by Jamie Magee
Chapter Seven
Hours later, after dark, the apartment door opened. Wyatt was expecting his mother or even his father to lay into him, but it was Easton with a brown paper bag under his arm. He walked over to the chair next to the couch and collapsed, pulled out a long neck and handed it to Wyatt.
“I’m in enough shit without stealing beers from Dad’s fridge.”
Wyatt walked the line when Harley was in town, usually a few weeks before she was due to arrive as well, but when she wasn’t he and Easton got into enough trouble. They would take off to see a band in a nearby town, skip a class now and again just because school was too constricting to them. All small stuff here and there. So this was almost normal, except it was a good two weeks early.
“Who do you think gave them to me?” Easton said, popping his top and taking a long swig.
Wyatt shot him a disbelieving glance.
“He took my keys, though. Hell, he took the keys to everything, even the tractor. You wouldn’t try and drive a tractor to New York, now would you?” Easton said with a sly grin.
Wyatt popped the top on his long neck and took a long drink. He would; of course, he would have thought to drive it to the bus station first, maybe the airport.
“I guess he read you right then,” Easton said under his breath. “What the hell happened?”
“I’m sure you know more than I do.”
Wyatt was still trying to figure out why her parents were here. He had heard his mother cussing about trainers they wanted her to meet here and there, but normally before any visit Garrison Tatum made to the barn Camille tightened the reins on everyone, the barn that was always held to professional standards was polished a bit more. He could only assume it was a surprise to all of them.
“Nothing beyond it took three of them to hold you back, and you still got away from them,” Easton said with a smirk. “Did they catch you together?”
Wyatt just held his stare.
“Like, together together?” Easton pressed, sitting forward a bit, halfway wondering how Wyatt was still alive. He had heard stories about Harley’s mother, met her father.
“No, but it was pretty obvious what we had been up to.”
“Is that why Truman is convinced you’re going to be thrown in jail?”
“That’s bullshit. I’m not eighteen. Even if I was, she’s close enough.”
“Not when you have big-time lawyers.”
Wyatt cursed under his breath.
“Just slow your roll, let this die down. We’ll figure it out one way or the other,” Easton swore.
The next few weeks were hard. No one really said much. Wyatt did his regular rides, worked on his father’s side of the barn. His mother didn’t say a word to him, didn’t even really look him in the eye.
He knew he’d hurt her, in more ways than one. Camille never said it, but Wyatt knew that Harley was one of her favorite students, that she saw herself in her. And everyone knew that Camille was in love with Danny Boy. He carried a lot of sentimental value for her, took her back to when she was Wyatt’s age, when she had a horse from that same line, with the same stubborn tendencies.
All of that hurt her, but in some way he knew what hurt her most was that he had kept this deal from her. He was close with his dad, but he and his mom, they were tight. Wyatt regretted it in some way. Thought if he had told her, she would have helped him figure it out. Even if she hadn’t, she would have had sense enough to make sure he and Harley were separated when that phone call came that her parents were on their way; instead, she trusted Harley to be in her room, Wyatt to be in his.
It wasn’t until his birthday that she said a word. She handed him the keys to his truck. “You’re a man now,” she’d said. “Think like one. If you love her like you said you did, then it will not matter how long you’re apart. You go after her now, and you’ll lose her forever.”
Wyatt could only halfway listen to that advice. All he wanted was to hear Harley’s voice, for Harley to tell him she was all right, to tell him anything.
He had tried everything to call her. All the numbers from Willowhaven Farms were blocked. He and Easton had gone to everyone they knew in town, even the hospital, to try and call. Every once in a while, they would get past the butler Donald that answered the phone at the Tatum residence, but once the call was put on hold Claire Tatum always came on the line to ask who was calling.
They tried to work around that, too, had Ava, even some of her friends, to call. One night, Easton and Wyatt drove a hundred miles just to call from a different state, thinking that would help; it never did.
