Miller Brothers in Love

by Erin Wright

  She was an idiot, through and through.

  With a sigh, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. “C’mon, Jasmine,” she said wearily. “Let’s go to bed. Things can only be better in the morning, right?”

  But as she settled down into bed after changing into her PJs and brushing her teeth, she stared at the ceiling and wondered if that was true after all. What, exactly, was going to be better in the morning? Wyatt was still going to be on probation and her father was still going to hate him and she still couldn’t be attracted to him.

  No doubt about it, her endlessly positive outlook on life was starting to garner a little tarnish to its shine.

  And she wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.

  Chapter 21

  Wyatt

  It was the cold that woke him up.

  He was shivering uncontrollably and his nose…he pulled his hand up and out of the sleeping bag to poke at it, shivering even harder when the winter air burrowed through his layers of sweaters and winter coat to steal up his arm. His nose didn’t fall off when he wiggled it, though, which he took as a good sign.

  With a groan, he opened his eyes, staring up at the bead board ceiling of his three-season porch. Yup, it was definitely the fourth season of the year. At the moment, it was hard for him to remember just how he could think that sleeping outside in January was better than sleeping in a house that smelled like rotten garbage. His frozen, aching limbs told him otherwise.

  Of course, as frozen as his nose was, he might not be able to smell anything any longer, a real positive in his book.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the patio loveseat, which had been much too short for him to stretch out on, which had just added to the night’s misery. He unzipped the sleeping bag and forced his legs to carry him into the house, where he breathed in the warm air.

  Warm, disgusting, stinking air.

  He started hacking, trying to expel the taste and smell from his lungs and throat.

  Well, there went that theory – even after a night outside, his nose still worked well enough for him to smell. Which was probably good in the grand scheme of things, but not really that appreciated at the moment.

  He unplugged his phone from the wall outlet and walked to the other end of the house, as far away from the kitchen as he could get. He turned his phone on and was pleasantly surprised to see it light up. He wasn’t sure if seven weeks of disuse would’ve killed the battery or not. Some good news this morning, anyway.

  He debated, and finally called Adam first. He needed to swallow his pride and get it over with.

  The asking-for-a-favor part.

  It went against everything in him, but he could do it. Mostly because he had to.

  “Hey Wyatt!” Adam’s voice, lit up and happy, rang in his ear. “I didn’t know you got out!”

  “Just yesterday,” Wyatt said, the ball of nerves growing tighter. Here it was. Here was the big ask. He could do it.

  Because he had to.

  “Listen, I have a…” He tried to say “favor” but couldn’t get it past his throat. “Question to ask,” he finished. “I was assigned 75 community service hours from the Ada judge. Can I serve them at your place?” The last part came out in a rush, but at least it did come out. He hoped Adam had heard the question and wouldn’t make him repeat it. It was bad enough the first time.

  “My place?” Adam echoed, confused. Wyatt knew from his tone of voice that he was imagining that Wyatt wanted to come over and do his dishes or something. Oh hell no. Wyatt hated doing his own dishes; he wasn’t about to spend 75 hours doing someone else’s.

  “At your therapy camp. With the kids and the horses,” he clarified. And not a dish in sight. At least, he hoped there were no dirty dishes in the riding arena.

  “Oh, right, of course! I’d love that. Oh Wyatt, just wait until you meet these kids. They’re incredible. So much love in them – you’ve never met a better bunch of children in your life.”

  Sierra’s face flashed before Wyatt’s eyes, smiling and bright. The pain and love tore at him equally. She would’ve been seven in May. He missed her so goddamn much. Maybe being around other children would…help.

  Either help or kill him straight off. One or the other.

  It was a tough pill to swallow, the idea of moving on past Sierra’s death. A part of him felt like if he let it go, then it didn’t count. It didn’t matter after all. But…

  Maybe he could see other children her age and teach them what he knew. There were only a few men in the county who were better with horses than him. And he liked kids okay. As long as they weren’t screaming or throwing up, he’d be fine.

