by Angel Smits
“I...need to talk to the director. I’m fairly certain this is why Mom fell.” She held up the phone, wishing she could throw the thing. Instead, she calmly walked to the director’s office.
* * *
WYATT SAT BEHIND the wheel of the truck, the glow of the dash the only light as Emily settled into the passenger seat. Night had fallen sometime between their walking in the front door and Helen finally falling asleep, her arm bandaged and pain meds in her system. Emily looked completely exhausted.
“Thank you,” she said softly, staring out the windshield. She didn’t glance his way. He wasn’t sure she even moved.
“No problem.” The engine roared and he put it into gear. It wouldn’t take long to get back to where her car was parked. He wasn’t sure she was safe to drive, but he’d learned that questioning her abilities was the fastest way to a disagreement. Neither of them had the energy for that tonight.
The parking garage at the courthouse was deserted. A small sedan was the only car left. It had to be hers.
All the calm vanished as the headlights glistened off the pavement. Broken glass. He cursed and pulled to a stop several feet away. “Stay here,” he told her.
“Why?”
Instead of answering, he climbed out of the truck and headed toward her car.
“What happened?” Her voice echoed around the empty concrete structure.
“Looks like someone broke into your car.” Wyatt peered in the now permanently open window. “They went through the glove box. Did you have anything valuable in there?”
He was surprised she wasn’t standing right there beside him. He looked back and found her leaning against the side of the truck, her head thrown back so she could stare at the garage’s ceiling. “What else can go wrong today? I should have stayed in bed.”
Wyatt laughed despite knowing she probably wouldn’t appreciate it. “Is there any security here?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Maybe if they were in a big city, or over at city hall. But here in the county offices...even he knew there wasn’t money for that. He still waited until she shook her head before he pulled out his phone and dialed 9-1-1.
Apparently, being a magistrate had its perks. The police cruiser pulled into the parking lot, lights flashing, quicker than he’d expected. Still, it was late before the tow truck finally left with her car, after the man had told them that the thief had tried to hotwire the car and had fried the electrical system.
“Even I know you can’t hotwire a newer model car.” She was sitting in his truck again, staring unseeingly through the windshield.
Wyatt didn’t start the truck right away. Instead, he turned to look at Emily. Her hair fell down around her face and soft shadows settled beneath her eyes. The fluorescent lights of the garage weren’t flattering to anyone on a good day, but something about her drew him and he enjoyed just watching her. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Tired and really ticked, but fine.”
“Let’s get you home.”
“All right.” She reluctantly gave in and fumbled with the seat belt.
Downtown vanished quickly, morphing into side streets and neighborhoods of houses, apartment buildings and strip malls. She directed him to turn onto a tree-lined street that held rows of pretty, little, well-kept townhouses. All exactly the same on the outside.
Light splashed out nearly every window, but when Emily directed him to turn into a narrow drive, he saw that hers was void of any illumination. He pulled in and turned to face her again. She simply sat there, staring out at the darkness. In the glow from the neighbor’s window, he saw a trail of tears on her cheeks.
He cursed, got out and walked around the truck.
He didn’t think twice. Instead, he opened her door. “Hey,” he said softly, not wanting to startle her.
She turned her head slowly as if she was just waking up. She didn’t say anything, simply let her gaze move up until their eyes met.
“Come on.” He reached into the car and unbuckled her seat belt, then curled his hand around her elbow. “Let’s get you inside.”
She didn’t say a word, just turned and planted her feet on the pavement. He helped her stand, and they both froze when the movement brought her close to him. The faded whisper of perfume startled and pleased him. He stepped back reluctantly, fighting the urge to pull her close and swing her up into his arms. She was too independent for that, but he was tempted.
Instead, he cleared his throat and guided her up the sidewalk to the front door. “You’re exhausted. So don’t give me any of that crap about being strong enough to stand on your own two feet. I don’t want to hear about how you can take care of yourself, your mother and the rest of the world. You’ve already proved that.”
At the door, she stopped. Not to unlock the door as he expected, but to face him. Her keys were in her hand and he almost smiled at the tight grip. She’d taken a self-defense class somewhere along the way. Another point in her favor.
“You going to open the door or gouge my eyes out with those?” He chuckled.
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t put a key in the lock, and she didn’t aim them at him. Win-win, he thought.
“Are you always so...bossy?” she asked.
“Not always. But if the situation warrants it—” He shrugged. “I’m not leaving until I’m sure everything inside is okay.” He paused and waited. “Open the door, Emily,” he commanded softly when she didn’t move.
“Don’t you need to get home to Tyler?”
“Nope. My foreman and his wife are at the house tonight. You know, the longer we argue about this, the later I leave.”
“Fine,” she huffed and turned the knob with the loud clatter of keys against wood. “But only to keep you happy and get this over with. Not because I’m afraid.”
Finally, she stepped inside a small foyer, her heels loud against the wooden floor.