It was killing Wyatt, breaking him apart. Day by day, he and Easton just became a little wilder. Wyatt picked harder rides, broke a rib here and there. Easton and him, they drank, they smoked. Even when school started, they barely went.
Camille took everything she could away from Wyatt. When that didn’t work, she tried giving him things to stir his interest. Asked Easton to move into the apartment. She knew Easton could be just as wild as Wyatt, but the thing was that Easton knew when to put the breaks on.
She sold and traded a horse just to get him a ride he’d been wanting. His dad, along with a buddy of his, Memphis’ dad, worked on his truck with him.
That notion of being constantly around Memphis and Easton, his dad, working on the motor in his truck seemed at least to keep Wyatt focused enough to stay in school. He still skipped, but his grades were too high for there to be any threat of him not graduating. Getting kicked out, that was another issue altogether. Most times, Camille was able to reason with the school, wave Wyatt’s GPA in their face, he was one of only a handful of students that were already taking college credits.
The volunteer fire department had helped Wyatt some, too. That world was becoming addictive to him. It was something that all his close friends were into. In some way, it was easy to forget, or at least act like he had forgotten, when he hung out at the fire hall. If he wasn’t learning about fires, he was learning fast comebacks, easy jokes. He was learning the brotherhood.
Months later, everyone assumed Wyatt was almost out of his rut, and they all backed off a little.
Easton knew better, so did Memphis. Memphis was older and did his best to talk some sense into Wyatt, make him smile, get him focused on what he needed to do to become a fireman; he was already taking the classes. Memphis went out of his way every day to get a pulse on Wyatt, to keep him moving in the right direction. He knew if he did that, then Easton would be straight. Those two seemed to get into whatever trouble together, and lately it had been Wyatt stirring it.
One night, Easton and Memphis went on a call with the volunteer. They expected for Wyatt to show up, knew he was close enough to do so. The second they were done, they rode like hell to the farm, looking for Wyatt; they found him loading a bag in the back of his truck.
“Where the hell are you going?” Memphis asked, pulling his shoulders back. He’d gotten used to Wyatt’s mood swings. He never knew if Wyatt was going to cut up with him and joke or slug him, so he was ready for anything.
“It’s her birthday tomorrow. If I drive all night, I’ll be there for it.”
“No way in hell. This truck is not going to make it that far,” Memphis said, giving Wyatt’s truck a once over. He would know; not only did he know the inside and out of every motor, he had worked on this truck. “Even if it did, it would cost you a fortune.”
“I’m not going to New York. Washington.”
“What the hell is in Washington?” Easton spat, already knowing he was getting in that truck with him.
“Ava read in some paper online somewhere about how Claire Tatum was going to have a charity event there, that it was going to celebrate her daughter’s birthday, too. It’s all supposed to support some bill or something, that’s why there was a press release. Guess they don’t expect us good ol’ boys to know how to read.”
“You’re not going alone,” Easton said. “Does your momma know?”
Wyatt got i
n his truck and turned the key, firing it to life. “Nope. If you’re going, you better get in.”
Both Memphis and Wyatt climbed in the truck. Memphis called his dad as soon as they left just ‘cause he and his dad were tight, more or less best friends. Cleary, Memphis’ dad, Lucas, had mercy on the boys—delayed his heads up to the other parents. Easton’s cell, along with Wyatt’s, didn’t start ringing until they were over three hundred miles away.
It was Wyatt’s dad that called. He was sure he was due for another long silent treatment from his mom when he came back; hell, for all he knew he would be kicked out. Both Memphis and Wyatt said they doubted that, but if he was he could stay with them.
They spent the drive trying to get Wyatt to tell them what he expected out of this, what his plan was. He didn’t have one. He just had to see her. If she fell into his arms and asked him to take her away, he would; they were both eighteen at that point. That’s what he wanted to happen. What he needed to happen. He was terrified it wouldn’t. It had been months and not one word, not even a letter, not even a friend of a friend calling to tell him something.
