is falling asleep at the table. Bacon? Biscuits are almost ready.”
“I’m awake now, I think. I need food,” Dax said.
My hands were shaking as I opened the letter. Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you… I dropped the letter onto the table.
“Well?” Dad asked.
Everyone looked at me then. “It’s an acceptance letter,” I managed.
“From?” Wyatt asked.
“Texas A&M,” my dad answered for me.
Mom jumped up and hugged me. “Congrats, honey.”
“She tell you she got into SMU too?” Dax asked, shoveling pancakes into his mouth.
My parents exchanged a look. “No,” Dad said and sighed. “Guess I know which you’re going to pick.”
I looked at the letter. “Not so sure. Both have good programs…but only one has the graduate program I need.”
“And free rent,” Dad added.
I smiled at him. He and Mom had bought a four-bedroom house on a small piece of property which they rented to vet students. He’d made no secret about wanting Dax and me to use it when we went there—not that either one of us had listened. Until now. “You won’t charge me rent?”
“Hell, I might even go to A&M,” Dax said between bites.
“I’d like that.” Dad looked around the table. “All of you kids, looking out for each other.”
“It’s your choice, Allie.” Mom patted my hand before she passed the bacon to Wyatt.
Wyatt took the plate of bacon, his gaze never leaving my face. “Thanks, Dr. Cooper.”
“You can call me June, Wyatt. Dr. Cooper seems so formal. Especially over breakfast.”
He looked uncomfortable as he said, “I’ll try.”
Mom laughed. “You don’t have to.”
Pickett was barking like crazy. He stopped, then started again, whimpering now and then. “Excuse me.” Wyatt scooted his chair back and headed to the door. “Pickett,” he hissed.
Pickett whimpered and stopped. But as soon as Wyatt opened the door, he was barking like crazy again.
“Better go see what’s up,” Wyatt explained. “Snake or raccoon or something, probably.”
“Be careful,” Mom said.
&
nbsp; Dad stood, following Wyatt out the door.
Dax was spooning jam onto his first biscuit when Dad came running back into the house. “Call the fire department, June,” he said.
Mom reached for the phone as Dax and I ran out the back door.
18 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was already warm outside, the air thick with humidity. The roof still dripped from last night’s storm, and the peaceful call of the morning doves’ coo was faint, but the billowing black smoke breaking in the distance was the only thing I cared about. It was too far away to be a danger to us—
Then I understood.
My lungs felt like they were empty, drawing up, twisting painfully. No. The smoke was coming from the direction of Wyatt’s house.
“Wyatt!” My dad’s voice was stern.
“I’ve gotta go.” Wyatt’s voice was just as firm, his gaze locking with my father’s.
Dad frowned but Wyatt was already to his truck.
“Wyatt,” I yelled after him but he didn’t stop. “Dad…” I turned back. “He could get hurt.”
I could see the indecision on my father’s face as he said, “Let me get my keys.”
“I’ll drive,” Dax offered, pulling his keys from his pocket.
Panic reared up. Helplessness almost brought me to my knees as Wyatt’s truck bounced down the gravel drive, the tail lights fading too quickly.
Dad nodded. “Let’s go.”
We climbed into Dax’s truck, tense and silent. Dax turned the key but nothing happened. He tried it again but nothing happened. No engine noise, no AC blasting us in the face…just a grating click.
“Start, dammit,” Dax ground out, turning the key again.
“Shit,” I bit out.
“Come on.” Dad got out of Dax’s truck and ran back to the house. My legs felt wobbly as I climbed out of the truck.
Time was ticking away. We were here—Wyatt was there. Alone.
“Allie,” Mom called out. “It’ll be okay. The fire department is on their way. It’s probably nothing to worry about.”
I wanted to believe her. But one glance at the column of black smoke didn’t offer much comfort. What could I say to make her understand that the only thing that would make this okay was following Wyatt, making sure he was okay.
Time slowed as I dodged puddles and mud en route to Dad’s truck.
“Sorry, Allie,” Dax murmured.
“Not your fault,” I replied, watching my father run to meet us at the truck. Thank God it started right away.
It took us too long to get there—every bump and twist in the road pushing me closer to the edge. When Dad finally navigated the last bend in the road, I stared in horror.
The fire must have started a long time ago. The house was gone, the remaining walls smoldering red and orange. That was where the billowing smoke was coming from. The once-round hay bales, neatly lined up from the house to the barn, were flaming brightly—carrying the fire from the house to the barn. The side of the barn roared, literally. I could hear it from inside the truck.
Wyatt’s truck was there, the driver door closed. Pickett was running frantically back and forth on the truck seat. No Wyatt.
“Where is he?” I asked, pushing Dax out of the truck and jumping out. “Wyatt?”
“Allie!” My father grabbed my arm. “Wait. Wait a minute.”
I almost jerked my arm away. I pressed my lips into a hard line, refusing to cry or beg.
“Please.” Dad’s voice was so frantic that I paused. “Let me look, Allie. Let me look, okay?”
I nodded.
The barn groaned, a horrible creaking, followed by snapping and crackling. The back corner of the roof sagged, making the frame of the barn shift like it was leaning.
“Be careful, Dad,” I called, louder than I’d intended. But I couldn’t help it.
“Don’t worry about me, Allie. You two look for Wyatt…away from the fire.” Dad headed toward the barn.
Wyatt. I wrapped my arms around myself. “Wyatt?” My voice was soft, choking. I cleared my throat, my eyes scanning the tree line…hoping. “Wyatt!”
“Wyatt!” Dax’s voice joined mine. I spun to face my brother, startled and comforted that he was with me.
