Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1)

by S. D. Hendrickson

  His gaze lingered on my face, then drifted to a brazen stare at my breasts. The brown eyes grew a deeper hue. Images of Kurt rifling through my drawers flashed in my head. He was the type who would get the most from his visit inside my apartment. Even in the heat of the summer, my skin got clammy as the beady eyes returned to my face. I think Kurt half-believed me, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Yeah. I wish I could’ve saved him.” I took a few steps backward. “Coyote will probably get him out there.”

  “Probably so. He’s a worthless little bastard, but I gotta find him. That pup already belongs to someone else.”

  “Well, if I see Ch—the puppy again, I’ll try to catch him.” My backward steps had me within three feet of the stairs. “I have to run.”

  With a quick spin, I sprinted up the wooden steps, ignoring the stabbing pain in my knee. It would be a night of freezing ice wrapped around my leg. I pulled my keys from the pocket of my shorts, but my sister had the door open before I could use them. She slammed it behind me, turning both locks on the frame.

  “I was afraid he was going to drag you into the office and not let you come out.” Her eyes flashed wide from behind her glasses. Blaire pushed the center piece back straight on her nose.

  “Kurt might be a dog abuser, but he’s not going to kidnap me.”

  “You don’t know that. He’s got shit for brains.” My identical face stared back at me. That’s the thing about being the Sawyer twins. We were completely the same yet different like two sides of the same coin.

  In a huffy turn, Blaire went into the living room, falling down on the couch, knocking over her giant tuba case. It clanked against the coffee table before hitting the carpet. “You just had to take that damn dog. Now we are going to be stuck with Kurt crawling up our ass.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Mr. Hughes told me. Really, Emma? You climbed out on the ledge? Are you that stupid?” Her eyes squinted from behind her glasses in disapproval. I wore contacts. She refused after reading some story about the Loa Loa worm that had grown to five inches in a man’s eye.

  “He almost killed Charlie yesterday. I wasn’t going to just sit in here while that man murdered him.”

  “That dog has a name now? What am I thinking? Of course you gave him a name. You are just too nice. It gets exhausting sometimes. Charlie and Mr. Hughes and all those people at that nursing home. Wonderful Emma. Sweet Emma. Blah, blah, blah. But you need to think sometimes. We have to live here. Unless you’ve got some idea of how to get us out of the lease.”

  “You need to figure that one out. It’s your fault we still live here.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t try to pin that on me.” She rolled her eyes behind the wide lenses.

  Blaire and I had shared a room growing up. As we got older and moved out of the house, it had never occurred to either of us to seek out someone else as a roommate. Not even when she’d gone to college and I technically didn’t.

  Blaire and I were born as mirror image twins. I’m right-handed. She’s left-handed. We came from the same sack in the uterus. Doctors still liked to brag about that one in our little town. Apparently, it’s pretty rare.

  “You met someone this afternoon.” Her voice came with a dry clip.

  “I don’t know what you mean. I was busy finding Charlie a place at a rescue. Not meeting people.”

  “That’s not all you did this afternoon.” Her brown eyes widened. “Unless you met someone there. I was giving Aaron his tuba lesson, and I felt it right here.” Her polish-free hand rested against the front of her T-shirt. “All bubbly and happy. And I knew because Aaron plays like shit. And is always going to play like shit. Sounds like a cross between a farting cat and someone running over its tail. But I cash his parents’ checks anyway. So what made you sooo happy while I was trapped listening to cats dying so we can have rent money?”

  I stared at her and she stared back. That’s how I’d perfected the look I’d used on Wyatt. Blaire got my super glare of death almost every day. And well, she could use it back just the same way. I let out a deep breath.

  I already knew she would ask when I got home. We didn’t talk about it much, but Blaire and I had this connection. It came across weird and slightly demonic if we shared it in front of the wrong people. My sister and I just knew things about each other, like when we got sad or really happy or scared. Our little secret.

