I carried Charlie down the aisle of sad eyes. I wanted to take each of them with me. Maybe I would later and Wyatt could just deal with it.
Charlie and I played for a good thirty minutes before I noticed Wyatt’s presence. He watched us safely in the shade to the side of the fenced area with his shoulder propped up against a storage shed. I thought Wyatt would leave once his cover was blown, but he didn’t. He stayed. He stared. He intrigued me even more by the minute.
I wanted more than anything to figure out Wyatt Caulfield. Hot and cold. Withdrawn and angry, and then a flash of dimples and compassion for his dogs, followed by pain. The poor guy needed someone or something. I looked back over to where he stood in the shade. Slowly. I had to remind myself to approach him slowly.
“Why don’t you come in here?” I yelled over in his direction. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t join us in the pen, but he didn’t leave either.
I left Charlie inside the fenced-in play area. My knee cramped as I returned to the kennel room. It had always held twinges of pain since my accident, but the fall this week opened up a whole new level of intensity. Every step gripped my leg as my shoes clicked against my heels. I chose to ignore it as much as possible.
Trailing down the long row, I stopped in front of Chewy. My chest tightened, seeing the wire scars around his mouth. The brown dog was bigger than Charlie so I looked around until I found a leash. I carefully opened his gate and latched it to his collar. His brown eyes lit up bright. I think he actually pranced down the aisle past the rest of the dogs.
Once again, I felt a sadness reach inside my body and wrap around my heart. It was a happy place. It was a heartbreaking place. Being here was a dose of reality. My problems felt insignificant compared to those of a creature who had survived the lashes of a hammer or had his voice taken away by a piece of wire.
Wyatt was still leaning against the shed when I came back out to the play area. The irritation flashed all the way over to where I stood with Chewy. Opening the gate of the fence, I released the latch on the leash. Chewy ran straight to Charlie. My stomach caught for a moment, imaging a giant fight of teeth and blood. But the two dogs ran around, chasing each other. It made me smile. Charlie wasn’t even close to the animal Kurt had tortured in his office.
“Chewy’s a good one for Charlie.”
“Huh?” I jumped at the sound of his deep voice, coming from behind me. “Do you have to keep doing that? Don’t sneak up.”
“Sorry.” A faint smile flashed on his lips like he enjoyed it. Wyatt had so many pieces of strange to his personality.
“I thought Chewy would be good too. There’s just something about him in there. He might become one of my favorites. Do you have favorites?”
“I try not to, but it happens,” his gruff voice answered. “Some of them are lifers, so yeah. I have some that are favorites. I guess.”
“Lifers?” I glanced over to him again. Wyatt tucked his hands inside the front pockets of his jeans. I wasn’t sure if that was a defensive move or just habit.
“They won’t get adopted. Many of them will live the rest of their lives here.”
“Is Chewy a lifer?”
“I don’t know. The scars bother people when they see them.”
“Really? He’s not even bleeding.”
“I think it makes them sad or they see him as deformed. That’s just the way most people are about this kind of stuff. Actually, I figured you would be too.”
“Why would you think that?”
He shrugged. “You seem the type.”
“The type?”
He shrugged again without explaining the odd statement.
“I’m in school to be a nurse.” I paused, shifting my weight off my bad leg. I thought talking about me would make this easier for him. “Well, I guess that’s not exactly true. I’m behind. I’m still trying to get all the prerequisites finished before I can start the program. I don’t go to school full time so it’s taking awhile.”
His eyes slipped over to me and then back out to the fenced-in area with the dogs. I waited for Wyatt to respond, but he stayed silent. Talking about me wasn’t any better than talking about him. We watched Charlie and Chewy play for a while longer.
Blowing a curl out of my eye, I plunged in with the question that I needed to run past him. “Wyatt, I know you don’t really like me here. But I would like to come back.”
“You want to come back?” He voice seemed raw with an edge of pain. He said it with no trace of a smile.
