“That’s fine. I don’t exactly have the husband-catching net or hook or whatever equipment it takes to snag a guy.”
Oh yes, she did. At least for him. She’d never even had to try, but she’d had him hooked almost since the first time he’d seen her. “I think the way to a man’s heart is supposed to be through his stomach.”
“Well, my doctorate’s in nutrition. That should give me an edge.”
“Or not,” Wyatt said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she hissed. Luckily, the hornets had started to dissipate.
“There’s the way you got your nickname.”
“Those pickles were good.”
“I’d hope so. You gave a jar of pickles to everyone for Christmas. And when I say everyone, I mean you were passing them out on the street. The grocery store stocker, the preschool janitor, complete strangers. It was my first Christmas with you all, and I’d never met anyone who gifted people with pickles.”
Harper huffed. “That year our cucumbers produced like rabbits on fertility drugs. What was I supposed to do? Let them go to waste?”
“Might have thought about it.”
“Ha. My Scotch-Irish ancestors come back from the grave and cut the toes off little girls who waste things.”
Wyatt adjusted Harper closer to him. Her shivering had him worried. “And you stopped believing that story when you stopped believing in Santa Claus.”
“My mom didn’t do Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, but I know all about ancestors with knives.” Harper smiled playfully and Wyatt’s gaze caressed the laugh lines around her eyes and the way her mouth crinkled up.
“Wow, and I thought I had a rough childhood.”
“Scarred me for life. That’s why I have to cook to get to a man’s heart.” Harper snuggled in closer.
“I think each successive degree diminished your cooking abilities. At this point you’d probably try to explain to your potential husband that steamed bugs raise your good cholesterol and improve overall heart health.”
Harper nodded. “They actually do.”
“Yep, Pickles. You need your teeth. The cooking ain’t gonna do it for ya.”
“Very funny, Wyatt. Plus, I don’t know why you’re trying to marry me off. You just lost your chance with Rayna and Sugar. You sent them off to Europe with that handsome Rex.”
They were connected on social media, so of course she knew who his travelling companions were going to be, although he didn’t think Harper had ever met Rayna or Sugar in person. “You think Rex is handsome?”
“If you’re into the whole chiseled jaw and sculpted muscle look.”
Wyatt rubbed his jaw. “So you dig me, huh?”
She snorted, which came out with a kind of grunty clack. “I thought it was the bee sting making your cheek swell. Now I realize it’s your ego leaking out of your brain. I’d get that checked if I were you.”
“You wound me.”
“You’re gorgeous, Wyatt. Everyone knows it. I don’t know why you’re fishing for a compliment from me. I’m just the bestie. I’d still think you were great even if you were as ugly as a tire fence.”
His chest heaved. Harper had called him gorgeous. He clamped his mouth shut over the words that wanted to come out—to return the compliment, tell her she was beautiful, that he’d hoped to take her to the Alps with him, that she was the only one he wanted with him as he commemorated his mother’s death. He tried to keep his reaction hidden, and said casually, “You think I’m great? Better than Rex?”
She nodded. “Even with your face swollen and pond scum stuck in your teeth.”
“I have pond scum in my teeth?” He really didn’t give a flip what he had in his teeth, but if it made Harper laugh, or eased her mind, he’d play along.
“Some kind of blackish-green goop. Makes you look a little like a swamp monster.”
“Man, if only I’d have known that thirty minutes go, I could have scared those hornets away by smiling at them.” He glanced between the willow branches toward the dissipating cloud of hornets.
“That’s great. I can’t wait to be warm again.”
“Here, let me up. I’ll get out on this side and see if they notice.”
“No,” she wailed playfully. “I don’t want to lose your heat.”
“A small sacrifice now will mean heat and warmth sooner.” He imitated her most scholarly tone, although he really didn’t want to let her go. But her chattering teeth concerned him.