  “I don’t know what you felt. I didn’t meet anyone. So stop making dramatic accusations. And you know you like giving tuba lessons.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She brushed a trickle of sweat off her forehead. Blaire’s hair was piled on top of her head in a ratty mess.

  “Fine. There was this guy when I dropped off Charlie.” I plopped down next to her on the old, flowery couch. I flipped my soft blonde curls back off my sweaty neck. The air-conditioning was on the brink again, which showed another sign of Kurt’s incompetency as a landlord.

  “I knew it. So who is this guy? What’s he like?”

  “I don’t know. Intense, I guess. I think he lives with the dogs at the kennel. It’s really sad. He’s out there all alone.”

  “He’s like some crazy, recluse dog hoarder? Really, Emma!” Her eyes grew huge. “You’ve sunk to that?”

  “I’ve sunk to nothing. We met. That’s it.”

  “Emma?” She twirled a strand of stringy hair around her finger. It ratted up in a ball as she peered at me from the next cushion.

  “What?”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Fine. I’m going back there on Thursday,” I muttered.

  “Alone? You don't know anything about him. Typical Emma. You are so freaking clueless. This guy could be dangerous. He lives out there all by himself in some compound. Who does that? Killers. That’s who.”

  Blaire would have a breakdown if she actually saw where Wyatt lived and that unfriendly glare coming from his green eyes. But she didn’t see him the way I did today. I don’t know what piece got stuck with me more on the drive home: those poor dogs in the cages or the guy locked in the mental one.

  I wish I could say everything to Blaire, but I just couldn’t explain what happened today. She wouldn’t understand why I had to go back there. Normal social things were difficult for her. She wasn’t like me when it came to other people. Complicated issues that involved compassion and emotion were hard for her to comprehend.

  “It’s not like I’m dating him. I’m just getting to know someone. And I think it makes Wyatt interesting.”

  “He’s interesting? That’s what girls say right before they get the shit knocked out of them and stuffed in a fucking trunk.”

  “Blaire!”

  “What?” Blaire leaned back against the cushions, tucking her knees against her chest.

  “Wyatt’s not gonna hurt anyone.” I leaned over, slipping my arms around my sister’s little body. She hated it when I went for an unsolicited hug. She bristled up like I was squeezing a cactus, but I did it anyway, as a distraction to her current fit. “I watched him with Charlie. He was so meticulous and kind.”

  “How old is he, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. He’s around our age, I guess. And he’s got dimples, Blaire. They just came out of nowhere.” And then they were gone.

  “Emma. You really are crazy.” She pushed me away and went back into interrogation mode. “You can’t base him being safe on dimples. You are a terrible judge of character. You’d let strangers stay on our couch if I didn’t say no.”

  “Not that again. You know Couchsurfing is a legitimate website and we could make a lot of money during the university football games.”

  “The answer is still no. And I think the answer to this one should be no too. I can’t believe you’re attracted to some weirdo in the woods. You have lost your damn mind.”

  “But you don’t understand. You didn’t see him. The way he looked. There’s something . . . ” Going on with him. I think he may need help. “There’s just something about Wyatt. I want
to see him again. Spend some time with him. I think he could use a friend.”

  “Friend? Hmm.”

  “And the dogs. It was terrible, Blaire. They looked like those awful commercials.”

  “I’m sure it was very sad. The dogs and the guy. But this has nothing to do with you, Emma. Not that any of them ever do, but let this one go.”

  “I need to do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw today.”

  “Fine. But don’t call me when this Wyatt guy has you tied up in his trunk. I’m not coming to get your stupid ass.”

  I smiled at my sister’s joke. She didn’t get out much. Not that I had attended a large amount of wild, raging college parties. But Blaire was a social recluse because she chose to be that way, and I think her personality scared people.

