Rugged Hearts

by Amanda McIntyre

  “I thought maybe if the kids can’t get home by Christmas morning….” He paused and looked at her. “Is it lame to think maybe they’d go for some second-hand vintage?”

  Good Lord, she was smitten. This paradox of rough-hewn cowboy and softhearted Santa…the people in town knew nothing of what he was really like. She felt like she’d received her own private gift by way of the snowstorm outside. The whole package of virility, sensitivity, and charm was any sane woman’s dream. Aimee forced her brain into gear, propped her forearms on the table, and leaned toward him. “I think you are one of the most thoughtful and generous men I’ve ever met.”

  He looked embarrassed by the compliment. “It’s not a big deal. I just thought it would ward off the complaints.”

  Aimee rarely minced words, especially when she felt strongly about a subject. “You have this rough image you seem to think you need to portray, but deep down you’re a much different person.” She hoped this would be a turning point between them. Aside from her undeniable attraction to him, she’d been privy to a side of Wyatt she genuinely liked. The kind of like that could very easily turn to something deeper.

  Aimee held her glass out in gesture of a toast. “Here’s to a magical Christmas.”

  He tapped his glass to hers. “Magical?”

  Aimee shrugged. “Deep down, at this time of year I think I become twelve again.”

  He drank his milk, and she watched in appreciation how he polished it off in one long gulp. He emitted a sigh and licked his lips. She hadn’t touched hers.

  “Can I ask you something?” He leaned on the table and propped his chin in his hand.

  She held her glass with both hands to occupy them. “Sure.”

  “What made you decide to become a teacher?”

  She hadn’t expected his question.

  “I mean, it’s obvious you love kids.”

  Aimee chuckled. “Well, most of the time.” She stared at the half-full glass of milk and realized that for another person the glass would be half-empty. “I really have my sister to thank for that.”

  “How so?”

  “She always wanted to teach in a rural community.”

  “And you?” His dark gaze held hers. “What did you want? Because I have trouble wondering what a girl like you sees in a place like End of the Line.”

  Aimee shrugged. “Well, you’re not far off. I always wanted the bright lights of the city. You know, the corner office with a view, make enough to travel and not have to worry about anything, be able to do nice things for my parents now and again.”

  He raised his brows and settled back in the chair, crossing his arms over his impressive chest. “So what changed your mind?”

  She had to summon her courage to explain for the first time to anyone, other than her parents, why she’d chosen a teaching career. Emotion clogged her throat. She cleared it before she spoke. “Well, my sister was quite an optimist,” she started. It was easy to remember her attributes. Aimee knew them like the back of her hand. “She had a vision of how she believed things ought to be and she set out to make changes for the better in whatever way she could.” She gently rolled the glass between her palms and chuckled from the thoughts drifting through her mind. “She was the one who planned to save the whales, while I was the one who managed to scalp tickets for the big football game. You get the idea, right?”

  He nodded. Aimee forged on and found it easy to talk to him about the intimate details of her life. He watched her as though he listened intently to her every word.

  “Sarah taught me a lot about giving back the gifts you’re given.” Tears clouded her eyes. She gently shook her head and regained her composure. “I remember she begged my parents to let her go with her friend on a shopping trip to the city. She’d been saving for six months and had specific presents she wanted for each of us. She was insistent, and rightly so, she’d never find them in our small town. Aimee laughed quietly. “Which was weird, because she was adamant about shopping local to support small business.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, the forecast called for light snow, but after much discussion, they relented and let her go. She hugged me before she left and said she’d picked out the best present in the whole world for me. I’d never in a million years guess what it was.” She dropped her forehead in her hand and swiped her nose with a paper napkin.

  “Aimee, you don’t have to go on.”

  She shook her head. “No, really, it’s good for me to get it out. I’ve had it bottled up inside of me ever since the accident today.”

  “Sure, I understand,” he replied quietly.

  “It was kind of a day like today—the weather, I mean. She didn’t know any more than did I that the storm would shift so rapidly. Even the forecasters were unprepared.”