“Would you stop being the voice of reason?” She shifted so he could straighten. “I’m not used to it coming from your lips.”
He tapped her nose then pointed to the hornets. “Watch for them to swarm us again. Be ready to duck under the water.”
“I’m ready.”
He gave her a last look, praying the hornets were gone and they could get out. Her lips were blue, her face pure white, and her shivering not as violent, which he knew was not a good sign.
He pushed through the water, dodging the willow and carefully pulling himself up out of the pond. He stood, then took a few steps to the side so he could see around the tree.
No hornets.
He turned back. Harper was already pulling herself out of the water. He bent to help.
Harper reached for Wyatt’s offered hand. She was shivering so hard, she missed it the first time. She’d be fine, though. Shivering was good.
It was Wyatt’s face that bothered her.
She’d studied allergies and knew enough that his swollen face made her nervous. The rational side of her brain said if he was going to have a fatal reaction to the hornet stings, it would have happened by now. But there was still the danger of his airway being swollen shut. And there was also that outlier reaction. The one that didn’t follow the rules.
Wyatt could die. For the last twenty minutes, she had been trying not to panic.
He couldn’t know she felt that way. She didn’t even want him to know she was worried about his face. She pressed her lips together.
Sliding up the steep bank of slippery mud, Harper held tight to Wyatt’s hand.
“Do you think you can walk to the house?” Wyatt asked.
With the deep crease in his forehead, and the pinched skin around his eyes, she didn’t have the heart to pretend to be worse off than she was.
“I can.” As stubborn as he was, she wouldn’t be able to get him to the hospital. Maybe he didn’t really need to go. Probably he didn’t need to go. But the idea of losing Wyatt froze her insides more solid than the cold water ever could.
At least the swelling on his face didn’t seem to be getting any bigger.
“I’d like to avoid the tree with the hornets’ nest in it.” By at least six miles.
“Yeah.” Wyatt grunted. “I like adventure. But I’ve had enough for an afternoon.”
“For a lifetime.”
“Oh, no. Not that long.”
She laughed. Wyatt’s arm came around her shoulders to keep her close, warm her up. A little twist of panic stirred in her chest at the thought that he might find out about these new feelings she had for him. She had to play it cool.
She loved him as a friend, but it was impossible to deny that there was more going on. For her.
If it was “friend” love, she wouldn’t have been tempted to put her lips on his neck. To trace the strong line of his jaw. To lean against the hardness of his chest. Although she would probably still be every bit as tempted to knock him over the head with a hard, blunt object and drag his body to the ER. Of course, killing him kind of defeated the purpose of an ER visit.
They didn’t say much as they searched the grass for their phones, then made a long, looping detour around the tree with the nest and closed the distance to the house. Harper didn’t trust herself to speak. There was nothing like surviving a dangerous situation with her handsome friend to loosen her lips about her true feelings.
She couldn’t let him know. So she kept her lips clamped shut, which also kept her teeth from chatte
ring out of her head, and trudged stoically to her apartment.
He removed his arm from around her shoulders to open the door. “I’m all wet and hate to come in. Will you be okay?”
She nodded, her fingers going to the buttons on her shirt. Only she was shivering so badly, she couldn’t grip them.
“Um, maybe not?” She scrunched her face and glanced at Wyatt, expecting him to have some smart-butted comment to direct at her. Instead his eyes were wide open, his jaw hung down, and his facial expression looked similar to the way she would expect if she’d suggested he sacrifice his firstborn to the corn god.
Was she that repulsive to him? Seriously, it wasn’t like he loathed her. They were best friends.
“Never mind. I’ll just rip it off.” She tried to get her shaking hands to catch hold of the collar.
Wyatt coughed. “No, I…” His voice came out two octaves too high. Harper would have laughed if she wasn’t so close to crying. So much for thinking he might return her feelings.
He cleared his throat, and reached for her hand. “I can help.”
