“I don’t understand,” I say, even though what he told me was indeed simple. “What makes you say that about him?”
“Let’s just say that Woolf sort of got sucked into this lifestyle because of me. He followed me in and has had a ball fucking his way through a bevy of beautiful women. He’s never had a serious relationship in his life, and he’ll tell you that’s the way he likes it. But he’s wrong. He’s the type of man built for monogamy, but he’s gotten too sidetracked by me. He sees me and feels a bond toward me, and so he thinks this is the life for him. But it’s not. He may want those things that The Silo offers, but he doesn’t need it. Not like me. The sooner he realizes it and let’s it go, the happier he’ll be. And you, Miss Hayes, are just the woman to do that.”
Wow. Just wow.
Bridger keeps his gaze on me, giving me an opportunity to digest what he’s said. He wants to make sure I understand, and I do. I give him a nod of my head and a smile, and he gives me a tentative smile back as he opens the Corvette door. Just as he’s lowering himself in, I think of something else.
“Wait,” I call out, and he pauses. “Why do you need it?”
Bridger’s lips flatten out, and there is no trace of the smile left on his face. “That, Callie Hayes, is none of your business.”
He then drops down into the bucket seat of his car and shuts the door. I watch as he fires the engine and pulls away, leaving me with all kinds of confusion even though I clearly understood what he said.
*
The credits to Iron Man 2 start rolling, and I get up from the couch. Time to start Iron Man 3.
I decided when I got home this afternoon that I was going to consider Bridger’s advice. It’s an admitted fact on my part that I’ve carried a torch for Woolf Jennings for years and I have feelings invested. It’s also a fact that he desires me, and well duh… I’m hot for him too. That experience the other night at The Silo, from the moment I walked in until the moment Woolf was stuffing my semen-soaked panties in his back pocket, was the most exhilarating experience of my life. Woolf… inside of me… the most sensuous, erotic, naughty, and sinful thing ever. That one experience almost wiped the slate clean for me. It’s like no other sexual encounter has ever counted. It’s like I was a virgin and he made me new.
What I don’t know, though, is whether my heart can take the beating that Woolf would be sure to hand it if he’s really only wanting a sexual relationship. Or even worse yet, that the other night is all there will ever be. I would hope not. The mere fact that Bridger sought me out to tell me that told me something else.
It told me that Woolf must have some type of feelings for me or else Bridger wouldn’t be pushing this. That gives me the confidence to sit back and wait.
I slide the DVD out and put the next one in. Nothing makes me feel better than some super hero action and it will keep my mind occupied. I hit Play and then walk toward the kitchen to make some popcorn while the opening credits roll. My mom and dad are back in residence in Cheyenne so I have the entire house to myself. It’s not as grand as Woolf’s home, but at six-thousand square feet, it’s more than big enough to hold our family. My mom tried to talk me into coming with them, but I hastily declined. Part of it was because of Woolf, but the other part? Well, Jackson is my home. There’s no finer place in the world to be, and I never felt settled at the Governor’s Mansion. My goal, however, is to find a place of my own, but only after I find a more stable career than working as an assistant for a man that doesn’t bother to show up for work.
The doorbell rings just as I hit the kitchen and for a few seconds, I consider ignoring it. But then I think to myself… maybe, just maybe, it’s Woolf. He’s come to apologize. With flowers and to tell me that he misses me.
To tell me he wants me.
To tell me he needs me.
To beg me to make love to him.
I snicker to myself as my thoughts turn romantic and sweet, which is ludicrous. Woolf Jennings doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body and he’s about as sweet as a rattlesnake. Still, the prospect that maybe it is him has me walking toward the door, Iron Man and popcorn forgotten.
When I open my door, the heavy feeling of disappointment fills me so quickly, I almost buckle under the weight. The black-haired, blue-eyed devil I was angry at but was still hoping to see isn’t standing on the porch.
