by Jamie Beck
Emma closed her eyes like she was praying for patience. “Tell Mari dinner will be on time, assuming you both leave me be for five minutes so I can finish pulling everything together.”
Before Wyatt walked away from Emma, he muttered, “Consider this conversation on hold.”
When she faced him, he noticed her gaze snagged on his mouth. That fact made his pulse, and other parts of his anatomy, jump. Trip’s bet and warning drifted through his mind as he dragged himself out of the kitchen.
“Everyone likes to feel needed, Emma.” His melancholy words had sounded feverish, or maybe she’d only thought so because her blood had boiled faster than water in an electric teakettle. Had the day’s events affected his outlook, his priorities? He’d kept looking at her like he wanted something. Her attention? Her approval? Her touch?
A hopeful but doomed zing sailed through her heart before she took hold of herself. Wyatt Lawson desired women like Alexa, not Emma. Whatever he wanted from her, it had more to do with needing a distraction than wanting someone to burn up the sheets with, for Pete’s sake.
Besides, even if she could stomach dating a highly sought-after man, she wouldn’t pin her hopes on a guy hell-bent on making a name for himself—traveling the globe chasing storms and competitions. No. At best, she’d be as lonely as ever with a man like that, at worst, she’d end up brokenhearted. Been there, done that . . .
Her father placed a silver necklace with a heart-shaped locket in her hands, closing his fingers around her fist. “I know you’re sad, sweetie. But when I get settled, you’ll love visiting me in Los Angeles. We’ll go to the beach. Learn to surf. I’ll even bring you on a movie set. It’ll be fun. You’ll have a life here in the mountains, and one by the ocean.”
He had a way of dramatizing things to make them sound exciting—of needing them to be so, too—but Emma might as well have been an oak tree for how rooted in reality she’d been.
Whatever promises he made, she doubted that he’d keep them once he left, and not just because she’d overheard her mom’s accusations or sobs. Emma’d spent her childhood desperately seeking his attention, determined to make him proud. There’d been moments when she’d thought she’d succeeded. When he’d sat in front of the fire reading to her as if fully content with his life, his family. But he was a decent actor, and apparently those moments had been just for show.
“Now give me a hug before I go, baby.”
She complied, although woodenly. One thing she would not do was break down in front of him. If anything, her sadness had given way to resentment. But Emma would hide her anger. As far as she was concerned, he’d lost the privilege of seeing any of her emotions. “’Bye, Daddy.”
He tweaked her nose, then he stood, hands welded to his hips, and took a last look at the lobby. She knew right then she would never, ever forget the utter relief reflected in his eyes as he closed this chapter of his life. A look that proved he’d never loved her enough. “’Bye.”
Once he walked out, she tromped up to her bedroom. Unclenching her fist, she opened the locket to find a photo of the two of them inside. She studied his blond hair curled around his ears. His stubble and proud chin. The dimples that made lots of stupid women guests giggle, which then always made her mom and dad yell and slam doors.
With unsteady hands, she hid the necklace in the back corner of her pajama drawer, then she crawled onto her bed, pulled a pillow over her head, and cried.
Emma shook her head to break apart the unbidden memory, although remembering it might keep her in check. Setting aside a small plate for herself first, she then arranged the serving bowls on various platters to take to her guests.
When she entered the dining room, Wyatt and Mari were bent over a laptop, presumably watching the soon-to-be-released clip. Wyatt’s arms wound around his body, his brow drawn low, his lower lip tormented beneath the scrape of his teeth. Emma guessed watching the footage had forced him to relive the awful event, but she couldn’t be sure. Maybe that’s just how he looked when he focused.
Meanwhile, Mari’s ambition took priority over everything else, including giving Wyatt and Ryder no more than a couple of hours to recover from the fright. Resentment toward the woman’s insensitivity coiled tiny knots in Emma’s lungs. If this were a scene in a book, she might have her heroine “accidentally” spill soup on Mari, or find a way to erase the avalanche footage. But this wasn’t a book, and Emma wasn’t anyone’s heroine.