They rolled into town midday, got a motel room. Wyatt took a shower, put on his nicest jeans, shirt. Loaned out clothes to Easton and Memphis, who were both counting their cash, plotting what they would have to do if Wyatt did in fact get arrested tonight. There was a good chance, no doubt.
The charity event was at the same hotel that Harley was supposed to be staying at. Even if Wyatt had brought a suit, he was sure that they still would not have let him in. In fact, security asked them to leave the lobby more than once.
But Wyatt, along with the others, had brought their southern charm. A few smiles to the nice waitress in the hotel bar got them in. They all stayed in the back booth, watching the guests move to and from the ballroom.
Easton spotted Harley first, but he didn’t tell Wyatt; instead, he blocked his view, simply because Harley had an escort to this event, some guy that could not be much older than them, only way more polished - and he had ‘asshole’ written all over his face. He must have had a sense of humor, though, because he had said something and Harley gave him one of her real smiles.
“This is bad, man; that ass at the desk keeps looking over here like he’s afraid we’re gonna take a piss on one of those fancy columns. Let’s just bail,” Easton said, managing to give Memphis a nod in Harley’s direction without Wyatt seeing.
Easton knew Memphis had seen it when he heard him cuss under his breath and started to help Easton block Wyatt’s view.
“I didn’t drive all the way here to chicken out now. She’s here. We’re under the same roof.” Wyatt felt himself breathe as soon as he knew he was in the same ZIP code as her. He was a desperate man, haunted by the memories of her. She was in every single thought that passed his mind. He was sure he could smell her on wayward breezes when he was at home.
Each time he led out that mare, Stolen Heart, he’d remember how much Harley loved her, how it was the only horse beyond Danny Boy that he’d ever seen her really bond with. When he had to get hay from the loft, every time he’d laid her down in the hay flooded his mind; filling water for the horses made him remember each time he had pulled her into a stall and kissed her lips; at dinner, he saw the chair next to his that no one ever sat in. She was everywhere, a ghost that he had to bring back to life.
“Yeah, but crashing this shindig?” Memphis said. “What about in the morning? You know, when all the old people are sleeping this deal off? We could figure out how to call her, maybe see her at breakfast.”
That gave Wyatt an idea. He used the bar phone and tried to charm his way into figuring out what room she was in. Right now he was wondering if she was up there alone, sulking on her birthday. The closest he got to figuring it out was hearing the word ‘penthouse.’ The nice waitress told him that he would need a key for the elevator to even take him up there.
He had no choice but to wait, and he did.
Hours later, when guests started to leave he leaned in the doorway of the bar, watching the formal gowns pass him by. Then all at once he saw Claire Tatum, felt his blood boil when he heard her fake laugh. Just behind her, smiling, looking radiant in a black gown with a small tiara on her perfectly placed hair was Harley; on her arm, some stuffed suit asshole.
That didn’t stop Wyatt; not at all. He walked right across that lobby like he owned it, feeling and hearing Memphis and Easton right behind him. When he reached the elevator, Harley, her date, and mother were already inside. Harley’s eyes locked with his, and her smile fell, but he knew her well enough to know it was from shock; the way her chest was rising and falling told him that, told him he still had an effect on her. No time could dull the emotions between them.
“Something wrong?” the guy with her asked, even moving just before Harley.
“No, Collin, nothing at all,” Claire said with a glare as she pushed the doors to close. Wyatt dove for them, had his arm caught between them, but Easton and Memphis pulled him back, rushed him from the lobby, even drove down the street and waited, wondering if anyone was coming after them.
Wyatt got out of the truck and tore off toward the hotel.
“What did you expect to happen walking up to her with her mother right there?” Memphis said from the passenger seat as Easton drove the truck alongside Wyatt, who was power walking back to the hotel.
Who was that guy with her? Wyatt kept asking himself. Did he read her wrong? Did she pull that guy in front of her, or did he step there? Wyatt couldn’t remember. It happened too fast; all he could remember were her eyes, that ripping pain in the center of his chest.