There were no lights on, but Wyatt got the sense of stark emptiness. He reached for the light switch beside the door. It slid, rather than flipped, telling him it was a dimmer.
Slowly, the lights came up. A ceiling lamp cast gold over cream walls, a small table to the right and a narrow set of stairs that led up.
There were no pictures on the wall, though a square mirror in a golden frame hung above the table. A darkened room lay to the right and straight ahead, shadows blocking his view. Pretty, he thought, but cold. Like a show home.
He looked at Emily and saw more clearly the tear tracks on her face and the exhaustion in her eyes. She didn’t look at him, but silently walked past. She tossed her purse onto the small table and stabbed the button on the blinking answering machine. A mechanical voice broke the silence, telling her there was one message, but no message sounded. It beeped as she deleted the note.
“I’ll be just a second.” She passed through the living room, to a far door. He saw the end of a bed in the flash of light before she closed the door. “If you’re going to look around, go ahead and get it done with.”
Odds were the car break-in had been random, but Wyatt wanted to make sure. He set his Stetson on the table near her purse and headed into the living room.
There was little in the townhouse that told Wyatt much about who lived here. Certainly this room full of rented-with-the-place furniture gave no indication of who she was.
The curtains were still drawn as she’d been gone all day. The townhouse was as silent as the proverbial tomb. No cat came out of the shadows to twist around his ankles. No dog came yapping out of its kennel to greet him or provide any warning. Just quiet, dark, silence.
Was this what she came home to every night? Wyatt compared the insanity of the ranch house to this. The hands coming in, stomping their feet and heading to the kitchen. Tyler giggling and laughing as one of the cowboys teased him. Addie or Chet’s wife, Yolanda, slapping huge platters
of food on the table. Noise, light and life everywhere.
He turned on a lamp and was surprised when the dim light reflected off the rough edges of a picture frame. It was the only knickknack in the room.
A hodgepodge of metal flowers rimmed the frame, their hearts painted with yellow and gold. A butterfly sat frozen in silver in the corner.
He picked it up, surprised to find it was heavy. He tilted the frame toward the light, wondering whose picture she displayed. Two young girls had their arms wrapped around each other, hugging tight, their lips turned up in a frozen giggle. The picture was too old to be Emily.
“My mother.” Emily’s voice came from behind him. “That’s her and her younger sister, my aunt Judy.”
He thought it a bit odd that she kept a picture of her mother from a time when she hadn’t known her. Why not something more recent?
He gave in and asked, “Why this picture?”
She was silent so long he wasn’t sure she intended to answer. “That’s how I always wanted her to be. I don’t remember her ever happy like that.”
Wyatt’s mind flooded with memories of all the laughter in his mom’s house—even on the afternoon of her funeral when they’d gathered around the kitchen table.
He felt a stab of sadness go through him at all that Emily must have missed.
He looked back at the picture again, seeing the resemblance and knowing that there were no pictures of Emily as a child that held such joy. There were a couple times tonight, as the nurses had taken care of her mother, that the older woman had said things that seemed to stir up painful memories for Emily. He’d wondered, but hadn’t said anything. She’d grown more and more withdrawn, more and more distant.
Suddenly, he wanted to give her a reason to smile like the girls in the photo were.
He swallowed to ease his dry throat. Forcing himself to step away, Wyatt continued his inspection of the place.
He headed to the kitchen, and the back door, and she followed him. Fluorescent light shattered the mood as it overwhelmed the quiet light and showed him a wide kitchen. The back door was locked solid and the outside lights flooded an empty backyard.
Stepping back into the kitchen, he realized that, if there was a heart to this place, this room was it. Filled with modern appliances and new counters and cabinets, it was welcoming, with bright flowers and butterfly decorations.
“When was the last time you ate?” he asked.
“Does the tea I had count? Um, breakfast, I think.”
The fact that she was actually answering his questions told him more than anything how exhausted she was. She wasn’t fighting him. “Where are the frying pans?”
“Uh, over there.” She pointed to a large cabinet beside the stove, a frown on her face. As he headed toward it, she seemed to revive a bit. “Wait a minute. What are you doing?”
He smiled over his shoulder at her, not stopping. He opened the wide wooden door and chose a pan. “I’m not the best cook in the world, but I can make a decent omelet. You have eggs, right?” At her nod, he pointed at the tall chairs against the island. “Have a seat.”
“Wyatt, I’m really tired. I just want to go to bed—”
“No, not yet.” He almost laughed when she bristled. He needed to shake her out of the slump she was in. Feed her, then send her off to bed. He paused in midstride and pulled his mind back from that little cliff.
She did as he asked and climbed up on the chair, her compliance surprising him. She rested her chin in her palm and watched as he tried to find his way around her kitchen. Her eyes drooped. If he didn’t make conversation, she’d fall asleep right there.
“So, as a judge, you ever officiate over a wedding?” What the hell had made him think of that?
“A few.” She sat up a little straighter, trying to stay awake. “Most of them haven’t gone well.”
“Why not? Someone say something when you get to that part where anyone objects?”