  “It happens, especially up here in the mountains. It can be very unpredictable,” he interjected.

  Aimee nodded, knowing he was trying to assure her that she wasn’t being irresponsible in thinking she could get the kids back to town before the roads got bad.

  “I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any better knowing what might have happened.”

  “But didn’t,” he replied. “Because you stayed calm and kept those kids safe.”

  She raked her teeth over her lip and continued her story. “We waited to hear from Sarah and her friend, assuming that they’d pull over and wait the storm out until the next day.” She pursed her lips, forced the emotion down her throat, and tried to smile. “But they didn’t.” Aimee gazed at the milk with its smooth white surface and imagined the scene over and over in her head as she tried to make sense of it. “Their car slid on a patch of black ice covered with a dusting of snow. There was a trucker coming the opposite way on the two-lane road. He wasn’t able to stop.”

  “God, Aimee. I’m so sorry.” He reached across the table and touched her hand. “What a nightmare for you and your family to live through.”

  She felt his calloused fingertips brush over her knuckles and found the courage to continue. “We received the presents they found in the trunk after the investigation was over. They thought we might want them.” Her mind captured the feeling of the moment she’d opened her gift and sobbed with the reality, again, that her sister was gone. She smiled at Wyatt through her watery gaze. “She got me the book The Road Less Traveled.”

  He didn’t speak, nor did she. For a few moments, the only sound was the constant tick of the kitchen clock and the lonely howl of the wind outside.

  “Aimee, I can’t change what happened. I do know firsthand that life isn’t always fair. But I’m sorry for your loss. I know how I’d feel if I lost one of my brothers. But, then, why are you here?” He shrugged. “To live out your sister’s dream?”

  Aimee blew out a breath. “Maybe.” She shrugged. “I guess I wanted to carry out her goal. Maybe part of me wants to be more like her—selfless, caring, thoughtful. I used to care only about how much I could make. Sarah taught me by example that there is more to life than money.”

  “She sounds like a remarkable and wise woman.”

  Aimee sniffled and nodded. “She was.”

  Wyatt stood and walked to the sink to rinse out his glass, his back turned to her. “And she has a remarkable and courageous sister.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’m glad your sister’s vision inspired you to come to End of the Line.”

  Aimee looked up, still processing his last comment. “Thank you.”

  There was an awkward pause before he spoke.

  “I was thinking, what about we take the kids out in the sleigh tomorrow to cut down a tree?” He leaned against the counter, seemingly comfortable in his half-dressed state. She wasn’t sure whether her thoughts of how great he looked were good or bad, but either way it was a salve to her weary soul. As much as Sally would caution against leaping in to fast, seeds of hope were being planted in her heart when it came to Wyatt. The only problem was she didn’t know if Wyatt felt any of the same things about her. She stood, building her courage as she
walked up to face him. “That’s an amazing idea.” Before she could stop herself, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. His shadowy beard was rough against her cheek and somewhere along the way, his arms slid gently around her waist. “Thank you, again, for going above the call of duty,” she whispered.

  He leaned back and met her gaze. He hadn’t let go. There was a tiny scar she hadn’t noticed on his brow, which gave greater character to his handsome face.

  “I should be the one thanking you.”

  The air stilled around them. Her heart beat like a stampede of thundering horses. She didn’t understand fully why he should want to thank her, but reason dissipated when his hungry gaze dropped to her mouth. She touched his face and he leaned forward, his eyes holding hers, his breath fluttering against her cheek. If she allowed this to happen, she had no idea what might come after. Her heart might get broken in a thousand shards. But if she stopped it, she’d lay awake the rest of the night wondering “what if.”

  She chose a good night’s rest.