Ryder stood to the side of the others—cane in hand, eyes hidden behind his glasses—refusing to watch the video. Discomfort and isolation surrounded him like a palpable force field, making Emma yearn to reach through it and help him reconnect with the world.
A dull ache swaddled her heart. Whatever good she might be able to do for Ryder, it would never restore him completely. Each day would present him with new challenges and struggles. She could only hope that somewhere inside he had the fortitude to press forward and grab at bits and pieces of happiness when they came. In that way, perhaps they had that in common.
“Hey, folks. You probably want to eat this while it’s hot.” She scattered the platters around the table while the crew took their seats. “Protein-packed and loaded with flavor. I’ll be back with drinks in a second.”
After she’d served them all, she retreated to the kitchen and quickly gobbled down her own meal. Any pride she might’ve taken in preparing that excellent dinner had been supplanted with heaviness. Not exactly the mood that would help her write another chapter of her work-in-progress, or tap into her inner wild-and-sexy to come up with a Facebook post or two tonight. She wrinkled her nose at the thought because, in light of everything that had transpired this afternoon, her book and its publicity suddenly seemed silly and inconsequential.
Seeing these other sides of Wyatt had also been making her feel more awkward about her character Dallas. Wyatt had been the inspiration for her hero, but then she’d ascribed all kinds of other attributes and layers to Dallas to mold a perfect romantic hero. It hadn’t felt wrong, at least not at the time. Sometimes now, when seeing Wyatt stroll through the inn, it seemed like Dallas had sprung to life. An utterly foolish and frightening thought. Wyatt was not Dallas, and vice versa, but noticing the similarities and differences between the two only increased her discomfort.
An exhausting dilemma. Sluggishly, she cleaned the mixing bowls and taco press and then went to check on her guests.
While she cleared the table, she quietly mentioned to Ryder, “I’m going to make rum balls next, if you’d like to help.”
“I have a h-headache.” He turned to her.
“It’s been a stressful day. You should get some rest.” She touched his shoulder. “If you aren’t up to going with me tomorrow, that’s fine, too.”
“I want to go,” Wyatt interjected.
“Go where?” Mari asked before Emma could lift her jaw off the floor.
“Emma volunteers at a local eldercare place, and Ryder’s joining her tomorrow.” Wyatt smiled at Emma, having neatly trapped her. “Seeing as I’m taking the day off on doctor’s orders, I want to go with them.”
Mari’s eyes lit with a fearsome mix of cunning and pleasure. “Oh, that’ll be wonderful PR. The images of the avalanche juxtaposed with you turning around and helping others. Perfect.”
“Hold on,” Emma asserted, having finally found her voice. “I didn’t agree to take Wyatt, much less consent to letting you all descend on those people.”
“Excuse me?” Mari had the gall to look affronted after she’d tried to hijack Emma’s plans.
“You heard me, Mari.” Emma set down the stack of dishes she’d collected. “I’m here to serve your needs at the inn, but you can’t barge into every corner of my life, or the lives of the people in my life. Those people trust me, and I’m not going to subject them to cameras and questions, or trot them out for entertainment’s sake.”
“You make it sound so distasteful. Have you considered that some of them might find it enjoyable . . . excit
ing, even? Naturally we couldn’t record anyone who didn’t sign a waiver, but why rob them of a chance to do something unique? Being in a film with an international sports figure is an opportunity most people would probably love to experience.”
Emma rocked back on her heels. Could Mari have a point? Might Mrs. Marchetti or old Tom Jahns like the spotlight? It seemed unlikely. Then again, her erotica-writing career would seem even more implausible to everyone in town. Perhaps, deep down, many people would jump at a chance to experience something new, especially if they’d been confined to an eldercare facility for months or years.
“Then there’s the issue of how this could help Wyatt’s image.” Mari raised her brow in that snotty, stuck-up way Emma couldn’t stand. “But I suppose that’s not important to you, is it?”
“I understand why Emma’s being protective.” Wyatt tossed his napkin on the table and stared straight into her soul. “I’d still like to go, with or without the cameras.”
Somehow instead of Mari being the bad guy, that black hat hovered above Emma’s head now, waiting for her decision. How could she deny Wyatt after what he’d confessed to her in the kitchen?
