Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1)

by S. D. Hendrickson

  When Wyatt switched them out, I dried while he washed Daisy by himself with her head turned, ever so slightly, never letting Gatsby leave her sight.

  “I don’t know if this is making me depressed or happy,” I said to Wyatt.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They are so attached to each other. It’s sweet. But then I see them. Sad and lost. Do they want each other? Or do they stay together because everything else in their world disappeared and they cling to the familiar?”

  “It doesn’t really matter, I guess. They have each other, which is more than the rest of them do.”

  “I guess.” I studied them for a few moments after the gate closed. The two old dogs morphed into a single pile of brown fur on the concrete floor. Daisy and Gatsby needed someone to adopt them. They deserved to live the last few years in a house next to a fireplace eating bones.

  “Let’s grab Lola next.” Wyatt’s voice came from the other side of the building. In my visits, I’d walked past “pit row,” but had never stopped to look inside the pens. He pulled a solid, white female from her kennel. Lola pranced down the aisle to me.

  “Wyatt . . .” I took a few steps back.

  “Don’t be scared of her. She’s not going to hurt you.”

  Kneeling down, I stuck out a hand in the direction of the pit bull. She lunged forward, clamping her wide mouth down over my whole hand. I let out a gasp.

  Fear shot through my stomach, and then I smiled as the white dog tasted my fingers with her tongue. My skin felt the gumminess of her mouth. Pulling my hand out of her lips, I scratched behind her ears.

  “Sorry. She doesn’t have a lot of manners,” Wyatt muttered.

  “And she doesn’t have any teeth either.” Lola came forward and licked my face. She rubbed her square body all over me until I tipped sideways. I fell over on the cement laughing.

  “She wouldn’t hurt you even if she had a whole mouth full of teeth.”

  I glanced up at Wyatt as Lola mauled me. He was laughing. The sound of his deep voice floated out into the kennel.

  My hand went still, seeing a bit of happiness on his gorgeous face. The rare and beautiful sight gripped my heart. His eyes caught mine. The surreal feeling was electrifying. And then Lola got a lick in across my mouth. I squealed as her large tongue left a trail of drool.

  “Come on, Lola.” He pulled her off my body.

  I wiped my mouth against my right arm. Sitting back up, I patted the white pit across her wide head. “Sorry, girl. I don’t know you well enough for that kind of relationship.”

  He smiled at my comment. Bending down next to her, Wyatt rubbed the soft fur under her neck. The white dog smashed herself tight to his side. He leaned over, giving Lola a quick kiss next to her ear.

  The action had come from reflex. Something he must do on a regular basis. Wyatt shuffled around, trying to pretend I didn’t witness the brief moment of vulnerability. “Let’s get her in the tub.”

  As I climbed up from the ground, a sharp stab went under my kneecap as I lifted myself up from the cement. I needed to spend the evening with an ice wrap. I didn’t know how much longer I could ignore the inevitable.

  I followed Wyatt out the door, trying not to show a visible limp. He led Lola up the steps and into the tub. As I ran water over her body, I touched the permanent marks etched onto her skin.

  “How’d she get them?”

  “Doesn’t it bother you to hear this stuff?” His jaw tightened a bit without looking in my direction.

  “Yes, but I gotta know. I can’t just do this and not care what happened to them.”

  “Okay. Fine.” He let out a deep breath. “Most of the pits we got here are bait dog survivors from fight training.”

  “Like dog fight rings?”

  “Yeah, illegal dog fight rings. Those bastards toughen them up by setting mock training fights. They pick out the softies. They take away anything that might give the dog a little bit of a fighting edge. Like Lola here. They pulled out her teeth with pliers. They cut marks in her skin to get the blood flowing. It gives the other dogs a taste of what they’re going for in the ring. The stripes on her thighs are from being cut up.”

  I got sick. Not in the actual throw-up-on-the-ground kind of sick. But the heart-crushing kind that stopped the breath in my chest. I got sick because it wasn’t one cut.

