Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1)

by S. D. Hendrickson

  His furniture wasn’t anything fancy. The couch was covered in itchy red burlap, and a worn-out leather chair sat in the corner. Besides the little coffee table, Wyatt had no other furniture in the trailer—not even in the kitchen.

  The door opened back up, and Wyatt came through the bright doorway. He studied me for a moment, shoving his hands down inside his jean pockets. He didn’t seem to know what to do with me now that I was inside his trailer.

  He finally let out a deep breath and sat down at the end of my feet. “Does it hurt all the time or just today?”

  “Sometimes. It’s worse when I run. I’m not really supposed to do that right now.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “It’s hard, you know. I ran a lot before it happened.” I shrugged. “I was a cross-country runner back in high school.”

  “Hmm. Well, sometimes it helps if you work the muscles. Not with those tools they use in therapy. But just with your fingers. Works out the kinks.”

  “Like this?” I smashed with my hands as the pain clutched around my knee. “I’ve tried when it gets tight, but I’m not very good. I usually make it worse.”

  His conflicted green eyes tilted up to mine, then flashed back down. He did it again before his hand reached forward, touching my leg. The contact burned all the way to the bone. I froze. Just like all the other times he’d surprised me to being speechless.

  Wyatt had wanted me to leave and he hated my being within a fifty-yard radius of his presence. But now he held my leg between the palms of his hand. His fingers worked the muscles around my knee and then down under my calf.

  “The doctor has me in therapy again.” I concentrated on breathing normal. Wyatt was touching me and everything seemed so surreal. “I’ve skipped it some. I don’t like what they do. It’s all barbaric and painful.”

  “You shouldn’t skip,” he muttered.

  “I know,” I whispered, staring at Wyatt as he worked down around my ankle. He untied the lace on my shoe and slipped it off, rubbing below the arch of my foot.

  I watched completely entranced. My eyes followed up his wrists to the muscles in his arms to the wide shoulders and the hard face. Deep thoughts twisted around in his head. Deep thoughts that intrigued my curiosity and pulled me closer.

  His hands made another pass down my leg. They glided softly over my skin, rubbing and touching, inch by inch as I focused on breathing. The warmth flowed along my calf to my knee and across my thighs and settled somewhere around my belly button. The intense sensation shot back down through my stomach.

  If Wyatt wanted me to not become enamored with him, this was the completely wrong thing to do to me. I wanted to close my eyes and lie back against the cushions. I wanted to melt and disappear into the feel of this complicated guy, choosing to touch my skin. His green eyes glanced up to my face before darting quickly away.

  “How do you know so much about messed-up knees?” My words slipped out as one of his dreaded personal questions.

  “I broke my leg once.” He worked his finger underneath my calf muscles again. “How long ago did you get the cast off?”

  “The place with the scar isn’t recent. I broke my leg back in high school. It busted through right there. But my knee has never been quite the same. I’ve got a flimsy meniscus and I’m pretty sure the ACL is going to bust at some point. I fell the day I brought Charlie out here, which caused it all to flare up again. Now the doctor wants to do surgery.”

  Wyatt touched the top of my knee and frowned. His fingers examined my leg with the same meticulous scrutiny he’d given Charlie the first day.

  My breath caught, feeling each place he touched on my thigh and ankle. Wyatt moved my leg around in a few positions, watching the kneecap bend in ways it shouldn’t on a person. “You should have the surgery.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to have surgery.”

  His green eyes looked back over to me with a slew of unasked questions. They swirled around under that hard face. They plagued him, but he didn’t ask, and I didn’t volunteer an answer. Let Wyatt have the anxiety of wanting to know more about a person but be denied the chance.

  “Emma, I . . . um.” His fingers stopped moving and rested on my leg. “I’m sorry about the other day. All that shit I said to you. I didn’t mean it, you know. I wanted to—”

  “Push me away?”

  “Yes.”

  “You still want to do that?”

  “I should, you know. For your own good.” His fingers tightened on my leg. “But I don’t know. Maybe we can try this friend thing.”

