He dropped my hand when I said it. Fear came in waves over his cheeks as my words scared him to the core.
Looking down at Gatsby, the dog remained in some catatonic trance across his lap. Wyatt scooped him up under his arms. The brown animal must have weighed at least eighty pounds, but he balanced the dog with little effort as he stood up in the kennel. I’d waited this whole conversation for Wyatt to storm off to the trailer. Then he left through the building with Gatsby in his arms.
I sat inside the kennel for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. This thing with Wyatt was deep and strange and intense. Something beyond my control had decided I was the person who should help Wyatt Caulfield. Something bigger than either of us. And I couldn’t give up on him.
Standing up, I walked down the aisle of sad faces. They barked and whined as I passed the kennels. This place required a heart of steel in order to walk away, and mine was all mush. I found Wyatt, struggling with the door handle of his trailer. Just seeing him again melted my heart right on the spot.
“Let me get it.” Hearing my words, he gave me an angry glare. “Don’t be like this. Just let me get the door for you.”
His nostrils flared up a bit before he moved off the cement steps. Wyatt flattened his lips into a thin line as I helped him inside the trailer.
“There’s a blanket in the closet by the bathroom,” his gravelly voice muttered.
I found an old plaid blanket on the top shelf. I struggled to reach it with my short arms. Jumping up, I snagged the edge, pulling it down on top of my head. I dug myself out from the giant plaid quilt. Turning around, I saw a faint smile on Wyatt’s lips as he watched me. A faint smile that was racked in guilt. Why did he feel so awful about having feelings for me?
I walked over in front of his bookcase, making a pallet on the floor. He put Gatsby down. The dog’s sad eyes never even looked up at us.
“Maybe he’ll do better in here,” I said.
“Maybe.”
Gus came into the living room and stopped in front of Gatsby. They sniffed each other before Gus curled up next to the old dog. My throat got a little achy with emotion. “Did you know he would do that?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “It’s why Gus is here.”
“For them or for you?”
His throat moved as he swallowed. It bothered him. The question was too close. He didn’t need to respond. I already knew the answer. Maybe I just wanted to hear him say it. Wyatt walked over to the door and opened it. “Goodbye, Emma.”
I refused to give in to his dismissal. My flip-flops clicked as I made my exit, but I stopped right in front of Wyatt before I left. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
His chin titled down a bit to look into my eyes. “Okay.”
The sparks picked up between us, pulling me to Wyatt. I studied his lips, so soft and pink. He would kiss me one day. He would kiss me, and my body would melt from the feel of those lips.
“Monday, okay?” I waited to see if he would protest again. “It might be later in the evening after I get off work.”
“That’s fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll be here.”
“I know.” I let out a deep breath. Leaving the trailer, I walked toward my car, feeling the faint touch of summer rain as it fell from the sky. Each drop sizzled in the hot air before reaching the ground. The heavy scent lingered without a downpour of rain. A promise of what never happened.
I looked over my shoulder, knowing Wyatt would still be standing in the doorway. His guilty stare followed me all the way to my white car.
IT WAS WEDNESDAY BEFORE I could get back out to the kennel. I’d ended up working a double shift at the bookstore on both Monday and Tuesday. Then today, I stayed ten hours at the nursing home. I’d planned to cut out right after my shift, but Vera begged me to try the passion fruit tea she’d received from her granddaughter. I’d stayed for several hours, making it after eight by the time I got to Wyatt’s trailer.
As I pulled through the silver gate, the old cow skulls glowed eerily under the moonlight. I’d worried about him. I swear, I’d worried about him every second of every day while I was eating and in the shower and sipping tea at the nursing home.
As I walked up the cement steps, my nerves sparked a little, remembering my last visit. Wyatt had been so troubled with his eyes cloaked in broken shadows. And just as he allowed me to get a little closer, he had tried to push me away again.
One of these days, Wyatt might just throw me out for good. And I wasn’t sure if I could take it. I was invested in him. I was haunted by him. I had feelings for the most unattainable person alive. Somewhere along the way, his broken eyes had dug a little hole in my heart.
