Wicked Hearts (Poplar Falls Book 3)

by Amber Kelly

  Walker

  Elle isn’t at supper. When I ask Pop where she is, he says he saw her leaving with Dr. Haralson.

  Just friends. Right.

  Good. He’s exactly the kind of man she needs. Maybe whatever that was between us this weekend was just intoxication-induced and nothing more.

  Ria and Doreen made a great meal for us, but I barely taste a thing as I scarf down my plate, completely lost in my head.

  “Are you all right, Walker?” Ria asks from her seat beside me.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” I answer.

  She nods. “We all reach a crossroad at some point in our life,” she says cryptically.

  “A crossroad?”

  “A place where we have to decide if we are to stay in the same holding pattern we’ve been in or if we are going to step out on faith and grab hold to the more that is possible,” she explains.

  “I think you have me confused with someone else, Ria. I’m content with my life. It’s nothing but a good time.” I wink at her.

  She smiles a knowing smile. “You’re not an island, Walker Reid.”

  Sophie clears her throat and speaks, “So, we have some news. You guys are going to be great-aunts come summer.”

  That takes Ria’s attention right off of me. She and Madeline and Doreen are immediately swept up in an emotional tornado. Thank goodness.

  Silas shows up after supper, and he, Brax, and I get the trailers unhitched and stored in the equipment barn. Once everything is secured, we head home for the night.

  We walk out to the drive and find Emmett sitting in the rocker. He’s dressed nice, and he has a content smile on his face.

  “Hey, what are you doing, sitting out here, all gussied up?” I ask.

  “Waiting on a woman,” he answers with a grin.

  “That makes sense. I don’t know why in the world it takes Chloe so long to get ready. It’s just clothes. Pick something, and let’s go.”

  Emmett cuts his eyes to Silas. “Son, a man will spend darn near half his life, waiting on a woman for one reason or another, if he’s lucky. She’ll fiddle with her hair and try on every dress until she finds the one that makes her feel prettiest. She’ll put on lip gloss and perfume and senseless shoes. All because she wants to look her best for you. So you can be proud to have her on your arm. But it’s not really for us. We love ’em just the way they are. It’s for them, so they feel good about themselves. Hence, I don’t mind waiting one bit. Complaining just upsets her. Telling her you don’t like or need her effort just hurts her feelings. Therefore, you learn to be patient. Tell her she is beautiful when she walks out of the door and enjoy her smile when you admit to her that the wait was worth it. Because, in the end, it is,” he says, dispensing his wisdom.

  “How’d you get so wise, old man?” I ask.

  He takes a deep breath. “You live long enough, and you realize what matters and what doesn’t and when to pick your battles, son. The way I see it, better to be waiting on a woman than not,” he says with a grin.

  “On that note, I’m out of here. I got a woman waiting on me,” Silas says before heading to his truck.

  “What about you, son?” Emmett asks me.

  “I think I’m going to stop for a couple of beers on the way home. Who knows? Maybe there’s a woman waiting on me too,” I say.

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “Have fun.”

  I get in my truck and head to Butch’s. It’s been a strange couple of days. It’s high time for me to get back into my regular routine of debauchery.

  Elle

  “You want another ginger ale, Elle?” Butch asks as he wipes down the bar.

  I look at the clock above the bar and sigh. “It’s getting late. I should probably call home for a ride,” I tell him.

  “I could take you home. If you don’t mind the back of a Harley,” Neal offers.

  We’ve been chatting for a couple hours now, and I’ve counted five Jack and Cokes in his hand so far.

  “It’s freezing outside, and you rode a motorcycle here?”

  He shrugs. “I ride my motorcycle everywhere. I have leathers,” he replies.

  The door opens, and Butch calls out a greeting, “Walker! Good to see you, man. Where the hell were you all weekend?”

  I turn in my stool to see Walker walking up to the bar. He stops when he sees me sitting there with Neal.