  The questions swirled around in my head at the meaning behind his words. I smiled back at his rigid face.

  “Wyatt?” I whispered. “’I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ask all the questions. But I just see you here and I want to do something. And I don’t know what to do. So I say things and ask things. I know I shouldn’t ask them. But I think if I don’t ask them, who’s going to ask them?”

  “I know.”

  “You seem so alone. Do you have anyone, Wyatt? Anyone who knows if you even come home at night?”

  His hand gripped the skin of my leg. It gripped tight and warm into my flesh as his soft lips dipped into a sad frown. The lines full of pain returned next to his eyes.

  “You can tell me.” I smiled at him. “It’s okay. I’m tougher than I look.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with you, Emma.”

  “You’ve told me that. But it doesn’t change what I see when I look at you.”

  “Emma . . .” His words came out quiet with a raspy edge. “I think you always see the good even when you look at the bad.”

  “Why do you think you’re so bad?” My eyes pleaded with him to share those tormented thoughts. “Are you dangerous?”

  He let out a slow breath. “Some people think so.”

  “I don’t believe that about you.”

  “You don’t really know me.”

  “Then let me,” I whispered.

  Our eyes morphed into a tangled stare, mixed with questions, but no answers. He let go of my leg and stood up. My skin went cold. My time with him was over. I felt the hardness seep back into the room. The glimpse into the broken guy came to an end.

  “See if you can stand.”

  He wanted to get me out of his trailer. I looked up at his tall body towering over me as I sat on the red burlap couch. He frowned, handing back my shoe. This time, Wyatt didn’t touch my leg to place my shoe back on my foot.

  I shook my head. “Don’t go back to doing that to me.”

  “What?”

  I stared at him. “If you want to be friends, you can’t act like that anymore.”

  “Emma, just come on.” He reached out one of his large hands, pulling me up from the couch.

  “It’s better.” I moved my leg up and down, bending at the knee. “Thank you.”

  “The bathroom is right over there. You can wash the dirt off your arms.”

  “Okay.”

  Limping across the carpet, I went toward the direction of the bathroom. This required going through the kitchen. Nothing sat on the countertop except a coffee pot and a large red container of Folgers. I hobbled along, glancing through the next doorway. Gus lifted his head up from the old blue comforter on the bed. Interesting. The little Jack Russell lived in his trailer.

  His bedroom had absolutely nothing on the walls—not a picture or a poster or even a clock. Three pairs of work boots and a pair of old tennis shoes lined the floor next to the bed. A beat-up nightstand was on the other side. I turned back to check Wyatt’s reaction. His jaw clenched tight, but he didn’t stop me from invading his personal space.

  I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. Nothing sat on the small countertop. I peeked around the white shower curtain. The old tub appeared to be scrubbed spotless. Two bottles of some generic shampoo and conditioner occupied the little shelf.

  Turning on the sink faucet, I washed the dirt off my arms, feeling the sting of the cuts. I wanted to open hi
s drawers. Smiling to myself, I could only imagine what he stashed inside, but I kept his trust and left his private items alone. Wyatt was sitting in the old chair when I came back into the living room.

  “I’m gonna go. I’ll let you get back to work.” I smiled at his uneasy face. He pulled himself up, making the muscles in his thighs work under the dirty jeans. The old boots stepped over to where I stood on the dark-brown carpet.

  “You got plans on Saturday, Emma?”

  “You mean tomorrow?” I smiled at him again.

  “Right.” He was nervous in a twitchy sort of way. “The days get a little mixed up out here. I was thinking you might come early. I mean, if you got nothing going on.”

  “I’ve got to do some grocery shopping before I go to work, but I could come out here for a while in the morning.”

  “Good. Okay.” His lips curled up in a half smile. “Wear something you can get wet. It’s bath day. I could use some help.”

  “Bath day. That should be interesting.”

  “You could say that.”