“I’m not afraid of that woman.”
“Harley is,” Memphis pointed out. “For all you know, you got her in trouble.”
“That’s why I’m going back. I’m going to tell that woman Harley’s eighteen, an adult, and if she doesn’t want to see me, then she needs to say so.”
“A birthday doesn’t change anything,” Memphis said. “She’s still in school. Still timid. I could even see that.”
“Get in the truck, Wyatt. You’re not even acting sane anymore,” Easton yelled as a car behind him honked its horn.
“I get in that truck, and you’re going to take me home. I know Harley. Even if she was in trouble, she’d find a way to give me some signal, some way to see me.”
“You get in this truck, act like you have some sense, and we’ll go back - but not in. We’ll wait for her to show outside or see us from her room,” Easton swore.
Wyatt could agree with that. Just to be sure his boys were not bullshitting him, he took over the driver’s seat and parked the truck where he could see the penthouse, the lights that were on.
Wyatt swore the second Claire went to sleep, left Harley alone, that she would sneak out, at least see him. Maybe not run away, but she would see him.
Both Memphis and Easton were sound asleep in the cab of the truck at 6 A.M., alone. Wyatt watched Harley and the stuffed suit come out and get in a car and drive away once their bags were loaded. Harley didn’t even bother to glance in his direction.
Wyatt had driven a hundred miles home before Easton woke to see that Wyatt was going near ninety.
“What happened? Who we running from?”
“A fucked up idea.”
Easton let out a deep breath, knowing it was going to take him forever to get Wyatt back to his old self, but at least he had gotten this out of his head.
When they stopped for gas and Wyatt was paying, grabbing them snacks for the road, Memphis looked right at Easton. “When we get back, if you two asses are not at school, you better either be at the volunteer or my daddy’s garage. We have to keep him focused. He’s mad now, but that might be what he needs to get over this girl.”
Easton stared at Wyatt as he walked back to the truck, how fierce he looked with that anger in his sharp eyes. “It’s going to take something bigger than this to get him over her, more than the fire department to keep him distracted.”
“Like what?”
“Fuck if I know, but no doubt he’s going to drag me into whatever hell he digs up.”
“Easton, I’m trusting you to keep him in line. I’m not here enough to do that.”
Easton only nodded once as Wyatt climbed back in the cab of the truck.
***
Camille Doran was leaning against the column on her front porch, staring at the distant dark driveway, waiting for her son. She was furious, but at the same time she felt agony for him; her boy was hurt, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
Beckett stepped out the front door, handed his wife a steaming cup of coffee. “Lucas said they just dropped Memphis off.”
Lucas Armstrong had been keeping them and Cindy Ballantine, Easton’s mother, updated. Memphis called his dad every few hours to let him know what was going down with this latest escape of Wyatt and Easton’s.
When Camille didn’t say a word, Beckett stood behind her and moved his hands over her shoulders.
“I’m gonna fix it.”
“You can’t fix it,” Camille said. If there were a way, she would have found it by now. Harley needed time, and Wyatt refused to give it to her; that was the long and short of it.
“To get our boy back, we’re going to have to set him free,” Beckett said.
Camille turned to face him, to stare up into his ice blue eyes, a trait their son had inherited from him.
“I confirmed it today, our bulls were selected again for the PRCA. Duke’s going to manage it, but he’s taking Brant with him. We’re gonna send Wyatt. Cindy said it was good for Easton as well.”
Duke was Beckett’s brother Brant, his son, was a year older than Wyatt. It was an honor for the Professional Rodeo Cowboy Association not only to select the Doran bulls again, but also to have these boys ride in other events while the bulls were utilized.
Brant was a saddle bronc rider. Wyatt preferred the bareback, but lately he’d managed to take any ride that was wild enough to distract him from the reality of anything beyond the ride he was on. Easton wasn’t a rider, at least not in the professional stance, but he knew how to manage the bulls, how to manage Wyatt.