  He looks me over and then cuts his eyes to Butch. “Working. Can I get a beer? Whatever you have on draft tonight is fine.”

  He walks to the opposite end of the bar and takes a seat. Not even bothering to say hello to me.

  Whatever. It seems it’s everyone be pissed at Elle night.

  “So, how about that ride?” Neal brings my attention back to our conversation.

  “Thanks, but I have to pass. I don’t have any leathers,” I answer.

  He leans in close and throws his arm over the back of my stool. “Don’t worry. I can keep you warm,” he whispers in my ear.

  I scoot back a little. “I appreciate it, but I still think I’ll call my aunt.”

  “Okay, maybe you and I can get together again before I head home,” he says.

  “How long are you in town?” I ask out of politeness. I have no intention of going out with him.

  Before he can say anything further, Walker is standing behind us.

  “Shit, Walker Reid, it’s been a while,” Neal says as he looks over his shoulder. Walker ignores his greeting.

  “Elle, sweetheart, where is your date?” he asks as he stares down at Neal.

  I exhale. I’m actually relieved he decided to come over, but I’m confused by his question.

  “My date? Huh?”

  He cuts his eyes to me. “Yeah, your date.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. I think he misreads the look on my face because his next question is more of an accusation.

  “How much have you had to drink tonight? Are you planning to make a habit of getting wasted in shitholes now?”

  What is his problem?

  Neal places his hand on my thigh and looks at Walker and grins. “Look, man. The lady and I are having a conversation if you don’t mind.”

  “Conversation is over,” Walker bites out.

  “I didn’t hear her say that it was over.”

  “Elle, stand up. We’re leaving,” Walker demands.

  “We are?” I ask.

  Walker ignores my question and calls to Butch, “Butch, add whatever she owes you to my bill and run my card. I’ll come back later for it.”

  “You got it, Walk,” Butch replies as he looks nervously between the two of them.

  Walker grabs the back of my stool and pulls it out and away from the bar and Neal.

  “Hey,” I protest.

  “I don’t think she wants to leave with you,” Neal says as he stands and advances on Walker.

  “No,” I shout as I step in front of Walker and hold my hand up to halt Neal’s progress. “It’s okay. Walker and my brother are good friends, and he can give me a ride home,” I say, trying to defuse the situation.

  Neal’s face turns red.

  I turn to Walker. “Relax,” I say.

  “We got a problem, fellas?” Butch’s voice booms.

  Neal looks up to see he has come from behind the bar to stand with Walker.

  He takes a step back and puts his hands in the air, surrendering. “No problem at all. I’ll just pay for my drinks and be on my way.”

  “I’m sorry for the trouble,” I apologize to Neal.

  “No worries, baby. Come find me this week,” he says before taking his last sip and slapping his card on the bar.

  Walker growls. Yes, growls.

  Butch hurries back behind the bar to close out Neal’s tab.

  Walker clutches my bicep and pulls me toward the door like I’m a toddler.

  Between him and Sonia tonight, I have had enough.

  I jerk loose from him and stomp to the passenger side of his t
ruck. He clicks the locks open, and I jump up.

  I’m ready for a fight.

  Let’s do this.

  Walker

  I climb in the truck after her. I don’t know what the hell she was doing in there with that fucker, and I’m so damn mad that I want to punch something.

  “I wasn’t ready to leave yet,” she complains as I pull out of the parking lot.

  “This isn’t the place for you. Especially in your condition,” I tell her.

  “What condition is that?”

  “You’re obviously drunk. Why else would you be talking to that piece of shit?”

  “Jeez, Dad, lighten up,” she retorts.

  That’s the first time I have ever been accused of acting like someone’s father. Great, I’m turning into Braxton.

  “What’s the matter, Elle? Did the good doctor do something to piss you off, so you decided to go slumming?”

  She shifts her angry eyes to me. “What did you just say?”