Knocking on the door, I waited for Wyatt to let me inside his home. The sky was open and clear tonight. It was beautiful. I would make him leave the gloomy trailer and come outside for some air. I knocked on the door again. Twisting the knob, I stuck my head inside. “Wyatt? You in here?”
Gus and Gatsby came from his bedroom. I scratched them both on the head. Gatsby seemed better. Actually, he seemed ten times better. The brown dog had been a heap on the floor since he’d arrived. This didn’t even seem like the same Gatsby. I heard a noise coming from the bedroom. “Wyatt?”
I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to just barge into his bedroom. I hesitated as my mind slipped through a few scenarios that might be waiting around the corner.
Wyatt would be angry if I invaded his personal space while he was wearing a towel. I wasn’t sure why I went to the idea that he was in a towel, but that’s where my thoughts stopped. I really couldn’t just go into his bedroom once I’d decided he was naked, wearing just a towel. I waited a moment longer for Wyatt to come into the living room.
“Wyatt?” I tried to stand still on the brown shaggy carpet, but my impatience slipped into fidgeting. I finally gave up and poked my head around the corner, only to find Wyatt sprawled across his bed, wearing clothes. The sheets were tangled up in every direction around his body. I walked slowly over to the side of the bed, but he didn’t move.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Are you okay?”
At the sound of my voice, Wyatt rolled over. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust his vision. “Emma?”
Wyatt seemed confused. His hollow, sunken eyes stared at me, trying to determine if I were real or a figment of his imagination. His T-shirt was soaked in sweat. I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Are you sick?”
“I-I don’t know.” He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. Wyatt seemed vulnerable and weak.
“How long have you been like this?” I put my hand against his forehead. The heat burned into my skin. “You’ve got a fever. I think you should go to urgent care. Let me help you to my car.”
“No!” Wyatt’s eyes flipped open fast. He grabbed my wrist, removing my hand from his forehead. “No doctor.”
I was ready to fight him on it, but Wyatt seemed to be on the verge of some sort of panic attack just by suggesting a doctor. “Okay. I won’t take you to urgent care.”
Wyatt’s fingers burned into my arm. It wasn’t the kind of burn that I wanted to feel from him. I loosened his grip on my wrist. “Have you taken any medicine?”
“Yes. No. Or yes. I-I don’t know.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Wyatt. Have you taken any medicine?”
“I don’t think so.” His eyes closed. “I thought about it, but I don’t think I did.”
“Do you have a thermometer?”
“No,” he muttered. I put my palm on his forehead again, feeling the scorching heat. His fever was really high. My fingers trailed over his cheeks. They had a couple of days’ worth of stubble. Wyatt had been sick longer than he was letting on. His eyes stayed closed as I touched him. He really must be sick.
“Do you have any Tylenol?”
“Bathroom.” The word crackled from his pale lips.
“I’ll be right back,” I whispered. “Oh, have you eaten?”
“I-I . . . maybe. I’m not hungry.”
“Okay. I’ll just get the medicine.”
Going to his bathroom, I opened the first drawer, finding shaving cream and razors. I opened the second. It was easy to spot the red bottle in his perfectly organized medicine stash.
I moved to the linen closet next to the tub, which had a few towels, washcloths, and a clean set of sheets. They were folded like Wyatt worked at the bed store. He was painstakingly detailed in every level of his life. Taking out a washcloth from the closet, I ran cold tap water on the brown fabric and squeezed it out.
In the kitchen, I flipped open the pantry doors. His shelves were virtually bare, containing only a few items, including three boxes of Cap’n Crunch, a jar of peanut butter, and a loaf of bread.
Opening the refrigerator, I found milk for the cereal, three kinds of jam, a package of bologna, and another of cheese. I opened the freezer, discovering ten packages of hot dogs.
This was disgusting. I wouldn’t be surprised if his digestive system was revolting against him, making him deathly sick.
