Rugged Hearts

by Amanda McIntyre

  “Wyatt!” She tried to scramble to her feet.

  A hand reached out and yanked at her. He stood in front of her. “Are you okay?” He held her at arm’s length, his gaze searching hers.

  “Me? Are you okay?” She pressed her face into his coat and held him tight, dazed by the incessant ringing in her ears. By then the kids danced around them, chattering excitedly about the fact their teacher had taken on a mountain lion.

  Principal Kale was going to have a heart attack. “Did I kill it?” she asked finally looking up at Wyatt.

  “You scared it off. Jesus, Aimee.” He pulled her against him and she clung to him as though he were a life jacket.

  “That was the most scared I have ever been.” She gripped his collar with both hands. “Maybe you should consider an artificial tree?”

  His laughter rekindled the commotion around them.

  “You should have seen him run, Ms. Worth!” Joey yelled. “Wait ’til I tell my dad about this!”

  Aimee patted the boy’s shoulder. “Maybe you should allow me to explain this to him, Joseph.”

  “Were you scared, Mr. Kinnison?” Emilee asked.

  “Yes, Emilee, I was.” He hugged Aimee with one arm. “But Ms. Worth kept her head about her and saved my life.”

  Aimee frowned at him, but the kids ate it up like school spaghetti.

  “It looked bigger than Sadie,” another child exclaimed.

  Wyatt took off one glove and placed his fingers between his lips, releasing a shrill whistle, effective in silencing the chaotic herd.

  “I could use that move. Can you teach it to me?” she asked with a grin.

  “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one day. What do you say we get our tree and head back home.” His gaze darted to hers. “Um, get back to the ranch.” But she’d already caught the slip. These kids were getting to him, she thought. Little by little, they had chiseled away the hardened exterior to reveal a man, who like everyone, had a heart in need of love.

  It took little time to cut the tree down. Wyatt purposely made the kids help drag it to the sleigh where they tied it to the back. Aimee watched, delighted to have the ordeal of the mountain lion behind her. She loved the outdoors, but today had taught her that out here, where man and wild animals shared the terrain, she had to be respectful of the territory. While Wyatt finished off the ties on the tree, Aimee began to lift each child back in to the sleigh. A few moments later, Wyatt, with a smile on his handsome face, stood at her side ready to head back. She helped Joey into the sleigh and guided him into his seat. She glanced at Wyatt. “Wasn’t Rory back there with you?” She checked around her and did a quick scan of faces.

  No Rory.

  Wyatt walked to the back and shook his head, then walked clear around the sleigh. His face was grave as he looked up at Aimee and shook his head.

  “Ms. Worth?” A young girl’s hand shot into the air.

  “Yes, Darcy?”

  “My mom said it’s not polite to tattle on others.”

  Aimee’s heart halted and she shot a look to Wyatt. “It’s okay though if you think someone might get hurt if you don’t tell what you know.”

  Darcy appeared to contemplate Aimee’s reasoning, then stood in her seat and pointed to where they’d taken down the tree. “I saw Rory chase a rabbit over there. I called to him but he kept on going. I thought he’d come right back, so I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry.”

  Aimee leaned over and squeezed the young girl’s hand. “It’s okay, sweetie; we’ll find him.” She scanned the faces of the brood in front of her. “It’s very important we all stay here, together. Understood?” Wyatt reappeared with his rifle.

  “You stay here with the kids. He couldn’t have gotten far. I’ll follow his tracks.” He met her gaze and she knew they were both thinking of the mountain lion. Aimee nodded, but her thoughts were honed in on the dangers to a young boy in the woods. She shut her eyes and forced the negative vibes aside. If anyone could find him, Wyatt could. She looked at the man she’d had to rely on more times than she could count in the last two days. “Be careful.” He touched her shoulder.

  “It’s going to be fine. Stay here. I’ll fire a shot when I’ve found him, okay?”

  She nodded and watched him return to the fresh tree stump, then make a beeline toward the dense woods. Once more, the clouds pressed together and cast the landscape in a shadowy gray. A fine mist of light snow began to fall. Aimee checked the children and tucked them under the blankets. Once they were settled, she climbed up into the seat, her hands clasped tight as she listened for his signal.