“Fine. You can come. But before the cameras show up, I need to clear it with the center’s director.”
“Fair enough.” Mari’s victorious smile made Emma want to hurl. “I’d like to be part of that call so I might be able to answer any questions and assure everyone that we won’t do anything to upset the residents.”
“It’s after hours, so we’ll have to wait until early morning to speak with her.” Emma lifted the stack of dishes again and dashed into the kitchen before her good manners vanished.
Once safely ensconced in her kitchen, Emma took out her feelings on the dishes by jamming them into the dishwasher.
“Whoa.” Wyatt had sneaked into the kitchen and crossed to where she fumed. He removed a dish from her hand. “Take a breath before you chip all your plates.”
“I’m fine.” She held out her palm, face up. “Seriously, Wyatt. Please hand me the plate and go back to your posse.”
He placed it back in her hand. “I’m sorry about what happened out there. I didn’t think about how Mari might react. If I had, I would’ve waited to speak with you in private. If it’s going to be a problem, I can say my knee hurts, or make up some other excuse not to go.”
Emma eyed him, trying to determine whether this was some excellent form of manipulation or simple sincerity. Having already decided some of the residents would enjoy participating in a film, she gave Wyatt the benefit of the doubt.
“As long as no one exploits the patients, I suppose it is fine. Mari’s right, some of them might get a little thrill out of it. It’ll certainly be a big change from a round of bingo.”
“Nice to know I’m good for something.” His grin seriously messed with her head, filling it with fanciful thoughts of hand-holding, stolen kisses, warm embraces.
“Imagine that,” she teased, then reined herself in. For a dozen reasons, not the least of which were her secrets, she couldn’t let him know her.
“What are you baking?” he asked, glancing toward the oven. “Smells good.”
“I thought refined sugar is off-limits.” Feeling crowded by his presence, she asked, “Shouldn’t you be out there making decisions about the footage?”
“Like I have any say.” Wyatt frowned and rapped his knuckles on the counter. When he looked up, his eyes glittered with fire, and his lopsided grin warned of a mood change. “As for my nutrition plan, tell me what’s on the dessert menu tonight. I’m feeling naughty.”
Emma couldn’t think with him standing so near. Her heart relocated to her ears, its beat throbbing there, blocking out other sounds. She stepped aside to create a little distance between them before they fused together. “No wonder you like Trip. You’re a junior version of him.”
“First of all, I’m not that much younger than him, or you. Secondly, what’s so bad about being like him?” Wyatt rubbed his jaw with one hand, and she found herself wondering if his stubble felt prickly or soft. He’d been clean-shaven the night his mouth had kissed every inch of her skin. That memory sparked a burst of goose bumps that rushed down her neck. “Seems like he has a good time and a good life . . . a happy one.”
“Dumb luck. Kelsey’s the only person in the world who could’ve looked beyond his ego and wrangled him into submission.” As soon as the word submission slid over her tongue, that electric charge sparked again, knocking her into a brief daze. Judging from the way Wyatt’s eyes had strayed to her mouth, she guessed he’d been struck, too.
He might not remember her or their history, but apparently a subconscious part of him had some sort of muscle memory. Emma cleared her throat and went to the oven to check on the cake. “I’m making chocolate rum balls. It’s a favorite of the senior set.”
He followed her, which increased her self-consciousness. “So why bake a cake?”
“It’s the base for the rum balls. I crumble it up with buttercream icing, add rum, roll it up into little balls and then dunk them in jimmies.”
“Let me crumble the cake. That’s something my mom would’ve never allowed.”
Emma smiled, trying to picture Wyatt as a young boy. His loose curls, begging to be tugged, dangling around his jaw. Those hazel eyes, wide and curious, seeking answers and pleasure. Whoops, another word she should avoid in his presence unless she wanted her knees to give out.
“Okay, but it needs to cool. Go finish with Mari and come back in a bit. I’ll clean up and then mix the icing.”
Wyatt nodded and left her alone, thankfully. Of course, Kelsey picked that one moment of much-needed solitude to call. She nestled the phone between her ear and shoulder so she could keep cleaning.