I saw my father as he circled the barn, his arm up, shielding his face. He was yelling too, but whatever he was saying was lost beneath the roar of the fire. My heart was already thumping its way out of my chest; now it lodged itself in my throat. I knew Dad would be careful, he never did anything haphazard. But I didn’t like how close he was to the flames—flames that seemed to leap and jump higher every second.
“Wyatt!” I yelled, angrily.
More wood creaking, and the side of the barn shifted, the wall folding in on itself. The whole structure shrugged, the roof sliding forward dangerously.
“Wyatt?” Dax called again. “Wyatt!”
All of Wyatt’s neatly organized tools, his rodeo gear—I could see it hung with care on the pegboard walls inside the barn. It was all lost to the black smoke pouring out of the gaping hole, floating up into the murky morning sky and making the air heavy.
I was sobbing.
A lone fire truck arrived then. “Anyone in there?” one fireman asked as he jumped out of the truck, still shrugging into his volunteer fire department coat.
“There might be someone in the barn,” Dax said.
“Not certain?” the man asked.
“No sir,” Dax answered.
Wyatt, where are you? I wanted to scream it, but I couldn’t force the words out.
“Stand back now, you two, hear?” the fireman directed.
“My dad’s over there.” Dax walked with the fireman, pointing to Dad as he went.
Everything seemed to slow down. I saw the firemen, saw the smoke and flames, heard the fire, but it felt hazy…disjointed—like life was moving frame by frame. The thudding of my heart and rasp of my breath seemed to muffle everything else.
With one huge groan, a deafening roar of the leaping flames, and a sudden burst of black smoke, the barn collapsed. I covered my mouth, holding back the scream. I saw my father, saw him run back, safe. But the barn, and anything inside of it, was lost.
Wyatt…No, please…Wyatt. Fear choked me; panic closed in.
This was a nightmare. It had to be. This wasn’t happening. “Wyatt,” I croaked. Maybe I was still sleeping? Dreaming? I had to be… I could almost believe it if I didn’t taste the sulfur and smoke on the back of my tongue…If smoke wasn’t burning my eyes…If I could stop crying…“Dammit! Wyatt!” I cried out, emptying my lungs. “Wyatt, answer me!”
“Allie?”
I spun, slipping in the wet grass and landing hard on my butt in the mud. It didn’t matter—Wyatt was walking quickly toward me, his soot-smeared face worried.
I jumped up, running at him as fast as I could. “Wyatt.” No blood. No limping. No burns—that I could see. Just dirt and grit. He was okay. When he was close enough, I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around him.
He caught me. I knew he would. “You okay?” His voice was rough.
I was sobbing. Yes, I was okay, I was wonderful. But I never ever wanted to experience this kind of fear again.
He held me close, his arms fierce around my waist. “You hurt?” His words brushed against my ear. He let me go, brushing my hair from my face and tilting my head back.
I shook my head, trying to breathe. I couldn’t let go of him, not yet. “I couldn’t find you.” I cupped his face between my hands. “I couldn’t find you.”
He pulled me close to him but my canvas shoes stuck in the mud under our feet, and we went down—again. Somehow he managed to keep me from getting covered in mud, sort of, but he was coated from head to toe.
“He’s here, Dad! Wyatt’s here!” Dax was yelling. “With Allie…rolling in the mud.” He sighed.
“Dad…” I said against Wyatt’s neck. “Wyatt, Dad’s looking for you, by the barn.”
“Let’s go.” Wyatt took the ha
nd Dax offered, pulling me up with him. “Thanks.” His gaze was fixed on the barn.
“Glad you’re okay, man.” Dax slapped Wyatt on the back. “Dad’s freaking out looking for you. Fireman made him go back to the truck now.”
Wyatt nodded, his gaze bouncing from Dax to me to the barn. My hand captured his in a death grip. His eyes searched mine but he didn’t say anything as he pulled me close and pressed a hard kiss to my forehead. He led us toward the fire truck at a fast jog.
Dad was standing by the hood, his face soot-smeared and dripping, and breathing hard and fast. His shoulders drooped, his eyes still scanning the area surrounding the barn. He looked so defeated.
Dax spoke up first. “Found him!”
“Mr. Cooper.” Wyatt shook my father’s hand but Dad pulled Wyatt into a strong, hard hug.
“Glad you’re in one piece, Wyatt.” The tone of Dad’s voice said so much more.
“All clear?” the fireman asked.
“Nothing’s in there,” Wyatt replied as Dad’s grip eased on him.
“Pecos and Daisy?” I asked, worried.
“They got out.” Wyatt pulled me against his side, his voice rough. “I had to chase them down—no animal’s fond of fire. Daisy got some burns on her rump.”
“Mom’ll fix her,” I promised.
“Allie’s right. June will take care of them,” Dad agreed. “We need to take care of you.” Dad’s eyes swept Wyatt from head to toe, then he looked at the ambulance. When had an ambulance arrived?
“I’m fine, sir,” Wyatt tried to assure my father.
Dad shook his head. “Wyatt…”
“Just to make sure you’re okay. Please,” I pleaded. I was siding with Dad on this one. I smiled up at Wyatt, wiping the last of the tears from my cheeks.
His gaze was warm as it traveled over my face. “Okay.”
“Holy shit.” Dax blew out the words. “Talk about a rough morning.”
I didn’t let go of his hand and Wyatt’s grip never eased, even when the medic gave him the once-over. He worked around our joined hands, quick and efficient.
“He’s fine. We’ll be home soon—with two patients for you.” Dad was talking to Mom on the phone. “No, no, Wyatt only mentioned some burns on Daisy. But you should probably check.”
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