  “That’s what it looked like to me. You were letting that drunken asshole, Neal whatever his name is, put his hands on you. Not something I would expect from you.”

  “Go to hell, Walker!” She grabs the door handle just as I come to a stop at the top of the road. Then, she hops out and starts stomping off down the gravel road in the pitch-black.

  What in the hell does she think she is doing?

  I hit the gas and pull up beside her as I roll down the window.

  “Elle, get back in the truck,” I reprimand.

  She picks up the pace as she folds her arms over her chest and looks at the ground instead of looking at me.

  “Elle, get in the damn truck,” I say as I slowly roll beside her.

  The wind starts to pick up, and I know she has to be freezing, but she still refuses to acknowledge me.

  “I mean it, woman. Get back in the truck, or I’m going to be forced to put you back in it.”

  That gets her attention. Her head flies up, and she glares at me as she keeps walking.

  “I can get myself home. I don’t want to be anywhere near you right now,” she spits out.

  She is insane if she thinks I’m letting her walk home in the middle of the night in this freezing temperature.

  “You’ve been drinking, it’s twenty degrees out, and it’s the middle of the damn night. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you walk all the way back to Rustic Peak. Braxton would wring my neck,” I tell her.

  “For your information, I haven’t had a drop of alcohol tonight. Not that it’s any of your business. I’m a grown woman, and I can do whatever I want. You and Braxton can both kiss my ass,” she yells as she keeps moving forward.

  The ranch is about five miles ahead. Shit. I guess I’ll have to tail the stubborn woman until she gives in.

  “Fine. I’ll just follow you to make sure you get there safely,” I say, and my voice conveys how ridiculous I think she is.

  She doesn’t respond to my declaration and just keeps walking as I tail behind her at a snail’s pace.

  She lasts longer than I expected. An hour and a half later, and the frustrating woman has made it over two of the five miles before her frozen legs can go no farther. When I see her struggling to stay upright, I have had enough.

  I throw the truck in park and jump out. I stomp up to her as she slows.

  Her back is still to me as I start shouting, “Are you about done?”

  I hear a soft sputter as I reach her and walk around to face her.

  She is shaking from head to toe, and I see tiny ice reflections around her eyes where she’s been crying and her tears are crystallizing on her eyelashes.

  “Geezus, woman,” I say as I wrap an arm around her waist and bend and scoop her legs into my arms.

  She doesn’t fight as I quickly carry her back to the truck, which is idling a few feet away. I pull open the passenger door and set her in the seat. I reach in and hit the button to crank the heater up to its max, and then I take one of her hands and start rubbing it between both of mine to warm it up. Then, I switch to the next one.

  She lets me do what I can to get her body temperature up, and she doesn’t object or try to stop me.

  Once I have the cab steaming hot, I shut her in, round the hood, and jump back into the driver’s seat. I slam the truck into drive and pull a U-turn in the middle of the road.

  “What are you doing?” she stutters. Her cheeks are red, and her breathing is ragged.

  I should take her home but every instinct in me wants to get her back to my house and make sure she is okay. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. I hate I hurt her and caused her tears, but seeing her sitting there with that slimy jerk from high school caused me to lose my cool. Again.

  “Taking you home with me,” I answer, and she doesn’t protest.

  She just sinks back into the leather seat and closes her eyes.

  I pull up to the shack and turn off the engine. I look over at Elle. She is huddled in a ball against the door.

  Damn me and my big mouth.

  “Elle, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you fired up like that. I was just being—”

  “An ass,” she finishes my sentence.

  “Myself,” I correct her, and she cuts her eyes to me.

  No humor in her expression, just hurt.

  I sigh and get out of the truck. I walk to the passenger side, open her door, and stand there, looking at her.

  “I am sorry, sweetheart,” I tell her sincerely.

  She shrugs and pushes up from the seat and lets me help her out.

  “I’ve never been here before,” she says as she looks at the front of the shack and takes a step forward.

