by Ellie Hall
“What’s wrong with my comfort zone?”
“Nothing. But usually, when we step over the edge, we’re forced to grow.”
“I’m an adult, I’m done growing.” Birdie came to mind. Her responsibilities rushed back. “We should go.”
“Want to drive home?” he asked.
She shook her head and they switched seats.
The adrenalin dissipated and took with it any further conversation. The ride back to London was quiet except for the purr of the engine.
Charlotte directed him to her house in Mayfair.
He idled outside the door to the white stone townhome.
“Want me to come up?” he asked.
She flinched.
“Because of Fabian,” he clarified.
“Oh, right. Em, no. It’s fine. Birdie’s grandmother is with her and the house is very secure. Will saw to that when Sydney started to get older.”
Wyatt nodded. “Well, I’m here if you need anything.”
Charlotte raced up the stairs and locked herself inside, leaning against the door. She had to catch her breath. Not because she was still winded from driving the McLaren on the racetrack or hustling up the stairs. No, Wyatt had taken her breath away.
She set her purse down and greeted her former mother-in-law. Then she went to check on Birdie. The little girl was fast asleep in her princess bed and breathing softly. Charlotte parted the curtains slightly and peeked out the window.
Wyatt was still there. He was wild, that was for sure, but she was also in caring and protective hands.
Chapter 8
Wyatt
Saying the McLaren was a fast sports car was an understatement, but no matter how rapidly he drove along the motorway as he sped away from Charlotte’s house in Mayfair, he couldn’t get away from the sense that he’d overstepped.
He’d gone too far, bringing her to the racetrack.
Holding her hand.
Breathing her scent.
Gazing into her eyes.
It was fine for him to get her away from Fabian, but he hadn’t wanted the day to end. That was a dangerous desire.
Instead of spending more time with her, touring London like Will had requested, he escaped for three days, leaving behind the city—and Charlotte.
He took the McLaren, turned off his phone, and drove to the Scottish Highlands and then kept on until he reached John O’Groats, the northmost location, and ran out of road.
Much like being at the ranch, the rural environment settled his mind but not enough. Although the scenery was outstanding, it didn’t distract his fantasies of kissing Charlotte’s delicate neck, taking her in his arms, and exploring her lips. He couldn’t help look over at the empty passenger seat with longing.
But he knew it was a foolish desire. He’d made an agreement with himself not to get involved. He enjoyed his freedom—likely she wouldn’t have whisked off through the countryside for three days. Worse, she was Will’s sister.
When he finally returned to London, he steeled himself. He’d make sure she was okay, make her promise that she’d go to the police if Fabian gave her any trouble, and then say goodbye.
He checked back into the Four Seasons for the two remaining days before his return flight to the United States. He’d busy himself for that period of time because even though he could handle some of the fastest and most high performing vehicles in the world, he couldn’t handle being with her.
Not without losing control.
Not without ruining a friendship.
He had been in her presence for three days and needed that many to regroup and regain his composure.
After a shower and shave, he powered on his phone. She’d texted once, the day after their meeting at the Victoria and Albert Museum and drive in the McLaren. Then she’d called earlier that morning. He tapped to listen to the message.
“Hi, Wyatt. I’m not sure if you’re still in the city. Will said he tried to check in with you but the call went to voicemail. He wanted to be sure I was showing you a proper good time, I guess.” She let out a breath. “Can’t let my brother down. Anyway, we’ll be taking the dogs for a walk in Hyde Park today if you’d like to join us. I’ll text the location.”
Listening to her speak French was an exercise in restraint as he imagined her tongue curling over the words, but even her regular speaking voice caused a thrill to rush through him. She was so properly English it drove him wild and even more so because he saw a bit of the Wheaton wildness beneath, waiting to be unleashed. It flared in her striking eyes when she was driving on the racetrack. He saw her daring to look at him even though it clearly made her uncomfortable.