  Aimee met him halfway. His lips, soft, barely brushed against hers, tasting, sampling, finding the perfect fit. He was gentle and slow, building a need so fierce she wanted to scream. His hands rested on her hips as his mouth captured hers, each kiss savored, growing longer, deeper until her bones were all but ash. Visions of making love with him intoxicated her, blurred her reason. She placed her palms on his chest and relished the feel of his hard muscles against her flesh. In a moment of blurred reality, she remembered her students at the other end of the house. Though she didn’t want to part from his glorious mouth, she reluctantly lowered her head and breathed deep. He pressed his lips against the top of her head and held her close. It took everything inside her to step from his embrace.

  “I can’t do this,” she said, unable to look at him. She moved back and her foot knocked a toy. It rebelled with a loud clang. She caught her balance with a squeak of surprise and felt silly, awkward. She pressed her palm to her forehead. “This isn’t how a teacher on a field trip should behave.”

  Wyatt caught her arm.

  “Behave? Because you’re a teacher, you aren’t supposed to think about…these things?”

  “These things?” She looked at him and smiled. “Oh yeah, I’ve thought about them, trust me. But need I remind you there are kids down the hall and lots of them, if you remember?”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” He smiled.

  “Stop. No more sexy smile.”

  “Sexy? Really?” His grin widened impishly.

  “Yes, that’s it. You do that, and it makes me want to kiss you, and before you know it, we’re kissing and any one of them could walk right in and catch us. What would they think?” She hoped to convince him, because so far it hadn’t worked too well on her end. Her lips burned to touch his again.

  “They’d probably think how mushy two grown-ups look when they’re kissing.” He grinned again and the effect of it curled her toes.

  “Mushy? Wyatt, I’m serious.”

  “Believe me, Aimee. So am I.” He reached over, flipped off the light switch, and plunged them into darkness. “No second grader I know would dare go into a dark room,” he stated quietly, drawing her to him. His mouth touched hers and she melted into him, no longer a teacher at the moment, but a woman with needs.

  Chapter Eleven

  She was warm, sweet, and responsive to him in a way Wyatt hadn’t expected. His fingers found the sash of the robe and gently pulled it free. He cupped her face and kissed her like he’d thought of doing a million times since the day in the parking lot. He pulled her close, lifted her into his arms, and set her on the countertop. She held his face, her kisses soft yet demanding more, driving his hunger. His fingers fumbled with unfastening the buttons of the flannel shirt she wore. She braced herself on her hands and allowed him to peel away the fabric.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, drawing his hand over her silky flesh. He cupped her soft breast, and she fit his palm with sweet perfection. After another fiery kiss, he trailed his lips over her skin, taking in her musky scent. Encouraged by her hand holding his head in place, he helped himself, closing his mouth over her rigid tip, teasing until she forced his head up to look at her.

  “Wyatt.” She breathed his name.

  He wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and carry her to bed, but he knew that was impossible under the circumstances. Instead, he relished her passionate kisses and slipped his hands between her thighs. He pressed his fingers to her warm, wet flesh. She squirmed at his touch. Her mouth dropped open with a soft sigh.

  He swallowed hard and reminded himself that the kitchen counter, surrounded by a houseful of kids, was not how he wanted their first time to be.

  “Oh God,” she whispered. “No, no…I can’t. Not here.”

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him to her in an explosive kiss that nearly burst Wyatt from the confines of his jeans. He cupped her face and was angling to deepen the next kiss when she pulled away.

  “I have an idea.” She straightened and held her hands against his chest. He heard her heavy breathing.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a couple of my own.” He reached for her again.

  She leaned over and turned on the light, temporarily blinding him.

  “I can see we are not on the same page.” He sighed deeply and licked his lips. Her taste lingered on his mouth. She pulled her clothes together, hastily refastening the buttons he’d worked so hard to undo, and tugged the robe up around her shoulders. Only then did she look at him.

  Wyatt rested his hands on either side of her, debating whether to stay or go jump in a snowdrift. He glanced up, eyeing her.

  “I was just thinking.”

  “Me, too.”

  “About Christmas morning.”

  “Hmm, that’s not what I was thinking about.” She put another knot in her robe tie and looked down at him as if to say playtime was over. Snowdrift, it is. “What were you thinking?”