  “That’d be great, Adam,” Wyatt got out, his stomach still a ball of nerves. “What time do you want me there?”

  “Around 2:30 – would that work? That way, we can go over some things before the kids get here after school.”

  “Sounds great. See you then.” They hung up, and Wyatt stared at his phone for a moment.

  That hadn’t actually killed him.

  A smile crept across his face, growing by the moment. Damn, and wasn’t that just a great feeling? He’d asked for a favor, and Adam had said yes. He hadn’t ridiculed him for needing help or anything.

  Before his grin could get ridiculously out of control, he pulled out the phone book for the Long Valley area from his desk in the den, batting away the dust that came with it. A couple of sneezes later, and he’d found a cleaning company in Franklin.

  When he explained that he’d been “gone” from his home for two months and that he needed a cleaning crew out to his place on an emergency basis, the older, placid-sounding woman assured him that they could be there by that afternoon. He thanked her and hung up.

  Now, it was time to find something to do that was far, far away from his house.

  Jorge.

  Duh.

  His farm manager was his only year-round full-time employee, and because of the state of his house when he got home last night, he hadn’t thought to go out and even tell him that he’d been released. Now was as good a time as any.

  He stepped outside and took a deep breath of the bracing, freezing air, blessedly free of smells. It was terrific, it really was, to be back home.

  He took off at a brisk walk down the snow-encrusted dirt lane towards the double-wide trailer that served as Jorge’s home. Maggie was by his side, her nose and tail going a mile a minute. “You’re damn happy to be home too, aren’t ya, girl?” Wyatt said with a smile. She grinned up at him for just a moment, he’d swear it was true, and then her nose was back to the ground and she was sniffing again.

  Yeah, it was damn nice to be home again.

  Just as he got to the front porch of the double-wide, the snow crunching under foot as he went, Jorge opened up the front door and stepped outside. His weathered face lit up when he caught sight of Wyatt. “¡Hola, señor!” he said. “You casa!”

  They tended to talk a mixture of Spanglish to each other, punctuated when necessary with hand gestures. It was a cross between charades and high school Spanish. It kept Wyatt from forgetting too much from his high school days, anyway.

  “Hola,” he said warmly, shaking Jorge’s hand. “¿Cómo estás?”

  “Bien, bien. Come. My chickens! Huevos, for you.” He gestured and they walked into the cramped double-wide together. Jorge chattered quickly to his wife, Maria, in Spanish, as grandkids came crowding into the living room. Wyatt greeted them and chatted with them for a minute; unlike their grandparents, the kids were completely fluent in both Spanish and English, which meant that at times, they acted as translators between Wyatt and Jorge.

  Wyatt knew that some of the ranchers in the valley wouldn’t put up with the language barrier and would’ve fired Jorge long ago, but he was a damn hard worker, and he also had a large family to support. Wyatt couldn’t imagine chucking him out into the snow, no matter how many games of charades he had to play.

  Jorge pulled a dozen eggs out of the fridge. “For you,
for you,” he said, shoving the carton into Wyatt’s hands. “Bienvenido a casa. Happy to see you.”

  Shooting Jorge a grin, he flipped the carton lid open to admire the double row of brown and white eggs. “Gracias,” he said. “Muchas gracias.” He knew how precious eggs were during the winter; mid-January was probably the slowest time of the year for egg laying, and he knew Jorge’s family could use the eggs.

  But he also knew that Jorge took pride in giving them to him, and if there was one thing that Wyatt Miller understood, it was pride.

  After some high fives with the grandkids, he made his way back outside into the bitter cold. He hurried to drop off the carton back at his house and then took to walking the fields, checking fences and reacquainting himself with his farm. Afterwards, he’d make a trip over to his barn to curry and feed his horses.

  Yeah, it felt damn good to be back home.