She actually laughed. “Courthouse ceremonies are usually pretty small. But recently I did have one that was interesting.”
“Really?” He focused on melting the butter in the pan and cracking the eggs instead of on the smile that was waking up her face.
“Yeah. A couple months ago. We used Skype with the parents.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I think the bride and groom thought they were safer with distance.”
“I’m guessing they weren’t.”
“Uh, no. We actually had to turn Dad off.”
Wyatt laughed, imagining the usually prim and proper judge E. J. Ivers in such a situation. He liked her flustered, and that would definitely fluster her.
Letting the eggs cook, he turned around and looked at her. She was more awake now; the tears had faded. She’d scrubbed all evidence of them from her cheeks. Their eyes met. He took a few steps and without warning, leaned down and put his lips on hers.
The kiss lasted only an instant, so when he stepped away to check on the eggs, Emily blinked several times, her confusion apparent.
* * *
“WHAT WAS THAT for?”
“You just looked like you needed it.” He grinned over his shoulder as he added ham and cheese to the omelet, along with other goodies he’d found in her fridge.
“Well, I didn’t need it.” She looked away. “But thank you,” she whispered.
What exactly did needing a kiss look like? Emily wanted to ask, but didn’t dare. She was already way out of bounds with this guy. But somehow, the line she’d crossed had vanished and she didn’t know how to get back.
Wyatt set the full plate in front of her and suddenly she was starving. And after just one bite she had to admit that he was right—he did make a great omelet.
Once she was full from the delicious food and more awake than she’d been all day, Emily sat at the counter, watching Wyatt move around her kitchen as if he lived here. She thought over every encounter she’d had with the man. In her courtroom. Out at the ranch. In the coffee shop. In the dining room of the assisted living facility. And now in her kitchen. Was there any place he wasn’t totally comfortable? Any place that shook up that cool exterior?
He noticed everything around him, noticed the people and stepped up to take care. He was a caretaker, not a caregiver, she amended. Making sure everyone and everything was handled, put in place and fixed.
It was who he was.
What she didn’t know, and what concerned her was his motivation. “Why are you doing this?”
He paused and frowned. “Doing what?”
“Being so nice. Helpful. Taking care of me.”
He looked confused, but she just couldn’t believe that anyone took care of someone without personal motivation. She didn’t trust easily, if at all, and that distrust was sending out bright warning signals.
Slowly, he set aside the dishes he’d been stacking in the sink. He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked down at her, and she barely resisted the urge to stand. Not that it would put them at eye level, but she’d feel stronger.
He shrugged. “It’s what I’ve always done.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“So?”
Was he really that oblivious? Could he possibly be that altruistic? She thought of all the people she knew. No one had a clean slate. Her father had been the best man she’d known, but even he’d made mistakes, done desperate things. Her stepfather was the worst. His fist had done most of the talking and her stepbrother, Drew, seemed to be following in his father’s footsteps. Even her mother kept secrets and lied. Emily’s heart hurt at all the deceptions her mother held. All the lies she’d told to protect Emily from Earl, but also to keep her from hating Earl too much.
“No one does anything without an ul—agenda.” She’d almost sa
id ulterior motive but knew that would probably tick him off.
Slowly, he walked toward her, his boots loud against the wood floor. “You’ve been in the courtroom too long,” he whispered, never breaking eye contact. “You’ve seen too much of the bad in this world.”
He was in her space, his body heat reaching out to nearly overwhelm her. Emily wished she’d given in and stood, as then she’d be able to back away from him. She shuddered, fear of what she didn’t understand sliding through her.
He lifted his hand, and even though all he did was run a rough finger along the edge of her chin, she flinched. He frowned at her reaction and the questions in his eyes surprised her.
So why was her disappointment so strong this time? She wasn’t foolish enough to think he was different. She’d stopped being foolish a long time ago. “You already have Tyler’s custody paperwork. You don’t need to butter me up.”
His eyes flashed, this time with anger. Ah, she had hit a nerve.
Before she could analyze why, Emily jumped from the chair and hustled away from him. Wyatt stared at her, deep furrows in his brow, no words coming out of his mouth. She tore her gaze away from those lips. Not going there. Definitely not going there, she reminded herself, though the memory of his earlier touch was too fresh to totally dismiss.
“Thank you for making me eat.” She grabbed her used dishes and headed to the sink. “That helped. I’ll take care of the rest of the dishes,” she told him.
Silence cloaked them. Heavy, nerve-racking silence. “I’m sure you’ll need to get home.” She quickly led the way to the front hall and he slowly followed. There was no reason for him to stay any longer. Except she didn’t want him to go and didn’t know why. Which meant she needed to send him on his way even more quickly.
He took the hint, though without any smile. “You okay to stay by yourself?” he asked.
“I do it all the time,” she reminded him.
“Yes, you do.” The air grew thick and he stepped closer. His palm cupped the side of her face. “I’m not even going to apologize for this.” He leaned in and kissed her again.