  Chapter Twelve

  The little turd. Wyatt followed the shallow footprints over fallen logs and around trees. He half expected to find Rory stuck headfirst in a rabbit hole. When he found this kid, after he checked him over to make sure he wasn’t hurt, he was liable to give him a sound, verbal lashing for not listening to his teacher. To his advantage, against the stark white palette, it was much easier to see bright patches of color or sudden movements.

  His quest came to an abrupt halt when he heard the faintest sound of a child’s scream. Wyatt pressed forward toward the sound and realized this far into the deep woods, sound could be deceptive. He trudged farther in and scanned the area in search of Rory’s blue-and-Vegas gold Billings Bulls jacket. He walked forever, it seemed, and by virtue of the change in terrain, he realized that he was near the foothills. He tried not to entertain the possibility they might need a helicopter to look for the boy, but even so, until the snow let up, they wouldn’t send a chopper out. Wyatt looked up and saw giant flakes falling through where the branches hadn’t reached out and snagged them. “Rory!” He hooked his hand near his mouth and called to the boy. His voice echoed in the eerie silence.

  He pressed forward. Jesus. The tyke must have run clean through the woods. He didn’t entertain whether it was because he was chasing something, or if he was being chased. “Rory!” he called again. He heard the scream again. This time it was closer and laced with fear. “I’m coming, Rory. Where are—” Wyatt skidded to a halt and saw why. Rory had managed to squeeze inside a hollow log. From where he stood, Wyatt determined the boy was wedged in the center of the log, maybe a foot or more from the openings at either end. Pacing from one side to the other, the mountain lion searched for a way to get at his next meal. “Not today,” Wyatt whispered, bringing the gun to his shoulder. He didn’t kill for sport. Too many of Michael Greyfeather’s teachings were ingrained in him. This was about survival.

  “Don’t move a muscle, Rory,” he said so the boy could hear him. Wyatt took careful aim. He couldn’t…wouldn’t…miss this chance. “Hey!” The sound of his voice caught the mountain lion’s attention and as hoped, the cat’s curiosity was his downfall. He raised his head and looked straight at Wyatt. He pulled the trigger and in the next instant, the creature fell with a single shot to the head. Wyatt heard Rory’s muffled sob.

  “Are you okay in there, Rory?” Wyatt moved cautiously toward the big cat. When satisfied there was no danger, he flipped the safety and lay the gun on the ground. He kneeled down and peered inside the log. “You can come out now, Rory. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you.”

  “Are you sure you killed it?” a small, scared Rory asked from inside the hollowed tree.

  “Yes. Can you crawl out toward the sound of my voice?” Wyatt hadn’t considered the fact the boy could be stuck. “Can you move, Rory? Ms. Worth and the other kids are waiting.”

  “I don’t want to get in trouble,” he responded.

  Wyatt sighed quietly, glanced to the heavens, and remembered one of the reasons he had trouble with small children. “But you don’t want to freeze to death, either, right? And if you stay out here tonight, that’s exactly what will happen.” He scanned the woods and waited for the boy to make up his mind. “Pick your poison, Rory. Get scolded by Ms. Worth or freeze to death in that log.” He figured the kid was smart.

  A small face peered up at Wyatt from the end of the l
og. He pushed his glasses up his nose. Wyatt realized his methods of persuasion might have been a little rough, but in the end, it got the job done.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  Wyatt got to his feet, grabbed his gun, and reached down to help the boy out of the log. He helped him brush off his coat. “Let’s just say I’m not real happy. This could have turned out much worse for you, pal.” He clamped his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You need to learn to think before you take off next time.”

  “Yes, sir.” He trudged beside Wyatt and looked over his shoulder where the mountain lion lay. “What will happen to him?” He swiped his dirty coat sleeve under his nose.

  He looked down at the child and back at the big cat. “His spirit will enter into those who will use the meat for food. In a way, he will live through them.”

  The boy’s face crinkled. “You’re making that up.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “That’s an ancient Indian belief and I feel it’s true.”