  “You . . . um . . .” He stumbled and cleared his throat. “Could you be here by seven thirty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not too early for you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Didn’t see you as a morning kind of girl.” My heart picked up, seeing the faint dimples almost slide into place. So close. So very close to getting that layer of Wyatt to surface as he attempted this friend thing with me.

  “You don’t really know me either. I might surprise you. You might actually like me.”

  Wyatt swallowed hard. He got a little twitchy again. “I’ll see you in the morning, Emma.”

  He stepped away and opened the trailer door. I followed, taking it easy down the cement steps. Wyatt didn’t move. Leaning against the door frame, he waited with crossed arms as I made my way to the car.

  As I thought about him watching me, my body got a little tingly. I looked back over in his direction, seeing him in the exact same spot with his eyes still fixated on me.

  I ARRIVED AT EXACTLY 7:20 on Saturday. The early-morning air felt sticky in the Oklahoma summer heat. I was exhausted after twisting around half the night, thinking about Wyatt. The idea of returning made me nervous. What if I screwed this up? What if I pushed too hard?

  I’d made progress, but it might disappear in a snap. Our new friendship was held together with Scotch tape and not the heavy gray kind. And he needed the heavy kind if he was going to get any better.

  The trailer door opened as I got out of my car. Wyatt wore a blue T-shirt with a clean pair of jeans and the dirty work boots. He stared at me for a moment. I stared back, feeling that pull to him. A jittery vibe danced between us as his jaw stayed loose and his lips held their softness. Wyatt’s sexy lips turned into a faint grin. In that moment, all my worries vanished.

  “Hi.” I smiled at him.

  “Hi.” Wyatt smiled, letting the dimples settle on the corners. He seemed good today. Actually, he seemed really good as he took a sip from an orange mug. “You want some coffee?”

  “Sure.” I followed him back through the doorway. An identical orange mug sat on the counter next to the coffee pot, waiting for me. The thought made my skin get a little warm. Stupid, really, but I liked the idea that he’d actually planned for me to return.

  “I don’t have anything fancy to put in it. Just some plain milk.”

  “That’s fine.”

  He poured the coffee in the cup, and I topped it off with the milk. We sipped from the mugs for a few minutes in silence.

  “How does this bath thing work?”

  “There’s a tub out by the storage shed. We’ll take them out one at a time, soap them up, and rinse.”

  “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

  “We will see.” He grinned a little and took another sip from his mug.

  “Sure. Oh, I have to leave by eleven though.”

  “Okay.” His eyes were full of questions I knew Wyatt wouldn’t ask me. To ask required him to answer those of my own, but I let him off the hook today.

  “I need to go to the grocery store for my neighbor Mr. Hughes. He can’t get himself there anymore. And I usually make lunch for him when I drop his stuff off.”

  “Do you help him a lot?”

  “Some. He wasn’t this bad when we first moved in to our apartment. His daughter lives in Nebraska. She comes down to see him a few times a year, but he refuses to move there. Says he loves Stillwater too much. So I help him when I can.”

  His jaw clenched for a moment as I talked of my elderly neighbor. Wyatt took a few sips of his coffee, trying to push back whatever I’d triggered in him. “That’s nice of you.”

  “He’s a good person. He spent his whole life teaching other people and helping them become something in the world. He deserves to have someone be there for him, even if it’s just a few little things a week.”

  “Is he a college professor?”

  “No, actually, Mr. Hughes was a high school teacher. Sweet man, but cutthroat when it comes to playing checkers.”

  “So you help this Mr. Hughes and play checkers with him. And you also work at the nursing home. I assume you play checkers with those people too?”

  “Yes, except Vera. We drink tea together.”

  His green eyes flashed a hint of something I couldn’t read. “And you rescued Charlie. Anything else I should know about?”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “Like in your free time, do you knit scarves for blind kids in Somalia?”

  My nose wrinkled up as I absorbed the words. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No.” His voice got soft, almost like he felt guilty for even saying it. “That was just my bad attempt at a joke. You are the real deal, Emma Sawyer. One of the good guys.”

  “And what do you call the guy who devotes all of his time to rescuing dogs?”