  Chapter 22

  Abby

  Abby walked down the jail cell block to get to the supply room in the back. She needed to put replacement batteries in all of the smoke detectors every other month, per county law, and so they kept a huge tub of them in the back supply closet.

  As she passed Wyatt’s cell, her heart hurt a little. It was stupid. She was so happy for him; so glad that he’d gotten out and was a free man, relatively speaking. Sure, he had to put in his community service hours, which thankfully Vet Whitaker had agreed to be the sponsor for, but that and some counseling were light years ahead of being locked up behind bars.

  So she was happy for Wyatt, she really was. It was a good thing, having him out and free again and moving on with his life.

  She began pulling batteries out of the tub, counting mechanically as her brain spun through what was really bothering her: She missed him.

  She should be glad for him that he was finally free again. That Maggie Mae was able to run in the fields again. And she was, she really was.

  But a selfish part of her wanted him back in jail. His cell was so empty every time she walked past it. And it would always be “Wyatt’s cell” to her. He’d become such a part of her day; teasing her or simply reading quietly as she walked past, but he’d been there, always there.

  No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t want him back in jail again. She wanted him out and free. She wanted him happy. She just…wanted to be with him too.

  She scooped the batteries up and carried them back up to the front of the jail. It was time to pull out the ladder and begin replacing batteries. Oh, the glamorous life of a small-town cop. When she went to the Cleveland Elementary School on Career Day and talked about being a cop, she always somehow managed to leave out any mention of changing batteries in smoke detectors.

  Finally, Morland came in and relieved her so she could head home. With a happy sigh, she headed to her house and began…

  Slowly driving herself insane. She tried watching TV but quickly flicked it off. Nothing on there appealed to her. She pulled out her favorite author’s new book, The Girl with the Make-Believe Husband, but then all she could think about was husbands and marrying and…

  She stood up. She’d make herself a cup of tea. It was too late for coffee; with the caffeine jitters, she’d never be able to go to sleep. She’d just brew up some Earl Gray and sip it while…knitting. She could knit. Or rather, she’d knitted in the past. No time like the present to reacquaint herself with her knitting needles. Maybe she could knit some scarves for the homeless shelter in Boise. That’d be a good thing to do. They always needed—

  Her personal cell phone rang, and Abby practically leapt for it. Anything to do that wasn’t thinking about Wyatt Miller was a Very Good Thing at that point.

  “Hello?” she said breathlessly, shoving the phone between her ear and shoulder as she put her tea kettle under the faucet.

  “Hi, Abby?” His voice rumbled through the phone, warm and friendly. She almost dropped the phone into the overflowing water but just managed to catch it and shove it back between her shoulder and ear before flipping the gushing water off. She sank against the edge of the sink.

  “How did you get my personal number?” she asked, totally confused. She hadn’t given it to him; she never gave it out to prisoners. Not that she would’ve told him no if he’d asked for it, because he was Wyatt Miller, not just any ol’ prisoner, but he hadn’t asked, and thus she hadn’t given it to him.

  “It’s a small town, Abby. It’s not hard to get someone’s number if you want to.”

  She rolled her eyes and then realized that he couldn’t see her. Gah. Sometimes, small towns were a little too up-in-her-space for her.

  Of course, it wasn’t that she was upset that he was calling. It’d just thrown her off, was all. She poured some of the extra water down the drain and then put the kettle on the stove. “What can I do for you, Mr. Miller?”

  Which was a ridiculous thing to call him, considering everything, but it just sort of slipped out. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach that she was going to screw this relationship up out of sheer ineptitude, just like she had every other relationship she’d attempted over the years.

  She was 33 and single for a reason, and she couldn’t blame all of it on the fact that her father was the sheriff, or her weight.

  He hesitated for a moment and she was sure she’d completely blown it, but he finally went on and she blew out a breath of relief. “I’ve really been enjoying working with the kids and Adam this past week,” he said. “I started to wonder if you’d like to come along with me? I know how much you like horses.”

