by Angel Smits
She couldn’t, however, tell what he was thinking. Maybe that was a good thing. “Tyler told the truth in the conference room. He did call me. Right after DJ was hurt.” She paused, not quite sure how he’d react to what Tyler had told her. “He was afraid DJ wouldn’t like him.”
Wyatt cursed softly.
“As a result, Warren instructed me to continue the weekly visits. As the court visitor, not the judge.” She clarified. “So here I am.”
The pause was long, but finally Wyatt spoke. “Does he really feel that’s necessary?”
Should she tell him it was as much to protect her as it was Tyler? She looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes, he does.”
“What do you think?”
She shrugged. “Tyler’s expressed concerns and fears. I can’t discount that.”
“That was before he met DJ, right?”
She nodded. “It’s still best to address it. Get it in the record and let Warren make a clean decision.”
Unlike what she’d done by muddying everything with her emotions and hang-ups.
She turned around to look at Wyatt, drinking him in. She could no longer deny it—she’d fallen in love with him. Fallen hard and irrevocably.
The damned tears were stronger than she was. She laughed, surprising herself and Wyatt, as they trickled down her cheeks. She hastily dashed them away.
“Emily?” His voice was soft. Close.
She took a step away. “Please, don’t.” She tried to refocus on the view.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, moving closer.
“Nothing,” she whispered. The silence of the parking structure settled around them. Emily could tell something was on Wyatt’s mind.
“What are you thinking?”
When she looked at him, she was surprised to see he wasn’t looking at her, but at the view. “Anne, the social worker, gave me some information today.”
“About?”
He hesitated before finally turning to look at her. “Post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes were filled with worry and questions. “Do you know much about it?”
“Just what I’ve seen in the media and some of the reports that have crossed my desk.”
He nodded. “She gave me a list of the symptoms to watch for, just in case.”
“Does she think DJ has it?”
He didn’t answer right away. “She just said I need to know what to watch for.”
This was crazy, this whole stilted conversation was wrong. Why was she so hesitant? Why was he?
“Emily? Don’t take this wrong, but...have you ever considered that you have some of the symptoms?”
That was not what she’d expected him to say. She stared. “What? No. That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” He turned back toward her.
“Yes, it is.”
Wyatt slowly walked back to her. “From what you told me about your stepfather, the abuse, it’s not ridiculous.”
She shook her head, ignoring the nagging pain she felt. “That was years ago. I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. Besides, even if it were a problem, you can’t fix it. You can’t change anything.” Was that ragged voice hers?
His anger flared. “Everyone keeps saying that. What is so damned wrong with wanting to take care of the people you love?” He glared at her, but she didn’t flinch or look away. She met him glare for glare.
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she whispered. “It just doesn’t always work.”
She didn’t remember moving. She couldn’t recall him moving. But the strength of his arms was suddenly there. Warm. Tight.
His lips found hers, and no matter how many little voices in the back of her mind told her to stop, she didn’t. She couldn’t.
This was the man who’d made love to her only days ago. He was everything she wanted. A home, a family, a friend. He’d taken her heart, loved her body and cared for her soul when she’d hurt. What more could she ask for?
Her sigh escaped. She clung to him, sliding her arms over his broad shoulders and letting him hold her up as her knees went weak.
Wyatt’s big, strong hands moved up and down her back, seducing and soothing. Holding her to him.
Moments later, Wyatt abruptly stepped away, dragging the breath into his lungs. “Damn, Emily.” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “You’re killing me.”
She didn’t move. When she could finally speak, her voice was a strained whisper. “I can’t think straight.”
“That makes two of us,” he mumbled.
“What the hell are we supposed to do now?” He paced, curling his hands around the railing and tearing his gaze away from her. “You tell me.”
He was looking to her for answers? She almost laughed. There weren’t any answers. “Talk? You want to talk?” she asked incredulously, her brain still on passion overload.
“Hell, no. But if I do what I want...” He let that trail off as he moved several feet away, thankfully out of temptation’s range.
She took a couple steps of her own, straightening her blouse, erasing the evidence of his touch. Deep breaths didn’t help a bit.
Wyatt walked back to her slowly, carefully, stopping just out of reach. He shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “This is insane. Not until all of this is settled—” He turned away and stared over the rail again.
“Until it’s settled, what?” She didn’t move.
He looked at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Until this is over, let’s just keep our distance.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean.” Anger made his voice rise. “I want you, as a woman, but all this hot-cold, gotta-toe-the-line crap is impossible.”
He walked past her toward the elevators.
He was right. It was what she should’ve said. She opened the driver’s door and paused to stare at him over the frame. “Maybe if things were different.” Maybe if she were different. She climbed in and started the engine.
Emily nearly hit the concrete wall on the first turn out of the parking lot. She slammed on the brakes, struggling to tear her gaze away from the rearview mirror where Wyatt stood perfectly framed, still waiting for the elevator. She forced herself to focus on the ramp.
If this was so damned right, why did his walking away hurt so much?
Jason had pegged it. Needy would suck Wyatt dry. He’d never be able to resist his own nature to fix things...to fix her. But he couldn’t.