  Lola had scars from knife slices all the way up and down her thighs; short ones, long ones, deep ones that healed in large, chunky, raised hunks. Marks like a bear had grabbed the dog between his paws and tried to swallow her in one gulp—except it wasn’t a bear, but a human who had tortured for the sheer fun of it.

  “How did she survive?” I asked, massaging the soap into her hair. My fingers felt every scar over her body, every place some demented sicko had ripped into her soft, white skin.

  I felt rage in a way I’d never experienced in my life. I thought Kurt was evil by kicking Charlie. This was a whole other level of planned abuse. It wasn’t a flippant kick to the face out of irritation. The marks on her body were an act of planned and deliberate exploitation.

  “There’s some known dumping sites. But they rotate around so it’s hard to know. People toss the dead or half-dead animals in the ditch. If someone finds them in time, some dogs actually survive.”

  I took Lola out of the tub, rubbing an old blue towel over her body. It dried away the water, but the scars remained. They stayed as a reminder of surviving a house of horrors by people who should be in jail.

  The rage continued to burn under my skin as Lola’s happy face watched with her red tongue sticking out of her toothless wide mouth.

  “Someone should go to prison for this,” I muttered, looking up at Wyatt.

  “I know.” His eyes flickered, and he got a little twitchy.

  “I don’t understand why monsters that hurt something so innocent are allowed to just walk down the street and be out with everyone else in the world. They should be arrested.”

  “Sometimes the law is not always fair.” His lips almost went flat. Wyatt took the leash from my hand. “I’ll take her back. It’s almost eleven.”

  “Okay,” I replied, not sure what I said that agitated him. His dismissal was evident in the tone of his words.

  I turned the hose on at the faucet. My legs had mud streaks from ankle to thigh. Bending over, I washed the dirt off my skin. I stood up and scrubbed my arms. Pulling the shirt over my head, I wore just my yellow bikini top and shorts.

  I dipped my hand under the cool water and washed the dirt off my stomach from where it had crept under the edges. Hearing a noise, I looked over by the tub.

  Wyatt stood completely still. His chest moved up and down under his wet T-shirt. It clung to his skin, showing off a solid chest. His green eyes held my brown ones in a twisty stare. And then my breath caught in my throat.

  Wyatt allowed his eyes to leave my face and continue to drift downward. They lingered over the wet bikini clinging to my breasts.

  I was held captive by his stare, feeling him trace each piece of my exposed body. I was afraid to breathe. I was afraid to do something to push him away. The longer he watched, a slow, agonizing burn developed under my skin. It was an achy physical pain. I didn’t know it was possible to be this attracted to someone. He set my skin on fire with just the brush of his eyes.

  I swallowed hard, and the green eyes jumped back to my face. Fear flashed across his cheeks, but the reaction only amplified his real feelings. Wyatt wanted me. He wanted me bad, and that desire scared him.

  The hose stayed in my hand, causing a steady stream to run out all over the place. Turning to the side, I grabbed the faucet, shutting off the water. I looked over my shoulder. He stayed in the same spot. With my back to him, I pulled my wet shirt over my head. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself before turning around to face him.

  I wasn’t sure if I should just leave or say something. In a normal world, I think Wyatt would make the first move, but nothing about us was normal. Nothing
about him resembled a normal guy, which is the part that pulled me to him. It’s the reason I was here.

  I took a few steps in his direction, stopping close enough that his head was forced to tilt down to see me. “I’m . . . um . . . leaving.”

  “Okay,” he mumbled.

  “Um, thanks for letting me come back. I had a good time.”

  “Me too.”

  “Okay. Well. I’m going.” But my feet stayed planted in the dirt. The invisible pull between us came out stronger as it pushed me toward Wyatt.

  “You missed some.” Wyatt touched my cheek. Or rather, he rubbed my skin with his thumb on a splotch of mud. A burning jolt traveled through my body, feeling him work at the dirt. Wyatt had his fingers on my skin. He was touching me on purpose. His hand stayed on my cheek, then suddenly dropped like my face had caught on fire. “Sorry. I think it’s still on there.”

  “That’s okay. You . . . um, mind if . . . I . . . um, I brought stuff to change? Could I use your bathroom?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” Wyatt mumbled.