  She didn’t even drive. It’s not that she physically couldn’t get behind the wheel. Blaire just chose not to learn. According to my sister, she didn’t want to be responsible for a thousand-pound vehicle, hurling down the road like a shotgun bullet. She had a whole list of death facts to go along with her reasoning. I’m surprised she even rode in the car with me.

  But that was my sister. Even with all her quirks, I loved her more than any person in the whole world. How could I not? Blaire was literally the other half of me.

  ON THURSDAY, I RETURNED DOWn the red dirt road to see Wyatt and Charlie. As I turned off the motor, he walked out of the kennel building, wearing the exact same outfit as last time with the exception of his shirt. Today it was brown.

  He didn’t seem happy. He didn’t seem happy at all. I didn’t really expect Wyatt to come running out and sweep me up in a big hug. A smile would’ve been courteous with the dimples being a bonus. Instead, Wyatt had a glare of uncertainty. He still regretted inviting me back.

  I got out of the car, wearing cutoff shorts and a tiny V-neck T-shirt. My hair fell down in blonde, shiny curls I’d styled with my curling iron. As I walked over to where he was standing, his piercing eyes never looked me over. If Wyatt had a choice, I think he would’ve shoved me back in the car and pointed it toward the silver gate. Yet his grouchy attitude didn’t make me nervous like it did the first time.

  “Hi, Wyatt.” I smiled up at him. His eyes squinted a bit without a response. I was too close, and he had to look down to see me. “I came back.”

  “So you did.”

  “Ok. So . . . do you want me to just go see Charlie or did you want me to do something else?”

  “Like what?”

  “You tell me. You need help with anything?”

  “No.” He shuffled back a few steps, putting more distance between us.

  “You sure? I could help you . . .” I trailed off, not sure what to suggest. I smiled up at his hard face and shrugged.

  “I don’t need your help. Just go see Charlie. That’s why you came. Then you can go.”

  “Okay then.” Ignoring the sting of his dismissal, I walked past him inside the kennel. Slower this time so I could take in each animal. Some of the dogs pressed against the gates with open mouths and tongues, hanging out like they were smiling.

  I stopped next to a medium-sized, brown dog. Bending closer to the ground, I scratched his face through the gate. My heart felt something awful inside as I noticed his ears were cut to the scalp, jagged and uneven, almost like a dull knife had sawed into the skin. And the scars. They were everywhere. The gray scars wrapped around and around his mouth like a person . . . no way. That couldn’t be possible.

  “That’s Chewy.” I heard Wyatt’s voice behind me. I waited to see if he continued, but he didn’t say another word.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I saw his tight, sealed lips. So this is how it was going to be with him. “And?” I prompted.

  He let out a loud breath. “Chewy had his mouth wired shut when Diana found him on the side of the road. He could open his mouth just enough to get a sip of water. The more he tried to work it free, the deeper it embedded into his skin.”

  I swallowed hard, running my fingers over the raised scars. “Why would someone do that?”

  “Why does anyone do any of this stuff?” His hand gestured out toward the other dogs.

  I got up from my spot and walked slowly past the next few kennels. I was speechless. Each animal peered out with big eyes, grabbing me like a fist inside my chest. Each had some form of brutal injury that marred them for life. Each had the remnants of torture; a product of some selfish desire to own what couldn’t be owned. So they broke them physically until the poor animal had no choice. The whole place was ten times worse than Charlie. I froze, feeling the burn in the back of my throat.

  “I had the same reaction the first time.” His voice was soft and scratchy. I looked over toward Wyatt. His arm was resting on the metal gate. Our eyes held for a moment before he looked at the ground. He seemed more relaxed than when I’d first arrived today. I wanted to ask him questions. Hundreds of them flew through my head all at once. But he was talking and he seemed to work better if I allowed it to happen on his own terms.

  “So I guess that means it gets easier seeing them?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes I still have to remind myself the scars are there, but nobody’s hurting them anymore. We are giving them a better life than where they came from.” His face twisted up as the deep words floated between us. They came from a person who was filled with more on the inside than the mask he wore on the outside. He was a good apple, just a bruised one full of compassion for his animals.