“Hey, Kels. What’s up?”
“I called to thank you for thinking of Trip. He came home all wired—friskier than normal, which is saying something.”
“TMI, friend. TMI.” Emma smiled, glad to hear the cheerfulness in Kelsey’s voice. She could only pray that Trip truly loved Kelsey and would forsake others until death. Experience told Emma it wasn’t likely, but she’d keep that cynical thought to herself. “I think it’s a good pairing. Wyatt’s brother, Ryder, should be a little relieved, too, knowing Trip’s expertise will reduce some of the risks.”
“Good. Now, the other reason I called is because I have gossip.”
Gossip, the grease that kept their small town running. Last February it had been all about Andy, most of it brutal. She doubted she’d handle that kind of scrutiny as well as he had. She’d never quite understood how people quickly forgot their own mistakes when throwing stones at others. Hypocrisy was alive and well in Sterling Canyon. Who was its next victim, she wondered? “Oh, really? Who are we whispering about today?”
“You.”
Emma froze. Had Andy seen her books or overheard her marketing call earlier? But he’d come to her first, wouldn’t he? Had someone else somehow discovered the link between “Alexa” and Emma? Heart pulsing in her throat, she tried to reply without her voice squeaking. “Me?”
“Uh huh. Apparently, you’ve been holding out on me. Me, the lover of all things romance! Don’t bother denying it, all I want is confirmation.”
Emma’s vision fogged. How would she convince Kelsey to keep her secret? Kelsey would surely tell Trip, who’d never stop teasing her. And Avery, who’d then tell Grey. Lord only knew what horrid nickname Grey would think up once he knew. And Kelsey’s sister, Maura, who’d tell her husband, Bill. By morning half the town would be snickering and teasing and nosing their way into her business and onto her Facebook page, which was loaded with photos of almost-naked men.
And her mother . . . her mother would be mortified. Emma’s own mixed feelings about her dual identity aside, the idea of seeing shame reflected in her mom’s eyes nearly buckled her knees. What kind of dark tailspin might that send her mother into? She held the phone with her hand now so it didn’t drop.
“I can
’t confirm anything until I know what you’re talking about.” Emma winced, doubting the wobble in her voice sounded carefree.
“Wyatt Lawson has a little crush on you.”
Emma stared at the phone as if it had turned into a potato. The relief that the gossip had nothing to do with her writing receded while disbelief rose up in its place. “What in the world gave you that idea? Honestly, I’d have thought being in a relationship would make you less crazy, not more.”
“Trip told me. Seems Wyatt has a little thing for you, but he’s keeping it in check because of his training, and the fact that you don’t seem to be interested. But honestly, Em, how can you not be interested? Wyatt Lawson . . . he’s so darn fine.”
Emma’s pulse galloped ahead of her racing thoughts. Fine? Wrong. Adorably sexy—check. Domineering in bed—double check. “Kelsey, he’s too young. And temporary. And in training, as he pointed out, assuming Trip isn’t playing some colossal joke on both you and me, which I wouldn’t put past him.”
“Oh, no. It’s no joke. He chuckled about it all through dinner. Apparently he issued a stern warning that anyone who messed with your heart would answer to him and Grey, then he baited Wyatt with a bet.” Kelsey’s feminine giggle rippled through the phone.
“What?” Emma slapped her hand to her forehead. “Listen, Kelsey, I know a bet brought you and Trip together, but unlike you, I didn’t agree to participate in any wager. I do not want to be the subject of one, either. You tell Trip to rescind it tomorrow. I mean it. Good grief, like I don’t have enough to deal with.”
“You’re such a party pooper. Come on, live a little. Especially this month, with your mom away. Back in July you admitted it’d been eons since you’d had sex, and I don’t imagine that’s changed. Why not take advantage of this golden opportunity? What’ve you got to lose?”
Kelsey had always jumped into everything without a moment’s hesitation. It made her eminently fun and easy to be around, but it also had caused her no shortage of heartache. Her reputation had taken a few hits over the years, too. And when her and Trip’s secret sex life went public, tongues had wagged all over town.