  “Okay. Well, bye, I guess.” I stumbled through my parting words for a second time.

  “Bye.” He took a step backward and then another. The distance got larger, but the electric pull remained the same. I wanted to touch him so bad my muscles started to clench up under my skin. “You can let yourself in. I’m just going to stay out here and keep going so I can get finished.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hey, Emma. I guess I’ll see you Monday or Tuesday?”

  I nodded in his direction. The humid air grew hotter the longer I looked at him. “I work those days, but I’ll see what I can do. You’ll be here?”

  “Yes,” he muttered in his raspy voice. “I’ll be here.”

  I walked in a daze toward my car. A smile slipped on my face as I thought about what finally had transpired between us. Looking over my shoulder, I saw him watching my backside as I walked away. My heart flipped a little, and I fell deeper for Wyatt Caulfield, the mysterious guy who said he was dangerous and bad.

  I saw what bad people did out in the world. They tied puppies up in wire and pulled their teeth out with pliers and shredded their skin with knives. Dangerous guys didn’t scrub them in porcelain tubs and wrap their little bodies in towels. Bad guys didn’t undress me from five feet away and then let me go.

  THE GROCERY STORE LINE WAs long on Saturday morning, which caused me not to get home until almost one. Getting the bags out of the car, I heard a noise and spun around to find Kurt practically touching my butt. I sidestepped, moving away from him. My nose pulled in a whiff of sweaty body odor. The man oozed disgusting in the way a sewer flowed with trash.

  His black T-shirt fit snug over the barbwire tattoo on his large bicep. Instead of fixing things in our apartment like the dishwasher that quit a month ago, Kurt spent his time lifting weights in the manager’s office.

  “I’m just curious.” He reached out, running a large finger down the side of my car. “Where does the dirt come from?”

  I looked at the clump of red he shoved in front of me. “Why do you care if my car is dirty?”

  “I don’t give two shits that your car is dirty. I’m just curious about where you go that makes it covered in that damn dirt. Every couple of days, you pull in here with a fresh layer of this shit.” Kurt rubbed the dirt between his fingers before dusting it off on his jeans.

  My backside pressed against the trunk of my car, trying to get farther away. Something wasn’t right with his questions. They were strange and pointed. Kurt usually didn’t care about my comings and goings. Ever since Charlie had disappeared, his causal obsession had turned into borderline stalking. He watched me every time I came outside on the second-floor landing like a bell had alerted him of my movements.

  His eyes drifted over my skin to my breasts. I’d changed into a sundress in Wyatt’s bathroom before I’d left his place. I stepped out of Kurt’s way, feeling the violation of his groping eyes. A repulsive gag lingered in the back of my throat. Grabbing the bags, I took another shuffled step in the direction of my apartment. “It’s getting late. I’ve got to make Mr. Hughes some lunch.”

  “Tell that old man he’s not getting a different apartment. He’s just gonna have to stay up there and rot. Nothing on the bottom floor is opening up until next year.”

  “Well, thanks for checking.” I cringed at his harsh words. Racing up the steps, I ignored the pain. My knee hurt something awful as I let myself into my neighbor’s apartment. I took a deep breath, trying to shake the nasty feeling of Kurt. Dusting the dirt off the back of my dress, I faced my neighbor.

  “Hi, Mr. Hughes.” I greeted the elderly man. He was sitting in a recliner, watching some hunting show on television.

  “Emma, what are you all dressed up for?”

  “You, of course.”

  “Aren’t you the sweetest.” He balanced against his walker, pulling himself out of the chair. I paused for a moment to make sure he got all the way to standing. He moved at a slow pace into the kitchen as I unloaded the bags on the counter.

  “What do you want for lunch?” I always made Mr. Hughes something to eat when I dropped off his groceries.

  “You get potatoes?”

  “I always do.”

  “I want some of them fried potatoes you make.” Mr. Hughes pulled out a kitchen chair and studied it for a moment.

  “Okay, but you need something else besides potatoes. I got you a bottle of ranch dressing. You want a salad?”

  “I guess I would eat one if it was on my plate.” He grinned at me, showing his gums.