  “But you’re not an Indian.” He gave Wyatt a quizzical look.

  Wyatt rested his gun on his shoulder and realized the questions weren’t going to end and eventually he’d end up having to admit to this kid that he’d never met his real dad. It wasn’t a discussion he wanted to have. “Let’s get moving. It’s starting to snow again.” He led the way through the woods, anxious to get him back to his teacher, who could take over the questions.

  “Mr. Kinnison?” Rory asked as they walked.

  “Yes, Rory?” Wyatt refrained from sighing.

  “Was that you in the Santa suit with Ms. Worth?”

  Busted. He tried to remember at what age he stopped believing is such things as the tooth fairy, the man in the moon, the jolly old man in the red suit, and his mother. He realized he couldn’t have been too much older than Rory, a few years maybe, when his childhood spirit was shattered one fateful Christmas morning. He contemplated carefully how best to answer and figured the truth was only thing good enough for a guy like Rory. “Rory, I’m going to share with you something I’ve only told one other soul.”

  “What’s a soul?”

  “Never mind. This is something I’ve never told anyone else.”

  “Oh.” He blinked in curious wonder, his eyes large through those goofy lenses.

  “I am the son of Santa Claus.”

  Rory stopped and faced him, his expression clearly skeptical.

  Wyatt nodded. “It’s true. My dad was Santa. You can ask anyone in town and they’ll confirm it.”

  “Even Ms. Worth?” He narrowed his gaze.

  “Especially Ms. Worth. Who, by the way is sworn to secrecy, as you too, must be.” He had a feeling that the kid wasn’t buying it.

  “But I thought Santa lived at the North Pole.”

  “Yeah, but he has to make a living somehow the rest of the year, doesn’t he?”

  Rory eyed him a moment more and then nodded. “Okay, but did you really mean it when you said the thing about finding coal?”

  Wyatt continued to walk. “Oh yeah, definitely.”

  It was a few moments before the boy spoke up. “I suppose that’s what I’ll get now.” He spoke with dejection in his voice.

  “Tell you what. How about you keep what I’ve told you between us, man to man, and I’ll see what I can do about the coal thing in your stocking.”

  His eyes lit up with a smile. “Deal!” He stuck out his grubby hand and Wyatt shook it. The kid had a good business head for his age. He’d have to fill in Aimee later. It dawned on him as they walked he’d never before thought of sharing bits of his day with anyone but his brothers or Sadie.

  Aimee dropped to the ground as they appeared in the clearing and ran as fast as she was able, stumbling through the snow. She grabbed Rory in a fierce hug. Wyatt looked down on the scene and realized how much this woman loved these kids and they weren’t even hers.

  “You had me so worried, young man. When we get back, you and I are going to have a serious talk, do you understand?”

  Rory looked up at Wyatt, his expression one of resignation.

  Wyatt shrugged and tossed the boy a smile before he headed to the sleigh. It had been one hell of a strange day.

  ***

  Wyatt glanced at the woman seated beside him. She was a petite little package of courage under fire, the type that would adapt well to living in a remote mountain ranch. The unexpected thought surprised him. She was far different from him in many ways and yet in others, he felt like he’d known her all of his life. At that moment, she seemed lost in her own thoughts. “Are you okay?” He nudged her lightly with his shoulder. The snow fell in a soft white curtain. On the horizon, he saw the roof of the ranch and as always, the horses picked up their gait, aware that a warm stall and a bucket of oats weren’t far off.

  “You could have been killed.” Her blue eyes locked into his, her expression solemn.

  “But I wasn’t, thanks to you,” he assured her.

  Aimee nodded and lightly touched his leg. She jerked her hand back, and turned her glove over to show him. “There’s blood on your leg.”

  He looked down, unaware until then of the slice in the fabric. The big cat’s claws must have done it during their scuffle. It was so cold and his mind so preoccupied that he hadn’t noticed.

  “Here.” He handed Aimee the reins. She looked at him with an uncertain gaze. “Really? By comparison, to what else you’ve done today, this is nothing. Besides, the horses will lead you right to the barn.”

