But they were on a roof in the middle of town. What could happen? They couldn’t even go out to his truck in case people walked by.
“Turn around,” he said.
“Why?”
“Just do it,” he rasped.
She complied, felt him lean against her again. He took her arms and laid them out along the parapet. “Keep your arms there.”
“What are you doing?”
“Tonight’s about your pleasure.”
Cold air slid across her legs as he raised the back of her denim skirt, and goose bumps prickled her skin. His hands glided down her legs, taking her panties off.
She heard the rasp of his zipper, then his hands were everywhere at once. He caressed her bottom, her stomach, her breasts. She couldn’t keep up with the sensations and finally let them spill over her, one after the other.
He slid into her, filling her body, filling her heart, filling her soul.
No one had ever touched her this way. Honestly, if she could finally admit it to herself, no one had ever made her feel this way, taking her to new heights with every stroke, every touch.
“You’re so beautiful, Frankie,” he whispered against her hair. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
His words set her free, and she came hard and fast, clenching her hands on the brick parapet. He followed her, grating out her name, over and over.
He moved back, and she mourned the warmth of his body.
She turned around and shook her skirt down, put her panties back on. She couldn’t believe what she had just done. Peeking over the edge of the parapet, she didn’t see anyone pointing up at them.
“Shit,” Wyatt said.
“What’s wrong?” She turned around to see him calling someone.
“A 911 text from my dad.”
Fear clutched her heart that something had happened to her father.
“Pop, what’s wrong?” Wyatt asked. His whole body tensed. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.” He hung up and grabbed her hand. “We need to go.”
“What is it? What happened?”
“A security guard found Johnny sleeping in one of the empty tents. He’s at the police station. A deputy recognized him from the other day, called my dad when they couldn’t reach you.”
She grabbed her phone out of her pocket, saw it was dead. “I knew I shouldn’t have let John Allen stay at the kids’ tent.” She ran to the door and hurried down the stairs, feeling her way in the dark.
“Frankie, wait for me. I’ve got the light.” He caught up to her at the bottom of the stairs, shone the light as they left the building.
“Where’s the police station?”
“About a mile from here. Come on.” He grabbed her hand, but she pulled away, saw the hurt flash across his face. She started running to the parking lot. She’d have to apologize later. Right now she had to get to her son. He’d been alone and scared, and she’d been off having fun.
Anything could’ve happened to him. And if something had, she’d never forgive herself for letting her guard down.
* * *
WYATT PULLED UP to the police station and parked in front. He stared out at the sign lit up like a glowing neon reminder of his past.
Frankie shoved the passenger door open. “Are you coming or not?” All he could do was stare at her, his voice frozen.
She got out and ran to the front door but looked back at him, then yanked the door open and disappeared into the building.
This was his fault. He’d convinced Frankie to have a little revolt against her respectable life. To live on the wild side, even if it was no more than a half hour on the roof of an abandoned building. With him.
He’d come home to change his life, to live quietly and stay out of trouble. Now he’d brought it to the woman and child he loved more than anything.
Forcing himself to shove the heavy door open, he finally got out of the truck. Each step up the sidewalk to the door felt like he was sinking in quicksand, or mired in thick, black tar. Reaching out to open the grimy glass door, his hand shook. He made a fist, inhaled a deep breath, then bit the bullet and opened the door.
Walking into the station, the chemical smell of industrial cleaners assaulted him, and he flashed back two years ago. Adrenaline spiked so high it made his head hurt.
The police radio squawked an emergency call, echoing around the room. Sweat trickled down his back, making his shirt stick to his clammy skin.
Two men across the lobby caught his attention—Pop and Mr. Wentworth.
Wyatt pushed himself across the lobby, his boots scuffing the cracked linoleum. “How’d you beat me here?”
“We were in town having dinner when the sheriff called because they couldn’t reach Francine,” Pop said.
An electronic door in the back of the station buzzed open and a deputy escorted Johnny out.
Johnny saw Frankie and ran to her. “Mommy!”
She fell to her knees and grabbed him in a hug.
Wyatt moved to go to them, but his dad stopped him.
Wentworth hurried over to her and Johnny. “Come on, Francine. Stand up.” He helped her up, patted Johnny’s back.
Wyatt shook his dad’s hand off and moved to Frankie and Johnny. “You okay, bud?”
Johnny nodded but didn’t reach out to him, which cut him in half.
“They don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you,” Wentworth said to Wyatt.
“Stop! Don’t talk about him like that,” Frankie said.
“I had him investigated, Francine.”
“Y-you what?” Wyatt asked, fear making him feel like he’d puke.
“Did you know he’d been in prison?”
She nodded. “Yes, he told me. In high school. He was innocent.”
“No, he was arrested a couple of years ago for smuggling drugs across the Mexican border into Texas, and he went to prison. He’s an ex-con, Francine. You shouldn’t be around someone like him. Nor should my grandson.”
Wyatt’s world caved in, and he didn’t know which way was up. Breath backed up in his lungs. He looked at Frankie, wanting to beg her to understand.