  “Before you get all comfy in here, go put in your teeth. I’ll have it done in a few minutes.”

  I could easily go get his teeth. He always left them sitting in a glass by the lamp in the living room. But I wasn’t sure how much moving he did these days. Mr. Hughes needed to get the blood flowing around in his body before it turned to sludge.

  “Will do. Be back in a jiff.” He leaned against the walker, going at a slow pace into the living room. “Oh, and don’t forget the potatoes. They always remind me of the time Priscilla and I were down in Biloxi.”

  “I won’t.” I smiled. He always liked to tell stories about his wife Priscilla. While she was alive, they seemed to have a wonderful life, traveling all over the United States.

  Taking out a knife, I chopped a few potatoes. The skillet was hot as I dropped the wet chunks into the oil. Splatters hit my arms, causing a few burns. I’d just finished the salad when Mr. Hughes pushed his walker back into the kitchen. He leaned heavily on the metal handles as he eyed the bowl of leafy greens.

  “So where did you go this morning? I saw your car leave when I was having my coffee. Pretty early. Even for you.”

  “It’s not that exciting.” I dumped the potatoes onto his plate and piled a heap of salad on the other side. Mr. Hughes examined the chair for a moment before lowering himself down on the wooden seat. I sat down across from him, putting salad on my plate. “You want some ketchup?”

  “Nah. That stuff just hides the taste of the grease, and that’s the best part. So tell me about this boy.”

  “How do you know there’s a boy?”

  “Well, a girl only gets herself out that early on a Saturday for a boy.”

  “He’s not exactly a boy.” I grinned at Mr. Hughes. The flutter picked up in my stomach as I thought about Wyatt. He stopped being a boy a very long time ago and had turned into an attractive, very lonely guy.

  “Well, you’re too young to be spending all your time with old people like me.” His crooked fingers grasped the fork, pushing the salad away from the potatoes.

  “His name is Wyatt.”

  “So tell me about Wyatt. He must be pretty interesting to catch your attention.”

  “Yes. He’s interesting.”

  An image of Wyatt flooded my mind. A warm feeling trickled through my body as I remembered that Wyatt had looked at me today. It was the kind of look that ingrained in a girl’s head
forever, making her imagination run wild. I grabbed my cup, taking a drink so Mr. Hughes didn’t notice the pink on my cheeks.

  AT THE STOPLIGHT, I CLOSED my eyes, rubbing my forehead, thinking about Wyatt. Almost a whole week had slipped away since bath day. The last couple of days had been long and tedious. The bookstore had lost an employee. I covered as usual, knowing we would eventually hire another student who possessed the same concept of being responsible. They would either show up late with bloodshot eyes and hungover, or they just wouldn’t show up at all. My manager had a strict policy. No show, no job, which caused our high turnover rate.

  And that’s why he loved me. I was the longest running, most reliable employee he’d had at the store. The guy had offered to make me assistant manager on more than one occasion. I always said no because it interfered with my second job.

  I loved working at the nursing home. I loved seeing their little old faces as they smiled when I walked in the room. It was rough at times. And not just in the sense of dirty beds and sweaty bodies. It was rough because I would get close to a patient, only to come back a few days later and find them gone.

  Those moments were heart-wrenching and bittersweet. Death was inevitable at a nursing home, but I tried to stay positive in the time I spent there. Some residents were lucky. They had families who stopped by every week. And some were royalty. They had visitors every day. But most only got a quick chat around the holidays.

  And that’s why I put on my scrubs for each shift. I was the granddaughter they’d never had out there in the world. I played cards and checkers. And as I’d mentioned to Wyatt, I also learned to drink herbal tea while listening to gossip about the other residents.

  I knew all about Vera’s grandson with the stuck-up wife who was just spending all of his money. They all thought Mr. Rollings was the most handsome man at the nursing home. And Karla liked to tell me stories, while the other ladies thought she liked to tell fibs—especially about the time she’d met Robert Redford.

  The car behind me laid their fist into the horn, making me jump in my seat. I pressed my foot on the gas pedal. Just one more turn, and I would be on the dirt road headed out of town. I would see Wyatt.