“I like it out here. I want to help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Not you. The dogs. There’s so many of them. I could volunteer or something. I’ve got a couple of jobs right now. I work at the nursing home and the bookstore. But I could find some time to come out here. I want to help them.” And yes, I want to help you too.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come back.” He seemed frazzled and agitated again. His full lips flattened into a thin line. His boots shuffled a few steps away like he was ready to bolt.
“Wyatt, please don’t leave.” Turning to go after him, my shoe slipped across the grass. I winced, sucking in a deep breath. The pain shot down my leg into my foot. I needed to go to the doctor. I’d ignored the problem and hoped it would go away, but I knew it was a delicate situation even before the fall this week.
“What’s wrong with your leg?”
“I . . . um?” I stared back at him. Wyatt surprised me with both the question and the level of compassion in his voice.
“The leg? You limp a little. And I saw the scar.”
“Oh.” My eyes popped open wide at his observation when he appeared to ignore everything about me. I looked down out of reflex at the scar across the top of my calf that rested just below my swollen kneecap. “Well, my leg thinks it needs knee surgery. I’ve told it no.”
“Should you be wearing those shoes?”
“Probably not, but it’s summer so I wear them.” I bent my knee up and down, feeling the pain loosen a bit. “So back to my question.”
“Why do you ask so many questions?” He frowned again.
“What do you mean?”
“You just ask a lot.”
“I want to learn about this place and you don’t exactly volunteer information. How else am I supposed to get to know you?”
“You can see Charlie without knowing anything about me.”
“So does that mean I can come back? Like on a regular schedule or something?”
“Emma . . . I don’t know.” He paused, gazing down at me, but all I heard was the sound of that gruff voice saying my name. He said it for the first time and it was almost sweet. Almost human compared to his block-of-ice personality.
“Is that a yes or no?”
“You can come back, but keep it simple, you know. We don’t have to stand around talking and shit. You come do your thing. Then go.”
“I’m not going to come back and pretend you’re not here. That’s weird and strange. You obviously live here. If you don’t want me to come back again, then I won’t. I’ll say goodbye to Charlie. I won’t bother you again.”
“Wait. Don’t.” His hand grabbed my arm, softly, almost like a reflex. The warmth of his fingers burned into my skin. Wyatt seemed to realize he was touching me, and let go. “Look, I’m a little rusty.”
“Rusty at what? People? Acting like a normal human being? Not being an antisocial jerk?”
“Yes.” His face scrunched up with that pained expression again.
“Oh,” I whispered. “I didn’t really expect you to admit that.”
“I don’t see too many people out here.”
“Really.” I faint laugh escaped my lips. “I couldn’t tell. So do you act like this when you go into town too or just out here?”
“No, well, not really. Look, Emma. Things with me. They’re complicated.”
“Like how? I understand complicated more than you realize. Why don’t you explain it to me?”
“I can’t. It’s the kind of complicated where I really shouldn’t even have you out here. But I know you want to come back . . . and I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to stop you.”
“You don’t?” His words caught me off guard, making small tingles flutter under my skin.
“No.” That twisty invisible pull surfaced between us again. It tugged me closer and closer to his sadness as his raspy voice spoke softly. “You should spend time with Charlie. I shouldn’t be the reason you don’t come back.”
My flip-flops crunched in the grass as I slowly closed the space between us. Charlie and Chewy tumbled around in the pen barking. I ignored them as Wyatt tilted his chin down to see me. I captured his eyes with mine. They opened wide in surprise. He didn’t even try to block me out this time. My heart beat with a rapid pulse in the veins under my skin. I stared into his green eyes until I saw him crack, just a little, and then it splintered.
Pain. The raw, knock-you-down-in-the-mud, rip-out-your-heart-and-beat-it-with-a-stick kind of pain. It flowed out around him in a wild, savage agony, consuming every cell in his body. As our eyes stayed in a locked stare with his misery pulling me closer even though my feet never left the ground.