“Hello, Callie,” Will says softly with pleading eyes.
Soft, brown eyes I once thought were the answer to my broken heart, now begging me for something.
To forgive him?
To come back?
“What are you doing here?” I ask in surprise. Never in a million years would I think Will would have come here. He’s an incredibly busy and important man at his law firm. We had to plan vacations and trips at least a year in advance, and outside of the ten days he allotted himself every year for a vacation—on which I will point out he still worked—it practically needed a papal decree to get leave approved.
Will Tynnick simply didn’t drop everything and hop a plane to fly across the country.
“Can I come in?” he asks politely.
I automatically step back to give him entrance. While I didn’t think I was ready to have this conversation, the fact that he’s here and confronting me has sort of changed the game plan. Giving myself a silent pep talk, I shut the door behind him. I walk into the family room, and he follows me. After I pick up the remote control from the table and turn off the TV, I take a seat in one of the single armchairs done in thick blue leather.
Will looks around and murmurs, “I still can’t get over the amount of animals hanging in here.”
My eyes do a brief sweep of the room, taking in the various mounted heads. Typical western flare, the big, bad hunters showing off their skills. Elk and moose heads dot the walls with a large bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, all mementos of animals killed through the years by my mom and dad. There’s not one stuffed mount up there killed by me, because even though I’m a Wyoming girl to the core and a meat eater to boot, I just can’t harm an animal. I can’t even kill the trout I catch and have to turn my head from my father as he breaks their necks after he takes them off the hook. My father thinks it’s adorable, my mother just shakes her head, I think slightly disappointed I’ve apparently not inherited that caveman strand of DNA that makes our people bring home sustenance.
Will takes a seat on the matching blue, leather couch which is overstuffed and cushy. It’s my favorite place to lay and watch TV, which is something I should be doing right this very minute.
He’s nervous. His gaze fluttering all around, until he finally gets the nerve up to look at me. Will swallows hard and says, “I’m so sorry, Callie. And I’m embarrassed and humiliated. I don’t even know quite what to say to explain what you saw.”
“I think I understood what I saw,” I tell him, not unkindly, but to speed this up. I don’t need a play by play.
“I don’t think you did,” he says urgently. “That was only the second time I’d done that and I was just—”
“Did you wear protection?”
“Yes,” he says quickly. “Of course I did. I would never put you at risk like that.”
I’m not surprised by this answer. I had assumed as much and I did, in fact, go see my former OB/GYN yesterday to get tested. The office called me just this morning that the results were all negative, and I almost broke down and cried. I don’t know what I would have done if I had put Woolf at risk. Probably murdered Will, but that’s moot now.
Woolf and I were both so stupid the other night. Thinking with those anatomical parts below our waist and not with our heads.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
But oh, so damn good.
“Callie, I swear that will never happen again. I was doing it out of curiosity, and Judge Lane… she came on to me. You have to believe me, I didn’t initiate that. She came after me.”
“Will,” I say carefully… making sure he hears the sincerity in my voice. “I don’t t
hink—”
“Please,” he wails and surges off the couch to drop to his knees before me. He takes my hands in his and squeezes them desperately. “I’ll do anything to get you back. I love you so fucking much and I made the biggest mistake of my life, but I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
“Will, I can’t—”
“Callie,” he almost barks at me hysterically. “I’ll do anything. I’ll even move here to Wyoming if you want. I know you hated Connecticut—”
“What?” I ask in astonishment.
“Yeah… I’ll move here. We can make it work.”
“Wait. You knew I hated it in Connecticut but weren’t willing to make me happy before, but you are now.”
“Well,” he says hesitantly, realizing just how moronic that sounds. “I mean… I’m sure I would have offered to do that before—”
I stand up from the couch, pulling my hands from his. “Will, I’m sorry. But I just can’t go back. I can’t unsee that and the trust is broken. I just don’t think I could ever let that go.”