Opening the next cabinet, I found a few plastic Eskimo Joe’s cups and one that said Texas Westmiller University. I studied the odd, out-of-place item mixed with the others before grabbing the maroon and gray cup from the shelf. After filling it with tap water, I made my way back to his bedroom. I found Wyatt resting amidst the tangled sheets just as I’d left him.
“Hey, I need you to sit up.”
His eyes flipped open slightly like I’d surprised him. He scooted up against the pillows. It was slow and painful and required all of his energy. Sitting next to him on the bed, I held the pills up. “It’s okay. Just try to get these down.”
His green eyes gazed back at me as I pushed the pills against his mouth. My fingers brushed across his soft lips before I pulled my hand away. I put the cup against his mouth and Wyatt took a few swallows. His eyes flickered to the maroon and gray letters in my hand. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell. Yet I knew from his reaction that cup meant something.
Pushing the brown hair off his forehead, I situated the washcloth across his skin. My fingers trailed over the stubble on his cheeks.
“It’s cold,” he mumbled.
“It needs to be. You really should try to take a cold shower too. It will help with the fever.”
He contemplated my words before muttering in his raspy voice, “The questions weren’t enough? You’re trying to see me naked now?”
“No.” I smiled at him. “Tonight, I’m your nurse. That’s all.”
“I think you’d be a good nurse,” he muttered. “You should finish school.”
“So you actually listened when I was talking?”
“Yeah.” He smiled faintly. “You told me that first day when you came back. You kept talking about stuff. Asking me questions. You wouldn’t be quiet. Talking and talking, over and over again, driving me crazy.”
I laughed under my breath. “That Tylenol must already be working. You’re back to being a jerk.”
“I wasn’t being a jerk. You drive me crazy, Emma. I want to hate it, but I like it.” His eyes drifted closed, but the smile lingered on his lips. Reaching for my hand, he wrapped his fingers around mine, pulling it against his chest in a loose grasp. “Your hand is so small. I feel like I’m gonna crush it.”
“You won’t crush it,” I whispered.
His eyes remained closed as a wry smile brushed his lips. “I think the same thing about you sometimes too. You’re so tiny. I’d crush you.”
The shock came in small waves as his words registered. I think Wyatt was talking about sex in his feverish semi-coma, which meant I probably should’ve insisted on taking him to the doctor.
“Maybe you should try to eat something. I didn’t see much in there, but Cap’n Crunch. But I could go get you something in town?”
His fingers ran over my palm and circled around my wrist, each touch radiating up my arm. My pulse beat strong under his hand. With his eyes still closed, I heard him whisper, “I like Cap’n Crunch.”
“I know,” I muttered, feeling the burn of his feverish hand as he brushed my skin. His face stayed relaxed, his eyes closed.
Even in his sickness, I was attracted to Wyatt Caulfield. I didn’t care if I were in bed for days because of this visit. His guard was down. It was down, and I was getting closer to him.
“I need you to do something.” His eyes opened for a minute and bore into my face like he could read all of those thoughts floating around in my head. All the thoughts of how I would kiss him, even if it meant getting the flu. “I haven’t fed the dogs. I need you to do it.”
“Gus and Gatsby?”
“No. All of them. Put twice the amount in there. It will hold them over. And there’s a list of medicine on my desk. It’s in a locked case.” Wyatt let go of my hand and pointed next to his dresser. “The key is in my drawer.”
I scooted to that side of his bed. Reaching for the handle, it was strange to think I was about to rifle through his nightstand. Not that I was trespassing, since he was right there. But Wyatt was allowing me into another layer of his life.
I glanced over at him before pulling it open. Stress lines formed around his eyes, and then he closed them again. He was letting go. Wyatt was giving me permission to look inside his personal stuff.
My fingers tugged the metal handle. The inside of the drawer contained two packages of cough drops, a worn-out Bible with Wyatt inscribed in faded letters on the bottom right corner, and a key ring. Lifting the set from the bottom, I shut the nightstand.
“It’s the smaller one that doesn’t look like a door key. The case with the meds is in the bottom right drawer of my desk in the office. I keep it locked up because there’s pain meds in there. There’s a list with it. Tells you who gets what.”