  The invisible pull was there again. The invisible fingers tugged at my hands, my heart, and my feet. I moved closer to where Wyatt stood by the next kennel. His body visibly tensed, but I didn’t let it affect me.

  “What about that one?” I pointed to the rat terrier with a pink scar shooting across his back hip instead of a leg. He bounced around on tripod feet.

  “Ricky Bobby.” Wyatt reached over the kennel fence, scratching behind the dog’s ears. He smiled faintly as the rat terrier licked the palm of his hand. The animals seemed to melt the granite wall, surrounding this broken guy. I saw it every time he touched one.

  “What’s his story?” I whispered.

  Wyatt glanced at me as the smile lingered on his lips. “This guy thinks he can outrace cars. Got hit by one. His owner wanted to put him down instead of amputate. The vet called Diana, and he came here.”

  “Why would someone just put him down for that?”

  “You shouldn’t ask why in this place. There is no why for them. Some people are just selfish bastards.” His eyes lifted up, catching mine for a brief moment.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask it that way.”

  “I told you. You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I know I rescued Charlie, but I haven’t seen a place like this before. There’s so many of them.”

  Wyatt didn’t respond that time. I let out a deep breath, moving toward the next pen, but it appeared empty. Looking toward the back, I saw a black shape huddled in the corner. The more I looked, the more it pressed back as far as it could get from the gate.

  “That’s Cye.” His voice grated on the words. “He’s a little timid. And he’s only got one eye. I think it scares him, not being able to see everything clearly.”

  “What happened?”

  Wyatt didn’t answer, and his jaw gritted up. He came over and stood just a few inches away, which surprised me. We both studied the sad creature in the back of the pen. Then he started to talk again. “The vet thinks he was beat with a hammer. It’s taking awhile for him to trust people.”

  “Not even you?”

  “No, and I’m not sure if he ever will.”

  “How long has Cye been here?” I whispered.

  “A year. I touched him the night he arrived. Diana had the poor guy sedated. Cye hasn’t let anyone touch him since.”

  “I don’t know how someone could do that to an animal.” My throat burned as the scared eyes watched me from the back corner. The more I invaded hi
s space, the more he hunkered to the floor. It felt wrong to even look at Cye. “Does he ever go outside to the other part of the kennel?”

  “He’s like a ghost. I know he goes outside because I scoop it out of the grass. But I never see him do it though.”

  “How do you do this, Wyatt?” I looked up at his face. “It’s just so sad.

  His green eyes stayed guarded even though mine were close to tears from hearing the stories. Wyatt’s jaw tightened as he swallowed hard. “Some of their stories are worse than others. But I do my best to make it better for them.”

  “Oh,” I whispered. “You’re like the keeper of the island of misfit toys.”

  “The what?” He frowned.

  “You know, from Rudolf—the movie?”

  “Hmm,” he grunted.

  The longer I stood in his personal space, the more I felt his hidden pain, weaving back and forth between us. I wanted to step even closer. I wanted to let him know that whatever was tearing him up inside would be okay.

  Wyatt got fidgety and rubbed the side of his neck. I got a whiff of his scent. It wasn’t cologne. Not that I expected any. Wyatt didn’t seem like the type to wear something fancy. Instead he just smelled clean, like he’d rubbed dryer sheets into his skin.

  “How long have you been doing this?” I let the question slip out.

  “Awhile.” He squinted with that pained look again.

  “Do you work here full time or do you go to school too?” I knew better, but I said it anyway. His face clamped down and he shuffled not one, but three steps away.

  “Why don’t you just get Charlie? There’s a fenced area in the back. Take him out there.”

  With that grand announcement, Wyatt ignored my question and walked back to his office. I went to the kennel that held my little dog. When I opened the gate, Charlie lunged toward my face, covering me with slobber. Just a few days away, but it must have felt like years for someone like him.