My breathing got heavy. My stomach dropped right to my knees, causing my skin to tingle and my thoughts to swirl around in my head. I wanted to reach out and touch this stranger. I wanted to close the remaining gap. I needed to close the gap. I needed to touch his skin. I needed to touch the pain. In my entire life, no one had ever affected me in this way.
“What happened to you, Wyatt Caulfield?” I asked softly. The feelings rushed through my whole body. I was falling. I was falling fast through the open crack he allowed me to see in this moment. I wanted to know why he was broken, not for myself, but for him. I now knew what existed on the inside of the apple. His soul was crushed to a pulp and all I wanted to do was fix it. I wanted to make it better.
“You don’t want to go there, Emma,” he whispered.
“Please, Wyatt.” I mouthed the words. “I want to know your story. You told me theirs. So tell me yours.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to know my story.”
“I get it. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. But I want to know you. Let me.”
“So you can do what, Emma? Hit me with a bunch a questions and try to fix whatever you find out? Well, I don’t like people prying into my life. It’s complicated, and I don’t like questions.”
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I just—”
“Then don’t,” he snapped. “Come see Charlie. I want you to. But that’s it. Okay?”
“I . . . um . . . okay.”
“No questions.” His face hardened as the last piece of our connection shriveled up and died.
I nodded. The sudden bite to his mood caused my breath to vanish from my lips. Turning away, I watched Charlie and Chewy. My fingers gripped the metal of the fence. I felt my pulse as it hammered away inside my body. The sun burned sharp in the sky, causing sweat to soak my clothes.
Behind me, heavy footsteps crunched the grass. I turned, seeing his broad shoulders slip away. His body moved in ridged steps. I’d pushed too hard and made him angry. His boots stomped up the stairs to his trailer.
Wyatt looked back in my direction before he opened the door. His eyes burned all the way across the yard. They pulled and pushed. Holding onto the fence, my stomach caught the way it did when I drove too fast over the hill going into Beckett. He had let me see something today. He had let me see inside his tormented soul, and it had broken every piece of my heart.
WHEN I RETURNED ON SATURDAY, I never saw Wyatt, but I knew he was at the kennel, hiding in his trailer. I just knew. Wyatt was too meticulous and careful to leave me alone at his place. His micromanagement tendencies placed him somewhere within a few yards of every item of his that I touched. Plus, I saw the thick curtain move in the trailer every time I spun around.
I went to the doctor on Monday. The pain and swelling had continued to get worse around my kneecap. Once again, Dr. Westbrook said surgery was imminent after looking at the x-rays. The longer I put off the procedure, the greater the chance of doing more damage. When I refused, he ordered another round of physical therapy to see if that would help the pain.
I didn’t want the surgery. I didn’t want the physical therapy. All of it just reminded me of why I was in this situation and the setbacks it had caused in my life. I’m sure everyone was frustrated with me, including my doctor. I just didn’t want to deal with it.
Since I was already off work for my appointment, I went back out to the kennel. I took a bag of dog biscuits, which served as an intricate piece of my new plan to get Cye out of his pen. I stayed for two hours but never saw Wyatt. Just like last time, the brown curtain moved whenever I glanced over in his direction. I guess Wyatt really was serious about us not speaking when I came to see Charlie.
The less I saw of Wyatt, the more I thought about him. I thought about him every day and every night as I drifted off to sleep. His smile. His dimples. His sadness. I needed to get Wyatt out of his trailer. I needed a plan for him too.
On Thursday, I pulled on a pair of denim shorts and thumbed through my shirts, looking for the perfect one. I thought about my last date, which had been about four months ago and a setup by a coworker at the bookstore. I think his name was Cory. He had taken me to hear a country band play at the Tumbleweed, but he spent the whole show talking about winning some beer-pong tournament the night before. When I didn’t seem interested in going to his apartment afterward, I’d never heard from him again.