He knew he hadn’t lost his looks in their entirety. He’d put on a bit more muscle since his time modeling and most days couldn’t be bothered to shave, but underneath it he was handsome. And she was beautiful. Yet, they were opposites: gritty cowboy and refined British woman yet somehow, he saw that they could fit together. If only circumstances were different, her last name wasn’t Wheaton, and Wyatt hadn’t made a promise to himself not to get involved with women.
Because he wasn’t above punishing himself for his desires and reminding himself what he was missing out on in the safest way possible, he listened to the message again. That time, he noticed she’d said we. Us.
Did she have a significant other? A boyfriend? He was sure she hadn’t remarried unless she didn’t wear a ring, but her husband would’ve been at the wedding. As best he could, he shoved away how the thought made him feel, stuffing it down with the other things he knew he shouldn’t think about: namely, her.
After throwing on a pair of what Will always called trousers and a comfortable white T-shirt, Wyatt’s phone beeped with a text from Charlotte giving her location in Hyde Park. He checked the distance in his map app. She was less than a quarter mile away. He sighed and figured then was as good a time as any to say goodbye.
Outside, the sky was slightly overcast, but London put on a good show in the summer with the blooming flowers and greenery.
He’d left several of his caretakers in charge of the ranch and checked in with them as he strolled through the park, keeping an eye out for Charlotte’s dark, shiny hair.
Assured that all was well with the horses, he checked the map on his phone. When he looked up, Charlotte, along with five dogs, were by a pond. Wyatt waved, but she must not have seen him. She looked slightly frantic as she attached four leashes to the slat of a bench and then bent over to scoop up a feisty Yorkie. The dog scooted away, glancing over its shoulder as though to be sure Charlotte made chase.
Wyatt chuckled and in a few long strides, intercepted the critter, scooping it into his arms.
“Thank you so much,” she said.
With a tip of his cowboy hat, he said, “No problem, ma’am.”
“Wyatt?” she asked, surprised. “I didn’t expect you—I didn’t think you got my messages—I figured you went home early.” She took the Yorkie in her arms and walked back to the other dogs. A little girl sat on the bench watching over them.
“Rascal is such a rascal,” the little girl said.
“We need to tell Mrs. Butterworth that Rascal needs a new collar.”
Wyatt lifted the broken collar from the bench. “May I?” he asked. He fiddled with it a moment, tightening a strap and adjusting the clip. “That should hold, at least until you get her home.”
“Thank you. I feel like I say that to you a lot.” The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, bathing her in gold. She wore a simple sundress and the beams of light shone on her shoulders. A few freckles popped. He figured by the end of the summer, there’d be an entire constellation. And he’d be back under the stars at home, far away from her.
“You haven’t met Birdie,” Charlotte said, pulling him from his thoughts.
The little girl waved shyly from her spot on the bench.
“Darling, this is Mr. Jones.”
“Like Auntie Emma was a Jones?”
“We’re not related.
But it’s nice to meet you, Birdie. You were the flower girl at the wedding, right?”
She nodded and wore a shy smile that hid a beam of pride underneath. “Likewise, sir.” Then she turned away and busied herself with the dogs.
“I see why you have your hands full. Four dogs and a Rascal.”
Birdie giggled. “These aren’t ours. We have Roofus and Rupert at home. They’re old and don’t walk too far.”
Charlotte nodded. “I walk these guys twice a day during the week and once on the weekends.”
“I thought Will said you work at a bank.”
“That too.”
“Mummy has three jobs,” Birdie said.
Wyatt counted on his hands. “Dogwalker, banker, and what’s the third?”
Charlotte hesitated then shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s silly.”
Birdie smiled wide. “Mummy writes stories about ladies finding their true loves. Like princes and princesses. Like Uncle Will and Auntie Emma.”
“As I said, it’s silly.”
“You write romance?” Wyatt asked, somewhat surprised. Most women liked romance in real life and quite a few read it, but he didn’t peg Charlotte as that type. She seemed more practical—like she’d prefer reading autobiographies or watching documentaries.