“Okay,” I muttered, getting up from the side of his bed.
I let Gus and Gatsby out in front of the trailer to use the bathroom before going to the kennel. It took close to an hour to feed, water, and dish out medicine to all the residents. I played with Charlie for a few minutes. He covered my cheeks with wet slobber. I loved that little dog with everything in me. Putting Charlie back in his kennel, I pulled out my phone to send Blaire a text.
“Wyatt is sick. I’m going to be here late.”
I braced for a slew of protests, but all I got was a simple, “Okay.”
I made one last stop by Cye’s pen before I returned to the trailer. Crawling on my hands and knees, I placed a bone a few feet from him. The tortured face of the poor dog broke my heart. He tolerated me at this point, poking into his life. Cye didn’t embrace my actions, but at least he didn’t run.
I walked the trail in the moonlight. Opening the door, I found Gus and Gatsby waiting together at the entrance. “Don’t worry. I brought you some too.”
I put the food in their bowls. After washing my hands, I peeked around the corner in Wyatt’s room. He was lying against the pillows. His hair was a little damp and the covers were pulled up to his waist. Kicking off my flip-flops, I stepped softly across the old, shag carpet. Wyatt opened his eyes. “Are they okay?”
“Don’t worry. Everyone is fine.” I sat next to him on the bed. He stared at me, his eyes blinking at half the rate. Placing my palm against his forehead, I felt the temperature of his skin, which seemed to have decreased to a shade less than scalding hot. Maybe the Tylenol was working. “You take a cold shower?”
“Yeah.”
“You feel any better?”
“A little.” His voice grated on the words. “Diana was sick. She must have given it to me.”
“I’m sure she didn’t mean to.”
His face tensed up. “I wasn’t blaming her.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t say you were.” I moved my hand away, seeing his eyes flash something I couldn’t read. The stubble on his cheeks reflected slightly in the lamp light. I wanted to run my fingers over it again. I swallowed hard. “So . . . um . . . how often does Diana come out here?”
“Once a week. Us
ually on Sunday, but she came Friday after you’d left. She had plans.”
“So I could meet her sometime? If I came on Sunday?” I wanted to talk to someone else who knew Wyatt. Maybe it would give me some clue into his why. Because a big why existed with this broken man. Why was he hiding out here? Why was he in so much pain? Why was he afraid of me?
“You have met her. Diana sent you out here.”
“The lady with the rescue in Stillwater was Diana?”
“Yes. Diana is more of an extravagant dog foster with a kennel license. She volunteers with Red Dirt Claws. She keeps some of the dogs here and tries to place them through the rescue.”
“So she could’ve just taken Charlie from me that day,” I muttered. “Instead, she sent me out here to see you on purpose?”
“Yes.” His eyes were tired and plagued with fever. There wasn’t much fight in him tonight, and it wasn’t right that I was using it to my advantage. But this new piece of information was very intriguing.
“Why did she send me out here?”
“Do you really have to ask that question?”
“She wanted us to meet?”
“Yes.” He let out a deep breath, coughing a little. “She thinks I should be more open with you. Tell you things.”
“What things?” That statement caught me off guard.
“Please . . . don’t ask me anymore questions tonight.” The sadness came over his eyes first and then dipped across his cheeks down to those lips. It extended into his shoulders as he sunk into the pillows. I felt incredibly guilty, seeing how visibly he was crushed.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. And then I did something I figured would make him angry. I scooted up beside Wyatt on the bed, pushing myself next to his body. My shoulder touched his shoulder. My side touched his side. I nestled myself against him, bracing for his reaction. His body moved as he took a ragged breath, and then Wyatt rested his head against my shoulder. I felt his hair against my bare arm.
And then I froze as he took it a step further. He leaned over, placing his head across my lap, resting his cheek against my thigh. Hesitating, I fought the urge to touch him until I gave into the feeling. I ran my fingers through his soft brown hair. I smelled the faint scent of shampoo.
Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) Page 10