  Ignoring my question, Wyatt ran a hand through his brown hair before shuffling his boots to the other side of the kitchen. “We better get out there. This takes awhile.”

  He washed his cup out in the sink and then dried the inside with a towel. Turning to me, Wyatt reached for my mug. I chugged the last sip and handed it over. He cleaned the second one the same way with meticulous care. He placed both orange mugs back inside the cabinet.

  His lips curled up in a faint grin. “Ready?”

  “Yeah. Let’s go have some fun.”

  “If you think tasting soapy dirt is fun.” He laughed as his dimples hooked on the corners of his cheeks.

  Wyatt was really adorable and sexy today. I wanted to touch those dimples with my fingers, with my lips. He glanced at me, seeing those transparent thoughts tumbling through my head. I felt my face turn bright pink, but he didn’t say anything.

  Looking away, Wyatt picked up a stack of towels from the couch before leaving out the trailer door. I followed behind him on a small trail in the grass that ended at the large shed.

  In all my visits, I’d never ventured over in that area. The front of the shed was open, containing a riding lawnmower and other maintenance items. The side of the building cast a nice shade over an old bathtub. The white porcelain tub sat propped up on cinder blocks with a little wooden ramp leading up to the top.

  “I run water in from the hose over there. We’ll scrub them down with soap and then rinse. We might need to stop up the bottom and give some of the dogs a flea dip. I’ll have to check them and see.”

  “Okay.”

  “You okay getting wet?” He muttered, never looking at my clothes.

  “I doubt I’ll melt.” This morning, I’d decided to wear a yellow bikini top with a pair of cutoff, frayed jeans shorts and a cropped white tank top.

  “You want to get Charlie first?”

  “Sure.”

  Walking inside the kennel, I felt the pull around my knee. I’d worn flip-flops today because of the water. They slapped my heels as I made my way to Charlie’s kennel.

  As I opened the gate, th
e little dog flew into my arms. I carried Charlie outside to the bath area. Placing him down in the porcelain tub, I held his body tight as Wyatt ran the cold water over his fur. I scrubbed the soap, trying to keep him still so he wouldn’t shake it off in my face.

  “His leg’s doing better,” Wyatt said, running his fingers over the scabs. “He’s almost ready.”

  “Ready?”

  “For Diana to start looking.” His eyes locked onto mine as his gruff voice spoke the words. My muscles clenched tight with the catastrophic news he’d slipped into the moment of fun and bubbles.

  “You knew it would happen, Emma. It’s why you brought him out here.”

  “I-I know.” I pulled Charlie from the tub. He clung to my shoulder, making the water soak my shirt and skin.

  “I thought you’d want me to tell you. You know, after Chewy was adopted while you were gone.”

  Wyatt stared at me while I let the water flow out on the ground. The news of Charlie getting adopted had come with a devastating punch in the gut.

  “Please don’t let it happen that way, okay?” I clasped Charlie tight to my chest, making him whimper. “Don’t let him just be gone one day.”

  “I won’t, Emma. I’ll make sure you get to see him before Diana takes him.” His raspy voice trailed off. Looking away, Wyatt turned the knob on the hydrant. “Grab a towel and take Charlie inside.”

  I pulled an old red one from the pile. Stains and holes plagued most of the fabric. Wrapping Charlie up tight, I carried him back inside the kennel. His brown eyes watched back in loyal submission after his dunk in the tub.

  I wanted to keep him, but Charlie needed a home—a real home and not the fence and bars that came with this place. He never was mine.

  Wyatt and I didn’t say much over the next couple of hours. We laughed a few times as the dogs shook in the tub, plastering our faces with soapy water. The sun moved higher in the sky and the temperature kicked up with the summer heat.

  By the time Daisy and Gatsby got a turn, I was close to being wetter than the animals coming out of the tub. The pathetic duo arrived together. I latched Daisy’s leash on the side while Gatsby walked the plank into the tub. He turned his head and watched Daisy on the side lines. He never moved or twitched as the suds filled his old, brown hair.