But she stared at him like she’d never seen him before. Worse, like he was the criminal her father accused him of being.
“It’s not true—” he said, reaching for her.
She jerked away from him, and it was like she’d stabbed him in the heart. “Why didn’t you tell me before? You had plenty of opportunity.”
“I was ashamed—”
“I need to get my daughter and grandson to the ranch. It’s been a long day, and I don’t want this to continue.”
“Take my car,” Pop said and handed his keys to Wentworth.
Wentworth pulled Frankie and Johnny close, led them past him and out of the station.
He started to follow them, but his dad stopped him. “Let them go.”
“I need to explain to her, tell her what really happened.”
“Tomorrow, son. Emotions are too high right now. Come on. Let’s go home.”
Wyatt handed his keys to his dad, afraid he’d crash his truck trying to get them back to the ranch.
Nothing had ever hurt this much. He just prayed she’d listen to him in the morning.
And not that he expected Pop to come to his rescue, but he’d just stood there, not saying a word, when he knew it wasn’t true. It cut him deep—his own father.
Chapter Nineteen
Wyatt had spent a sleepless night thinking about nothing but Frankie and Johnny. One minute he prayed she’d believe him and stay, the next he knew he wasn’t the right man for her.
He barely waited for the sun to come up before he hightailed it to the lodge. He drove up and parked in front, noticed a sleek black limousine being loaded with luggage. Hurrying up the steps and inside, he took the s
tairs two at a time up to Frankie’s room.
He knocked on the door, hoping, praying she’d answer and not slam it in his face.
Wentworth opened the door. “What do you want?”
“I need to see Frankie.”
“Her name is Francine. She doesn’t want to see you.”
“Please, sir. I need to explain.”
Wentworth stepped outside and closed the door. “You need to go. We’re leaving right now.”
“I need to see her—”
“Don’t you get it yet? You’re not the right man for her and John Allen. While you were jailed for pranks in high school before going to prison, my daughter was making something of herself, working hard for my company and to be a good mother to John Allen. And last night, while you two were off exploring, my grandson went missing and no one knew it.”
As much as the words hurt, he knew Wentworth was speaking the truth. He wasn’t the right man for Frankie, even if he loved her beyond words.
“Can I say goodbye to her and Johnny?”
“Make it brief,” Wentworth said and opened the door.
Wyatt walked into the suite just as Frankie came out of the bedroom. “How’s Johnny?”
“He’s fine.”
“How are you?” He hated the shadows beneath her eyes, hated that he’d put them there.
“I’ll never forgive myself for going off last night.”
“It wasn’t your fault—”
“I wasn’t finished,” she said, cutting him off. “Why didn’t you tell me about being an ex-con? You told me about living in Texas, working on a ranch, but you conveniently left that part out.”
“I know. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want you to look at me the way you did last night.”
He moved closer to her, but she stepped away.
“Did your dad tell you about the rest of the report?”
She frowned, shook her head.
“I was innocent. I’d gone to Mexico with someone I thought was my friend. Coming back, he saw they had the drug-sniffing dogs out, so he put the drugs he’d bought in the bag on my bike when I wasn’t looking.”
He walked away, rubbing a hand across his face. “I spent five long, hard months in a Texas prison until that same friend was arrested and he confessed to what he’d done. It took time to get things straightened out, but they finally cleared me of any wrongdoing and let me go.”
“So you really were innocent,” she said, touching his arm. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. Sorry you had to go through that, and for last night, thinking you’d lied to me. Once burned and all that. My ex has made me sensitive to lies.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugged him tight. Relief washed through him that she believed him. But he had to make the break.
He pulled her arms down, had to push himself away from her for the next part. “Your dad said you’re all leaving this morning. That’s a good thing.”
“I’m heading back earlier than expected, but it’s only to prepare for the board meeting. Once we complete the merger... I thought Johnny and I would come back and we can explore what we have between us.”
“Frankie—Francine,” he started.
The smile left her face, inch by inch, until she looked made of marble.
“I’m not the right man for you, or for Johnny. I don’t want to hurt you—either of you—but this is for the best. I need to concentrate on getting past this, get my diploma.”
Her lips trembled, and she pressed her fingers against them. “You don’t want to hurt me? What do you think you’re doing right now?”
“You deserve so much more than what I can give you.”
“You mean love? Because I love you, Wyatt. Johnny and I both do. We need you—”
Her words made him double over, grief coursing through his entire being. He forced himself to stand up, step back. “I can’t.” Flustered, he sought for the words to explain. “You’re a high-powered executive. I can barely read.”
“But that doesn’t matter—”
“Maybe I don’t love you,” he lied. “I could never give you what you deserve. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble, either one of you.” He walked to the door and looked back once. He wished he hadn’t, because now he could see firsthand what he was feeling. Because it was written all over her face.
He opened the door and walked out. Wentworth stood by the stairs.