Will rises up from the floor and steps up to me. His brown eyes are swimming in misery, and I feel a tiny spear of hurt punch into me. The first time, really, that I’ve felt the loss of what we had. While I may have had all kinds of doubts, clearly, there was some part of me that loved him. And I think I’m feeling the weight of that now.
“Can we please just talk about this?” he asks softly.
With a sigh, I nod my head. I’ve got years invested with this man. I love him even as I detest what he did. I owe it to him to at least listen to what he has to say. The Old Callie… the one who could easily slip back into a molded lifestyle, is making the decision to hear him out.
Or maybe that’s the New Callie who is going to hear him out only because she knows she has the strength to turn him down when it’s all said and done.
Chapter 11
Woolf
I drain the last of the bourbon from my glass and set it down on the top of the bar, sliding it toward Stephanie. “Hit me again.”
Stephanie arches a lovely eyebrow upward but pours my second shot. “Something must be going on to cause the cool, calm, and collected Woolf Jennings to be sitting at The Wicked Horse and drinking a late lunch.”
She pushes the glass toward me and I reach out to take it, but on a whim, I circle my hand around her wrist instead. She gives a soft intake of breath and her eyes sparkle with anticipation. Stephanie likes having her wrists pinned.
“You’re due for a break,” I tell her, which I’m sure she’s not since we haven’t even opened yet, but I’m the boss, so whatever. I stroke my thumb over her pulse, feeling it beat hard against my skin. This is what I need. A few shots of liquid encouragement and a quick fuck in the office. That will get me back on track. Purge out the insanely obsessive thoughts of Callie that are holding me hostage.
The front door to the club opens, and I recognize Bridger’s frame entering against the haze of bright sunlight. The door closes, and he comes into focus. His eyes cut to the bar—maybe to the glass of bourbon or the way I’m holding Stephanie, who knows—but he scowls when he tips his gaze back to me.
“Hey man,” I say in welcome as he approaches us. “Stephanie and I were just about to hit the office for a little fuckfest. Come join us.”
Bridger doesn’t even stop his stride but looks over at Stephanie and says, “Sorry, darlin’. Not interested right now.”
He doesn’t look back at me as he walks past, but he does say, “I need to talk to you.”
Sighing, I let go of Stephanie’s wrist and take the glass of bourbon, shooting it straight down the back of my throat. Hissing out, I slap the glass on the bar. I give her a wink and a devilish grin. “Give me a few minutes and then come on back. It won’t take me that long to get him to change his mind.”
She laughs and picks up the glass. “Can’t wait.”
I turn from the bar and saunter back to our office.
Feeling good.
Going to tap some sweet pussy and then I’m going to be back in the saddle so to speak.
As soon as I enter the office, I can feel the anger vibrating off Bridger. He looks at me with dark eyes and says, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Huh?
“Well, I was getting ready to fuck Stephanie for a little afternoon quickie. Something I’ve done often and with you in attendance. What the hell is wrong with that?”
And even as I say it, my stomach cramps at the thought of fucking her, because that’s not who I really want. Not who I want at all.
“I want to know why you’re interested in that when you’ve got Callie Hayes.” His voice is hard with a measure of disdain.
“Callie Hayes?” I ask, playing dumb. Playing dumb because I’m not about to even give credence to his idea.
“Yeah,” he says with a frustrated grunt. “The beautiful girl who you fucked the other night and told me the next morning it was the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. Remember that?”
“Well, yeah… sure I said that,” I admit shamefully. “But that was just post-sex haze talking.”
“It was a full twelve hours after you blew a nut, asshole.”
I wince, because I know Bridger well and I know without a doubt I’m not going to win this argument. This man knows everything about me. Hell, he knows more about me than I do because the man is the most sentient person I’ve ever met. It also doesn’t help that I tell him practically everything. He knows everything that I do because I never hesitate to divulge. He’s one of those people that I know holds my confidence tightly and has uncanny wisdom which I respect. I tell him everything because I want him to impart that precious wisdom on me.