  She accepted the reins, but her gaze darted to his leg. “Is it bad?”

  Wyatt tugged off a glove with his teeth and stuffed it in his pocket. He peeled back the denim to assess the wound. “Nah. Just a bad scratch. Doubt it’ll even need stitches. We’ll take a look at it when we get home.”

  “We’ll?”

  She glanced at the gash, an ornery smile forming on her lips. “You’re sure about those stitches? I’m pretty good at embroidery.” Her gaze showed humor, but it didn’t hide her true concern. She was easy to talk to and Wyatt mused for a moment how many topics they’d covered in the last twenty-four hours.

  “I’ll be fine, Ms. Worth.” He placed the emphasis on her name.

  She smiled.

  Wyatt reached up and lifted the edge of her stocking hat to reveal the purplish-blue bruise forming on her forehead. To his immense relief, the swelling hadn’t been as severe as he thought it might be. “How’s your head?” He purposely turned the tables back to her injury.

  She reached up and touched it gingerly. “I almost forget it’s there until I brush my hand through my hair.” She gave him a sheepish grin.

  “You do that when you’re nervous, I’ve noticed,” he countered, and allowed her to continue to guide the sleigh across the yard.

  She shot him a look. “We’ll pick up this conversation later. I have some questions about what happened out there today.”

  Wyatt climbed down and held his hand up to help her. For a moment, they stood toe to toe.

  “I was afraid you’d be hurt if I didn’t do something. I’m terrible at paintball, really.”

  With the children clamoring to get out of the sleigh he couldn’t kiss her like he wanted to. “Now you know how I felt when I came upon you and the kids in the accident.”

  Her gaze softened. There was something there between them, a chemistry that transcended the physical, though he couldn’t deny his burning need for her all the same. Life had thrown them together unexpectedly, and the past few hours had challenged them to rely on each other for their very lives. Most people never encountered such experiences in a lifetime together. “I’ll take care of the horses,” he said as he scooped the students from the sleigh. “You get these guys in where it’s warm. There’s soup in the freezer if you’d want to start some on the stove.”

  He watched her shepherd them into the house and followed with the tree. He left it on the porch to get it out of the weather and then guided the team to the barn, where he unhitched the sleigh and pampered
the team with a good brushing and fresh oats. Lady and Scout nickered softly, and he awarded an extra scoop of oats to the two of them as well. “Merry Christmas,” he said quietly and closed the barn door. It occurred to him, as he slipped the latch in place, that he hadn’t heard from Dalton or Rein. In all the ruckus of his unexpected guests and a newly discovered lust for Aimee, he’d nearly forgotten about them. He made a mental note to give them a call and see how things were. His nose caught the scent of burning wood first and he looked up to see smoke curling from the chimney and smiled. As he approached the front of the house, he looked through the window and saw some of the kids playing with Sadie. An odd feeling washed over him. He glanced up and on the roof and there, as calm as you please, sat a great white owl, its unblinking gaze set on Wyatt. He stopped and regarded the bird in anticipation of it taking flight once seen, yet it sat there unmoving.

  “Another storm?” He spoke to the bird, who blinked once and didn’t flutter a feather. Wyatt had the weirdest notion the bird knew him.

  The front door opened and he saw Aimee’s silhouette against the warm light inside. “I saw you out here from the window. Who are you talking to?” She came to the edge of the steps, hugging herself from the cold. “Is there something wrong up on the roof?”

  Wyatt shook his head and tromped up the steps. If the damn bird had nowhere else to go, he was welcome to stay. “Just an owl.” He grabbed the tree and tapped it a few times to get rid of the residual snow from its branches.

  “Sally told me something about an ancient American Indian belief—”

  The owl hooted and took flight.

  “Superstition,” he muttered, turning Aimee toward the door.

  ***

  Aimee glanced over her shoulder as Wyatt emerged from the hallway, freshly showered and looking sinful in a soft flannel shirt and a pair of gray sweat pants. His dark hair, damp and tousled from a haphazard drying, and his unshaven beard made him look even more sexy, if that were possible. His gaze turned to hers and he smiled.