  I don’t say anything as she takes it in. Then, she glances back at me expectantly.

  “Not many people have. It’s not much to see,” I say as I walk past her and up the steps to unlock the door.

  My Bluetick Coonhound greets us as soon as the door creaks open.

  I reach down and scratch behind his ear. “Hey, buddy,” I say as I move him out of the way.

  She follows me in, and I flick on the light to illuminate the room. It’s about eight hundred square feet. It has a large stone fireplace in the far-left corner of the room with a wide, well-worn couch in front of it and a round barrel table. A thick bearskin rug covers the floor in front of the fire. There is a large flat-screen television hanging above the fireplace. Tucked in the opposite corner to the left is a queen-size bed covered with a quilt Momma made for me and a nightstand with a bronze lamp. There is an old barn-wood armoire against the front wall, which holds my small collection of jeans, thermals, tees, socks, and boots.

  To the right, the granite island, which holds the sink, separates the small kitchen from the living area, and the door beside it leads to the bathroom with the good-sized stone shower.

  She walks and takes a look in at the toilet, and then she spins to face me. “Why do you call this the shack? It’s nice, small but clean and pretty—in a masculine way, of course. It reminds me more of a mountain fishing cabin than a shack,” she says.

  “It was an old miner’s shack back when my granddad purchased it. He added the island and the cabinets for my grandmother, and he built the chimney on the back and upgraded the old wood stove to a fireplace for her. I helped him carve that mantel when I was young. I pulled the carpet up when he died and laid the hardwood floor.”

  “It’s amazing. So quaint and cozy. I love it,” she says.

  I like having her here and showing her my space.

  She walks over to the couch and sits and pulls her boots off. Then, she folds her legs up under herself.

  My dog follows her and jumps up beside her.

  “What is your name?” she coos at the dog as she pets him.

  “His name is Woof,” I say as I walk to the kitchen.

  She looks over the back of the couch at me with a confused expression. “You named your dog Wolf?” she asks.

  “No, I named him Wo
of, as in woof, woof.” I imitate a dog barking.

  Woof stands up and looks over the back of the couch at me and lets out two deep, drawn-out woofs.

  She laughs.

  “See,” I say and shrug.

  “Very apropos,” she says as she scratches his ears, and he plops down at her side.

  I pull two beers from the fridge and open them as I walk in and sit beside her. I hand her one of the bottles. She takes it and brings it to her lips.

  “Am I forgiven?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer, but she nods her head as she drinks.

  “Do you want me to take you home now?”

  Again, no spoken answer, but she shakes her head.

  Shit.

  “I’ll build a fire,” I say as I set my bottle on the table.

  She leans over and grabs my wrist as I stand.

  I look down at her, and her big brown eyes are searching mine.

  I bend and place my lips to hers. She parts hers slightly, and I gently swipe my tongue against hers. She comes up on her knees and leans into the kiss. I bring my hands to the sides of her face and kiss her more deeply. Then, I pull away.

  She is breathing hard as I stand fully.

  “I’m going to build us a fire. I’ll be right back.”

  She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and then she says a soft, “Okay.”

  I grab the canvas tote from the floor beside the couch and walk out the back door to the covered wood pile. As I stack logs, I have an internal battle.

  I should take her home. I should take her home right the fuck now. But I’m not going to because I want to kiss her again. I want to kiss the hell out of her.

  But it’s Elle. I shouldn’t.

  I carry the wood in, and she watches me as I get the fire started. I stoke it until the flames are crackling and emitting warmth. Then, I join her on the couch again. I dig the remote from between the cushions, and I click the television on.

  Elle snatches the wool blanket that’s draped across the back of the couch. She scoots closer to me, snuggles into my side, and pulls the cover over us both.

  I thread my fingers into her hair and hold her against me. I like the feel of her body curled into mine. I’m surrounded by the smell of strawberries, and my body reacts, but I don’t. I just hold her.