“I wouldn’t want to stress you out or anything,” Harper muttered, resisting a little as he grabbed her wrist.
“I can make the sacrifice.”
She kept her eyes on the floor. His fingers grazed the skin at her wrists.
“Let’s do these first,” Wyatt murmured.
Not wanting to admit that made sense, she kept her face turned down. Her stomach did a slow roll as he slipped the button through the hole.
“Give me your other hand.” His voice sounded low. Almost tender.
Harper complied, trying to pretend her breath hadn’t grown faster, and that his near-rejection hadn’t hurt.
He cradled her wrist in his hand, and this time she watched as his blunt thumbs skimmed over her skin then worked the button through the hole.
Her small apartment seemed to compress, the air heavy, the silence thick. Her lungs shook, causing her inhale to shudder. Her heart beat so loud her cheeks flushed as she imagined he could hear it. And could know exactly what he was doing to her.
“Come closer so I can get the rest of them.”
She swallowed, but didn’t look up. “You don’t have to.”
He tugged on her hand and she moved in front of him, waiting.
“I’m sorry, Harper.”
Gosh, did he have to make it worse by apologizing? She shook her head. He couldn’t help it that he hadn’t wanted to touch his friend like this. She wouldn’t want to undress any of her colleagues at work. “It’s not your fault.”
“I’ll, uh, close my eyes.” His voice sounded like sandpaper lined his throat.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I have a shirt on under this one.”
His fingers hovered under her chin, like he was going to say something else. He touched the button. “I can close them anyway.”
Heat smoldered through her shirt. She wanted to whimper, to throw herself into his arms, to demand that he stop treating her like his sister, but she gritted her teeth, fisting her hands at her sides. “Just hurry.”
He seemed to gulp. His hands slid down to the next button. His fingers worked it free. Her shirt slid open, revealing more of her white cami.
She watched as though it were happening to someone else. Wyatt’s hands on her shirt, brown and tan against the blue outer shirt, the white inner one. The hair on his arms curled crisp and dark. So tempted to touch it, she shoved her hands in her back pockets.
Her front brushed his arm.
He jerked.
Her heart stuttered. The room seemed to shrink. His breath skimmed across her skin.
“Hold still,” he growled.
She froze. The last button slipped out. Wyatt didn’t move. She glanced at his face, ready to apologize. His neck was red, his cheeks flushed, and shiny pearls of sweat glittered on his forehead.
Her heart thumped as they stared into each other’s eyes.
He spun on his heel and plunged out the door. He didn’t look back as he powered through the yard and disappeared into the farmhouse.
Harper released her breath. She spread her hands out in front of her and looked down. Steady as a rock. Wyatt might not stop running from her until he hit the next continent, but at least her shivering had stopped.
Chapter Seven
After the idiot he’d made of himself, Wyatt had been tempted to hide in the house until tomorrow, but he had to make sure Harper was okay. From where he stood in her kitchen, he could hear the water in the bathroom running, so she’d at least made it that far.
He wasn’t sure what he should do, how he should act. After pondering it for the time it had taken to shower and change, he decided to just act the way he normally did. Maybe Harper would brush off his foolish attraction to her as another one of his eccentricities. Maybe.
He rubbed a hand along the side of his face. It still throbbed, but the pain wasn’t sharp or burning like it had been. Same for his shoulders and hand. If Harper didn’t catch pneumonia, and if she hadn’t guessed the strength of his feelings for her, the day could be considered a success.
His phone rang and he unhooked it from his belt, looking at the screen. His dad. A shot of nervous tension pushed through his body. “Hello?”
“Hey, son. Are you in Europe yet?”
“Well, about that.” Crap. He’d told his dad he couldn’t help at the resort during the busy season this year—their winter was the Northern Hemisphere summer—because of the prior commitment to hiking. He hadn’t bothered to mention his mom or her death. His dad wasn’t sentimental and probably didn’t even remember or care.