The blatant dismissal by Cory really didn’t faze me. We were at different places in our lives. I took a class here and there, but mostly I worked at the bookstore and the nursing home. And usually after my shifts, I stayed for a few hours and visited with the residents. They were sweet, especially Vera. She loved to gossip, which always made me laugh.
“What are you doing?” Blaire stood in my doorway with her arms crossed over a faded red shirt. She never cared much for clothes. Most of the time, she pulled on whatever reached her hand first, not caring if the fabric had holes or matched anything else she wore.
“I’m getting dressed.” The answer came out muffled as I pulled a white tank top over my lacy bra. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Where are you going? You don’t have to work today.”
Tugging at the bottom of the shirt, I situated the hem over my shorts. “I’m aware of my work schedule. You don’t need to remind me. I’m just going to run an errand this afternoon.”
“It’s Thursday, which is dinner with Mom and Dad tonight. You have to be here to pick me up on time this week. You know I don’t like being late.”
“You know Mom doesn’t care if we are late as long as she sees us. But I’ll leave earlier this time so you don’t have a panic attack.” My sister was rigid with her schedule to the point of almost being creepy.
“Leave earlier from where?”
“Just some stuff I’ve got to do.” I shrugged, not wanting to start one of her interrogation conversations.
“You’re gonna see him again.” Her sarcastic drawl pulled on the word. “That’s why you are wearing that shirt.”
“There’s nothing wrong with this shirt. It’s a normal shirt I bought at Old Navy.” If only Blaire were normal, we could swap items and only buy half the amount of clothes, which would save money.
“Doesn’t it scare you, Emma? You know nothing about him and he lives in the middle of nowhere. He could have bodies out there. And that shirt. I don’t know. It says stab me.”
“Stop being dramatic. Wyatt isn’t a serial killer and this isn’t a stab-me shirt. It’s just a white tank top. It’s not even that tight.” I rolled my eyes, pulling the sides out a bit. “See? There’s lots of space.”
“Stop joking. You really don’t know anything about him. You don’t know what he is or isn’t.”
Her words did have a slight tru
th to them. But over the last week, Wyatt had become a borderline obsession in my mind. Instead of focusing on myself, I had daydreamed about all the different scenarios that had turned him into the broken guy who hid behind the curtains.
My sister didn’t need to know this bit of information, even though I was pretty sure Blaire could feel it from me. I went over to where she stood in the doorway, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. “I promise. I know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think you actually do,” she spat. Blaire had this natural gift to turn everything into some catastrophic event. “You are always so busy being nice to everyone in the world that you don’t see people for who they really are.”
She was right about this little fact, but I couldn’t turn away at this point. I wanted to help him. I wanted to figure out what forced Wyatt into this life of solitude. He wasn’t any better off than one of his dogs. I knew that now. He was like Cye, hurting in the corner, hiding from the world, hoping nobody took notice.
“Blaire, he’s fine. Wyatt is just a very complicated guy who is maybe a little misunderstood. He likes his space. That’s all.” I smiled to myself. Now I sounded like Wyatt.
“Complicated. Misunderstood. Hides in the woods. Sounds like an unsub profile.”
“I told you to stop watching that show. It gives you too many ideas.” Blaire was obsessed with Criminal Minds. Last year, she was convinced our mailman was an unsub of some investigation by the FBI because of a scar across his right cheek. She said it was the kind placed when a person violated gang rules. Blaire seemed to forget we lived in Stillwater, Oklahoma.
I walked over to the dresser and applied a layer of summer pink lipstick. I dabbed a tissue to remove the excess and then smiled at my sister. “How do I look?”
“The neckline of your sexy shirt gives just enough space for Wyatt to slide his fingers around your throat.”
“Stop worrying so much. And I thought this was a slash-me shirt. Not a strangle-me one.”
“Emma . . . don’t joke about this shit.”
Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) Page 4