“I told her.” Wyatt stepped close to Wentworth, meeting the man’s eyes. “Promise me you’ll take care of her and Johnny.”
Wentworth nodded.
“I mean it—you promise me she’ll be okay, that she’ll be happy.” His voice cracked, and he blinked back tears.
Wentworth’s face paled and he stepped back, stared at him. “I’ll make sure she’s fine. She and my grandson.”
Wyatt turned and walked down the stairs.
Leaving the lodge, he walked to his truck, then saw the stuffed animals he and Johnny had won, and Frankie’s packages. He couldn’t look at them ever again, so he grabbed an armload and took them to the driver loading the limo.
He’d just brought the second load to the limo when Wentworth walked outside. Frankie followed, holding Johnny’s hand.
“Mr. Wyatt!” Johnny broke free, hurled himself at Wyatt.
He bent over and caught Johnny, knelt down and wrapped his arms around the son of his heart.
“I don’t wanna leave you!” Johnny cried, his little body shaking with sobs. “I want you to be my daddy.”
Wyatt’s heart broke even more, Johnny’s tears killing him. “I love you, bud. I always will. Don’t forget that, ever,” he said, fighting his own tears. “I’d love for you to be my son,” he said, his voice breaking.
Johnny’s arms squeezed tighter around Wyatt’s neck, holding on like he’d never let go.
And Wyatt didn’t want to let him go—to let either of them go. But he had to, for their sake. He pulled Johnny’s arms down. “But you need to go now.”
“John Allen, come here,” Wentworth demanded.
“Go on, Johnny. Go to your granddad.”
“No,” Johnny cried, his voice muffled in Wyatt’s shoulder.
Wyatt picked him up, took a step closer to Frankie, her face a stone mask, her arms wrapped around her middle.
She leaned forward and took Johnny from Wyatt, then moved away quickly.
“No!” Johnny screamed. “I want Mr. Wyatt!” he cried, tears pouring down his face.
Wentworth got in the limo, leaving the door open. Frankie climbed in, holding tight to her sobbing son.
When the door closed, Wyatt watched the limo drive by him. Frankie looked out at him once through the open window, tears running down her cheeks.
All he could do was stand there, broken and devastated, watching his life drive away from him.
Chapter Twenty
Wyatt threw the hammer across the equipment barn and it crashed into the old red tractor, clanging like an alarm bell.
The tractor he and Johnny had fixed.
He’d never experienced a longing like this, so acute it was a physical pain. He rubbed a hand across his chest, trying to ease the tight, persistent ache.
He missed Johnny’s bright chatter, his interest in everything on the ranch. He missed Frankie’s laughter, and the way she felt in his arms.
Nothing helped.
Not booze.
Not his guitar.
Not even riding his bike—any time he got on it, he felt the ghost of Frankie hugging him tight from behind, squeezing the breath out of him.
He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, he barely functioned. His eyes burned, and he pinched them closed against the sting.
He’d been pushing himself for two weeks—since Frankie and Johnny walked out of his life.
Correction—s
ince he’d shoved them out.
The door opened, and his dad walked in. “There you are. Need to talk to you a minute.”
Great. What’d he do now?
“I’ve thought long and hard about this, and I want you to be the new foreman. You’ve proven to me you can do the work, that you aren’t going to take off and abandon us again.”
“I didn’t abandon y’all,” Wyatt snapped.
“It felt like you did. You and Nash both gone—I’d lost both of you, and it hurt.”
Wyatt stared at his dad, having trouble understanding what he meant. “I didn’t think you wanted me around. We never got along.”
Pop looked down, then back up. “It’s taken me a lot of years—and poking and prodding from Bunny—to realize I took your mother’s death out on you boys. I never stopped loving any of you, but her death nearly killed me. And I retreated from everyone. I can never apologize enough.”
For the first time in his life, Wyatt understood now what his dad had gone through after her death. Because losing Frankie and Johnny had been like a death.
He closed the distance and grabbed his dad in a hug. “I’m sorry, Pop. Sorry Mom died, sorry for leaving, sorry for not being a better son.”
Pop hugged him back, hard, clapped him on the back.
Wyatt stepped away, and his dad wiped his eyes.
“So anyway, do you want the job?”
“Yeah. Thank you. I won’t let you down, Pop.”
“See that you don’t.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about Francine. I know it hit you hard. But it will get easier, truly it will.”
“I had to let her go. It’ll never get easier.”
His dad opened his mouth, but Wyatt held a hand up. “It’s okay, Pop. I’m not ready to talk about it just yet.”
Pop nodded his head, and with a final clap on his son’s shoulder, walked out of the barn.
Wyatt strode across the empty space to the worktable, kicked a box out of his way. Well, at least he’d gotten the job he’d wanted.
He paced back to the other side of the barn, kicking the same box out of his way yet again.
“Did you kill it?” Hunter asked behind him.
Wyatt looked behind him as Hunter and the rest of his brothers filed into the barn. “Kill what?”
Falling for the Rebel Cowboy Page 16