  That was true. Pretty much everyone knew how much she liked horses; it didn’t take much to know that. You just had to know her back in her high school days, when she was on the Long Valley Roping Team and was winning most calf roping events that she entered. Her favorite horse of all time, Black Diamond, was the only thing that got her through her mother’s death.

  Horses were expensive, though, and she hadn’t been able to afford the upkeep in the last couple of years. Her heart yearned for it. “Yes, please,” she said, and she was a little embarrassed by how breathlessly happy she sounded, but she couldn’t help herself. He might as well have asked her if she wanted a pot of gold delivered to her house in the morning.

  Except time with horses was more priceless than gold.

  “Fine, fine. I’ll come by your house tomorrow around three – will you be home?”

  “Yeah, I work the morning shift tomorrow, so I’ll be cutting it close, but I’ll be here.”

  “See you then.” He hung up without another word, which was just when her tea kettle let out an ear-piercing whistle. The water was hot. She pulled it off the burner and flipped open the cap at the end of the spout to stop the whistling. She just stood there and stared at it though, not moving another inch.

  He wanted her to spend time with the horses. He was going to come over and pick her up.

  Was this some sort of…date?

  A small smile that grew larger the more she thought, burst into place. Wyatt Miller was asking her out on a date, but he was so out of touch, his “date” was asking his parole officer to come do his community service with him.

  She was pretty sure this had to be a first. She probably shouldn’t laugh, but it was so damn typical of Wyatt. She wasn't sure who else she knew would think that community service was a romantic atmosphere, but at the same time…

  She couldn’t find it in herself to be disappointed in the lack of romance in their upcoming date. Any date of any kind with Wyatt was one to be excited about.

  But also, she could sorta-kinda-maybe pass this off as not-a-date if word somehow got back to her father. She could simply be checking up on him. Making sure everything was going okay. Sure, she’d never heard of a parole officer doing that before, but why not? They were a small town and made up rules as they went along all the time. This could just be another made-up rule.

  She sat down on the couch with her cup of tea but realized that she was now struggling with another problem: She was filled
with a completely different set of jitters. Before, she hadn’t been able to settle on anything because she missed Wyatt. Now, she could hardly remember to blow on her tea before sipping it because she was going to see Wyatt. She wasn’t sure which state of mind was worse for her.

  Jasmine jumped up and cuddled next to her, stretching her paw out across Abby’s lap as she stroked down the soft fur.

  “Jasmine, I need to get my head on straight.” Jasmine’s purr rumbled through her leg, which Abby decided to take as agreement.

  “Even though Wyatt isn’t my prisoner anymore, he is still on parole. Then even after he gets off that, the idea that I could date him is…ludicrous. Simply nuts. Father would have a heart attack, and then rise up off the table at the ER and strangle me with his bare hands.”

  Jasmine kept purring. Abby put down her empty tea cup on the end table, and then began petting Jasmine with both hands. The volume on her cat increased exponentially.

  “So tomorrow afternoon is going to be nothing more than a parole officer checking up on someone and making sure they’re not drinking or doing drugs or beating someone up.” Truth be told, she hadn’t heard of Wyatt touching a drop of alcohol since the night his family had been killed by that drunk driver, and she’d be willing to bet next year’s salary on the fact that he’d never taken drugs.

  And if he was going around beating people up, the sheriff’s department would be the first ones to hear about it.

  Which meant that if they were going to get all technical about it, there was…well, zero reason for her to go with him out to Adam’s place.

  Other than she just wanted to.

  Dammit.

  She scooped Jasmine up in her arms and flicked off the living room light. “Let’s go to bed,” she said, cuddling Jasmine to her as she navigated through the darkened living room. “I have a non-date date to go on tomorrow, and something tells me I’ll need all the rest I can get to make it through it.”