“As soon as Mummy starts selling enough books, she said she’ll quit her job at the bank because Mr. Culcross is a bloody numpty who doesn’t know how to count.” Birdie grinned.
“Darling, we do not talk like that,” Charlotte said, aghast.
“You said it, not me.”
“I said it to Uncle Will when I thought you were sleeping.”
Birdie’s smile fell, but she busied herself petting and talking to the dogs.
Wyatt couldn’t help smirk. The kid was adorable.
“You’re waiting to sell enough books to break from the bank?”
“Yeah. But we’d better get moving before Rascal has any crazy ideas. In addition to running, she likes to chew.”
The dog licked Wyatt’s boot as though deciding whether or not it would taste good.
As they walked through the park, with Wyatt holding three of the leashes, Birdie carrying Rascal, and Charlotte holding onto a spaniel’s lead, he said, “So you like books, dogs, but banking…not so much.”
“For the record, Culross, my boss, is a numpty.”
“What’s a numpty?” he asked.
“What does it sound like?”
Wyatt smirked. “An egg head.”
She nodded. “Yup, like Humpty Dumpty, I think he’s cracked.” She went on to cite a few examples of the strain she felt at the workplace when her boss blamed various employees, including her, for his mistakes.
“Describe your ideal situation.”
“I’d write full time—they’re sweet Regency romances, by the way. Not bodice rippers.”
“I like the sound of both,” he muttered.
“Well, I’d write and have a dog rescue. A place where elderly dogs and ones with injuries, handicaps, and other disadvantages could live in peace.”
He smiled. “That’s amazing.”
“Really? You think so? I thought you were more a horse person than a dog person.”
“Four legs. Same same.”
“Not exactly. Neighing? Barking?”
“You should visit my ranch. I think you’d like it.” He instantly regretted the suggestion, wishing he could pause time and go back. The afternoon had been off to a great start. The tension from the other days had dissolved and the conversation had been flowing so easily. He was the numpty. “You know, when Will and Emma come out for a visit,” he added.
Birdie stopped by a fountain and Charlotte passed her a coin.
“Hang on. It’s tradition,” she called to Wyatt who’d walked a little ahead under the guise of the dogs leading him away. Like his trip north, he needed to distance from the implication of his words. He needed to get away from her.
Charlotte and Birdie clutched their coins in front of their hearts and closed their eyes.
Then Birdie said, “Wait, Mummy. Mr. Jones should get to make a wish too.”
He held out his hand. “Do you have a spare coin?”
Charlotte dug through her purse. He had a few in his pocket, but somehow it seemed like it’d be luckier if the coin had been hers.
She was careful not to let their fingers touch as she dropped it in his hand.
“What are we wishing for?” he asked.
“Whatever your heart desires most,” Birdie answered.
“I could use my wish for your wish,” he offered because he was afraid of what his heart most desired. How close it was. How radiant in the increasingly sunny afternoon. How his pulse rushed a little faster when he was around her.
“That’s very nice of you, but it won’t work. It has to be your wish and I couldn’t tell you mine anyway because then it won’t come true,” Birdie explained.
“It’s true,” Charlotte confirmed.
Birdie went on to demonstrate exactly how to make the wish, holding the coin near her heart.
Wyatt felt silly, but he followed instructions.
Birdie closed her eyes.
He peeked at Charlotte, longing for a secret moment to take in her smooth skin, her pink lips, and rosy cheeks.
Birdie also peeked, probably to make sure he was doing it right then shot him a reproachful look. Then she mouthed like this. Holding the coin to her heart, she squeezed her eyes shut, and then tossed the coin into the fountain.
Wyatt heard two plops then made his wish and threw in his coin. The dogs had gotten restless and one moved to drink from the fountain.
“We’d better carry on and get them back,” Charlotte said, leading the way.