Hell… the minute I saw Bridger walk in the bar, I knew I wanted him to save me from the offer I had just made to Stephanie. I knew that he knew she wasn’t the right course for me to take, and that he would bail me out.
Now I need him to give me a push.
“I have nothing to offer her,” I tell Bridger with frustration as I sit down heavily on the couch.
He leans his ass on our desk, propping his hands by his hips. “You have everything to offer her.”
“Great sex?” I say with a colorless laugh.
“That’s a damn good start,” Bridger says seriously. “From there, it will develop.”
“What will develop?” I demand sarcastically of the all-knowing, all-seeing Bridger Payne. “A relationship? Love? Marriage and kids?”
“Possibly,” he says with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe nothing but great sex, but as I said, it’s a fucking awesome place to start.”
Shaking my head in denial, I argue, “That’s not me. I don’t want the responsibility of commitment. I want to do as I please when I want.”
Bridger says nothing. Just stares at me patiently, waits for me to make an attempt to work this out on my own. It pisses me off, but gives me the steam to keep talking it through.
“She and I are too different,” I point out. “She’s all sunshine and sweet lemonade. I’m like a thunderstorm and will roll right over her, ruining everything she is.”
“You’re a fucking poet,” Bridger says drily. “And yeah… that’s a damn good description of the two of you.”
“So why would I even attempt to snuff out that sunshine?” I ask in exasperation. “Why would I ever want to do that to her?”
Bridger gives a laugh as he pushes off from the desk. He walks over to the door and places his hand on the knob. “Dude… my money is on Callie. I think her sunshine is going to banish your thunderstorm in like a nanosecond.”
“What?” I ask in astonishment.
“You heard me. It doesn’t need repeating.”
Leaning forward on the couch, I scrub my hands over my face and then gaze in contemplation at the tips of my boots. Do I want to be influenced by Callie? I wouldn’t be lying when I say I’m drawn to her light. Everything about her makes me feel good.
Always has.
“Woolf,” Bridger says softly and I look up at him. “We’re tight, you and me.”
I nod.
“But I choose this lifestyle because it’s innately who I am. You followed me here, and I love every fucking minute of our journey together. But man, hear me when I say… you cannot stand beside me in my loneliness forever. It balances me, but partner… it will destroy you one day.”
Even as he says those words, I know they’re true. Otherwise, the sharp bite of pain in the middle of my chest wouldn’t feel so exquisitely honest. Maybe I’ve always known there was something more for me, but I was too afraid to ever give it credence. Or maybe I didn’t want to leave Bridger behind because I think he needs me.
Now Bridger is making me reconsider.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and Bridger turns the knob to open it. He doesn’t even look at Stephanie standing there. He knew it was her. Expected her. Knew that I told her to come back, because he knows me.
“Come on in, sugar,” he says while staring at me. “Woolf has something important he needs to do, but I decided I want to play a little.”
*
Callie’s got me on a nice chase this afternoon.
After I left The Wicked Horse, where I’m sure Stephanie and Bridger had a very nice time together, I drove out to The Double J. I assumed Callie would be there working, but her truck wasn’t there and it was locked up tight. I went in regardless to see if she had left a note, but nothing.
This concerned me because it wasn’t like Callie. She was too responsible, and it fired dread up within me. Perhaps I’d already run her off for good.
I quickly called Bridger, who told me that he’d seen Callie there earlier but that she looked like she was getting ready to leave. Asshole couldn’t have told me that when he was shooing me out the door an hour ago?
Now I’m making the forty-five minute drive back to Jackson, hoping she’s at her parents’ house.
I use the long drive to sift through my thoughts and try to organize them. I reflect on what Bridger told me today, and I focus on his confidence that Callie is good for me. That I wouldn’t destroy her. His money was on the girl.
The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series) Page 10