“Is there a problem? Do you need money?”
Wyatt blew out a breath. His dad constantly offered him money. And he’d taken him up on it, too, especially when he was younger. Adventuring around the world wasn’t cheap. Maybe that’s part of the reason he felt like he owed his dad now.
“No. No problem, exactly. And I don’t need money.”
“But you’re not in Europe?”
“No.”
“That’s great. We’re swamped. I could really use you.”
“So, um. You probably didn’t hear that Uncle Fink has been in the hospital.”
“How would I have heard that?”
Of course, he wouldn’t have. His dad was only interested in information that pertained to his resort.
Wyatt rubbed the side of his nose. “Well, they needed someone to work on the farm.”
“I needed someone to work at the resort. We’re so short-handed, people are leaving and heading over to Carl’s place, where they can get some actual instruction on the slopes.” His dad’s voice had raised a few decibels.
Guilt slithered through his stomach and bit at his chest. His dad might not have wanted him after his mom died, but he’d financed all his adventures. Fink had accepted him and provided a home for him, but money on the farm, even supplemented with the small school principal’s salary, had always been tight.
His grip tightened on his phone, like holding it harder would negate the fact that now they both needed his help. And he didn’t know what to do.
Wyatt wasn’t afraid of his dad, but he seemed to forever come up short. Like now.
“You’re saying…” His dad’s voice had grown ominously softer. “That you stayed to help your uncle in Pennsylvania rather than coming down here and helping your father?”
He wanted to say that his uncle had taken him in when he had needed a home. That his uncle had housed him without complaint. His uncle hadn’t worried about how it would affect his lifestyle. That throwing money at your son didn’t prove your love. But those words weren’t ones a man could say to his father.
The silence stretched.
Finally, his dad spoke, still low and obviously angry. “There is absolutely nothing keeping you in the states or on that farm. If you’re interested in this business, you’d better get your butt down here.”
Wyatt crossed his arms as though to pro
tect himself from the harsh reality of the truth his dad had just spoke. There really was nothing keeping him in the states. Nothing except loyalty to his uncle for taking him in when his mother died, and Harper. His original plan had been to try to convince her to go to Europe with him. He wanted to spend a last summer with Harper before he left for good. He could hardly tell his dad that. Unless…
“My fiancée is here and I didn’t want to leave her.”
Silence on the line.
The seconds ticked by. Wyatt closed his eyes. What had he just said? Why? Maybe it was the longing of his heart, but that longing had just popped out of his mouth in the form of a lie to his father. He should do something to fix it. Admit that he’d just lied. That there was no fiancée. Harper would never be his fiancée.
His mouth stayed closed.
“You’re engaged?”
His dad actually sounded hopeful. Less angry.
Wyatt closed his eyes and put his forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Yes.”
“That’s fabulous. I want to meet her.”
“Yeah. You’ll love her, Dad.” Wyatt felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. His mouth kept moving, kept saying these things he wanted so badly to be true he could taste it. But they weren’t.
Lies. His mouth kept forming lies. And his brain kept allowing it.
“I’m sending you plane tickets for next weekend. Bring her down. I deserve to meet her, at least.”
Wyatt rubbed a hand over his head. “Ah, I’m not sure next weekend works.”
“Why not?”
Wyatt wracked his brain for a convincing lie about something they had to do this weekend. Which was exactly the problem with lies. Once he told one, he had to keep telling them. Only the first lie he’d told had come from his heart. This one required creativity.
“We’re swamped on the farm. It’s going to be at least a month before I’d have any time, and even then…”
“I’ll give you a month there, then I want to see this fiancée. I’m emailing you the ticket info. Get your butt down here, show me the girl, let me charm her into wanting to live here, and I might forgive you for throwing me over for your uncle. How long are you stuck there for, anyway? When can I expect you here for good?” As always, his dad’s manner was brusque with no time for nonsense or dithering.
Better Together Page 6