Wyatt trailed behind, disbelief slowing his pace. He’d looked into his heart and sure enough, his deepest desire was beautifully dangerous. But he was assured that his wish wouldn’t come true. That just didn’t happen.
When the dogs caught up to them, he overheard Birdie say, “...that’s the man who asked you to dance. If Prince Oliver asked me again, I would’ve said yes.”
“Well, he's a prince. Wyatt is a…” Charlotte’s head jerked to the side, apparently not realizing he was walking alongside her. He feared she’d repeat what she’d said at the wedding, that he was no one.
“I’m a cowboy,” he clarified.
Birdie lit up. “Like in the movies? Sydney loved cowboy movies. He'd always say if he wasn't a Sydney, he'd have been a cowboy,” she said.
“He never rode a horse, darling.” Charlotte’s forehead creased.
“He could learn,” Birdie added smartly.
“I suppose you're right. He could’ve learned.”
Wyatt caught Charlotte's eye, but she looked away the moment they met his and filled with liquid.
“Birdie, what exactly is a Sydney,” he asked, following up. “You said if he wasn’t a Sydney…” He knew it was a risk, but after he’d lost his brother, he was most thankful when people asked him about Nash—when he was able to talk about how much he’d looked up to his brother and all the things that had made him great.
“A Sydney is a man that can do anything.”
“Except ride a horse,” Charlotte said. “Also, it’s the past tense, darling. Sydney was a man who could do anything.”
Birdie continued, undeterred. “He can mend a guitar. He can write poems. He can make the best toast.”
Charlotte’s expression shaded even though they walked in full sun.
“He’s very good at tea parties and doesn’t mind if I invite all of my dolls. But his specialty was making me laugh. He had the best jokes.”
“Will you tell me one?” Wyatt asked.
Birdie screwed up her face in thought. “Okay. Here goes. Where do polar bears keep their money?”
“Hopefully not with that bloody numpty,” Wyatt answered, echoing the comment about Charlotte’s boss.
Birdie giggled. Charlotte laughed then abruptly stop
ped herself.
“The answer is snow bank, but I like what you said too. Here’s another one. Why did the horse chew with its mouth open?”
“Wyatt, I mean, Mr. Jones, should know this. He has a horse,” Charlotte said.
“I have quite a bit more than one horse. But you’re right. I should know this. Let’s see…” He tapped his chin with his free hand as the dogs walked ahead. “They have bad stable manners.”
“You got it.” Birdie cheered. “Who’s taking care of your horses?”
“I have helpers.”
“Like elves? Horse elves?”
That time Wyatt laughed and he explained about the ranch hands.
“I love horses. Mummy, it’s very lucky you know a real cowboy.”
“As real as they come.” Wyatt smiled.
They arrived at a fenced area to let the dogs run free before returning to their homes.
“Mummy, we could get a horse. They’re like really big dogs.” Birdie made puppy dog eyes.
Charlotte bit her lip. She was—he wouldn’t let himself think about what she was. The sun overhead had gotten hot enough.
“Horses eat quite a bit more than dogs,” Wyatt said, coming to Charlotte’s aid as Birdie pled her case about having a pet horse.
“Well, I’m going to summer camp day after next and I’ll be able to ride a real horse every day.”
“I hope to hear all about it.”
“She knows how to email. I’m sure you will. Along with a weekly request to visit your ranch.”
“Is that so bad?” There he went again. Being a bloody numpty.
“Mummy, there are pony rides at the carnival,” Birdie said.
“I’m not sure they’re treated the best,” Charlotte answered in a low voice.
Wyatt’s ears pricked. He’d have to investigate.
“How about bumper cars instead?” she asked as though trying to ease Birdie’s disappointment.
Birdie clapped her hands together. “That would be grand.”
Spending more time with Charlotte was painful enough, but he didn’t like the idea of horses being mistreated and aimed to do something about it. After dropping off the dogs, he continued on with them as they walked to the South Bank carnival.