  “I have some candy canes in my book bag. I was going to give them out as treats at school. What would you think about using their shoes like stockings? I think they still fill shoes in Europe—Norway or someplace.”

  He winced. “Maybe I can find some clean socks, instead.” His mind was stuck on his libido, and he marveled how she could switch gears so effortlessly. Given the circumstances, it was probably better he redirect his brain anyway. But as far as he was concerned, what they’d started tonight wasn’t over by a long shot. He had tasted bliss and he thirsted for more. Once those kids were out of his house and safely back in theirs, he intended to show her how good they could be. He lifted her from the counter, careful not to keep his hands on her too long.

  “You’ll have to add a penny and an orange to each one. That’s a Kinnison tradition. I think I have those items covered.” He began to see the idea, but had reservations. “It’s a little old-fashioned. Do you think they’ll go for it?”

  The look on her face seemed far away when she smiled. “I think so. Especially after we have a tree and make some ornaments.”

  He reached out and tapped the end of her nose. “You’re really good at this teacher thing.” And probably as good, if not better, in bed. He smiled at his thought.

  Her gaze turned then to his, and he was struck by the blatant love he saw shining in them. Had what happened between them inspired that, or was she simply thinking of making her students happy?

  “It’s about moments, Wyatt,” she said, “and the possibility of future ones. We plant seeds—all of us. Teachers…parents…and the best notions will hopefully take root and with any luck become future moments.

  His brain took an about-face. Those words sounded vaguely familiar. Was she the naive A & W from class? It dawned on him that she could be the one he’d gone into a literary battle with over potential and possibility. Wyatt waded cautiously deeper. “You’re not by some chance…Hopeless—er—Hopeful Visionary, are you?”

  She eyed him. “Excuse me
? Hopeless?” Her brow shot up to hide under her spiky, blond bangs.

  “That’s crazy.” He laughed.

  “Yeah, and I never made any presumptions about some poet-cowboy named Montana, either.”

  “So you suspected I was Montana?” The thought intrigued him.

  “Yep, I pretty much had decided it was you after that day in the drugstore.”

  “Uh-huh.” He eyed her. “But you never made any judgments about my personality, based on my posts?”

  She walked to the table, pulled the box of toys toward her, and sifted through them. She reached inside and placed each scuffed up toy on the table, purposely avoiding eye contact. “Well, nothing quite as colorful as Hopeless.”

  Wyatt felt a decided chill in the air.

  “We should get these cleaned up, don’t you think?” She searched around her and found a dishtowel. He watched her move around the kitchen. The connection he’d found earlier had faded. Not just on a physical level, though he knew they’d be insanely good together, but beyond that. It had been a long time since he’d felt safe around anyone. “Aimee, about the class—I didn’t understand, but I do now.” He wanted her to say something. Dispense absolution for his critical judgment in calling her “hopeless.”

  “Are you sure you won’t mind giving these up? Some of them could be worth a lot,” she stated, busy with polishing the old John Deere toy tractor.

  Unsure how he could recapture the warmth between them, he shrugged. “I don’t have any kids to pass them down to.” The twinge of anger he felt was directed inward. He’d gone too far, but hadn’t she encouraged him? Damn. Women could be confusing.

  She didn’t look up. “Oh, you’re plenty young enough yet to have kids if you want them, as far as that’s concerned.” She stopped suddenly and made a face. “I guess maybe that was a little too personal, huh?”

  His chest eased a little. Maybe she wasn’t as put off by his careless comment as he thought, but the thought of having kids? He’d long ago decided against the idea, given he’d never found someone he trusted enough to even contemplate the notion. Aimee, however, in a short time, had caused him to reevaluate a few things. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and was still able to taste her on his lips. Maybe it was best to give this thing between them some time, to let things progress naturally instead of being in a rush. He’d been burned once before by traipsing after his emotions instead of using his head. But he wanted somehow to let her know his perception of her had changed. He liked her and he liked who he was when he was around her. “Aimee.” He touched her shoulder. “For the record, I don’t think you’re hopeless.”