She was just too broken.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AFTER DJ SETTLED into the house, life developed a familiar routine. Tyler got up each day to go to school. DJ got up and one of the hands took him into San Antonio. Wyatt took his rotation, too, hoping the time would help him get to know his brother again.
Two weeks in, DJ’s doctor cleared him to drive. Wyatt clapped him on the back in congratulations. Maybe now DJ would have more of a sense of freedom and the stress on the household would go down.
That night as they were all seated around the dinner table, Wyatt wanted to take that congratulations back. “You want to what?” Every voice stopped and half a dozen pair of eyes, including Tyler’s, looked back and forth between the brothers.
“You heard me.” DJ glared across the table at Wyatt. “I’m going to Dallas this weekend to get my bike.” He’d left it in Amanda’s garage when he’d gone overseas. “Either you can loan me the truck and I’ll haul the bike home, or someone can drive me down and I’ll ride it back. I’d prefer to haul it so I can check the engine before I ride it that far.” DJ continued eating as if Wyatt weren’t staring at him. “Your choice,” he said with a full mouth.
“Seems sufficiently stupid to me, to go overseas and nearly get blown up only to come home and splatter yourself all over t
he road,” Wyatt said.
“You would think that.”
The brothers stared at each other and the tension in the room grew with each passing second.
Wyatt broke the silence. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”
DJ cursed and levered up from his seat. He was using Dad’s captain’s chair as it was the only chair in the house strong enough and with arms to take the pressure he applied when lifting up. Wyatt watched, worried. DJ struggled to stand—how the hell was he going to handle a huge Harley out on the open road?
But the determination on DJ’s face told Wyatt that his brother had made up his mind and there was no changing it. He stared down at his half-empty plate as DJ limped out of the room.
DJ’s plate was nearly full. “Yolanda, will you save that for him?”
Yolanda wrapped the plate and put it in the refrigerator without a word. No one said a word. Even Tyler remained quiet, pushing his beans around his plate. The silence was nearly deafening.
The next day, DJ went to San Antonio for therapy before they had a chance to talk. It wasn’t as if Wyatt knew what he’d say. He hated that they were at odds, though. Now he stood at the corral fence, not sure about anything anymore.
Dancer looked good, healthy, as he galloped around. He was itching to get out of his pen, and Wyatt totally understood how he felt.
Over the past couple weeks, Emily had stuck to her plan to visit each Friday. Wyatt had made sure he was out in the barn or the pastures whenever she drove up.
He wasn’t sure he could stop himself from giving in and grabbing her and hauling her caveman-style upstairs. He figured that wouldn’t look good in her report.
“You thinking about letting him loose?” Chet stepped up to lean beside Wyatt.
“Think Haymaker’s gonna try to get at him again?”
“Probably.” That was why Wyatt had been dragging his feet about letting the horse loose. He didn’t want to put him at risk. Haymaker probably already knew what they were thinking and was chomping at the bit to get Dancer in his sights again. “He knows too damned much,” Wyatt grumbled, then froze as he realized something he should’ve known before.
Son of a... If Earl Walker had sold Sugar, Palace—Pal—Haymaker, the next-door neighbor from hell, would’ve known about it. He knew everything and everyone who dealt in horses. Wyatt hated dealing with the old coot. He was a scoundrel and Wyatt was pretty sure he’d put his boys up to tempting Dancer to go over that fence. Wyatt would just as soon punch the guy as talk to him.
But Wyatt had something the old guy wanted. A pretty big bargaining chip. Dancer came over to the fence to say hello, and Wyatt rubbed his nose. “If this works, your love life, and mine, are about to get a whole lot better.”
Wyatt wasn’t calling Haymaker. The old guy hated phones. This was better done face-to-face. So he drove over. As he entered the yard, he noticed that a lot had changed since the last time Wyatt was there. Several of the old buildings had been replaced with new and shiny ones.
Either business was good or Haymaker was up to his eyeballs in debt.
A tiny Hispanic woman met him at the door and led Wyatt through the empty house. Pal Jr. lived in town, and Wyatt knew there was no way Pal would have anyone else in the house. The fact that the maid was still here so late in the day made Wyatt wonder....
“Evenin’, Wyatt.” Pal’s big booming voice came from the front room and Wyatt found him sitting in a recliner. A TV tray sat next to the chair and Pal grabbed a remote to mute the TV. His shit-eating grin grated on Wyatt’s nerves.
“Evenin’, Pal.” He sat down on the end of the couch.
“What can I do for you?”
“I have an offer for you.”
“Go ahead. I’m listening.” Pal leaned back in the recliner, the leather groaning.
“I need some information. I thought you’d probably know where I can get it.”
“And if I tell you?”
“If.” Wyatt leaned back. “If I get it, I’m willing to negotiate a reduced price for Dancer’s stud fees.” The fact that they both knew Pal had been trying to get them free of charge hung unspoken in the air.
Pal rubbed his jaw, the rasp of his whiskers loud against his gnarled hand. “Hmm, seems like a fair bargain depending on what info you might need.”
It was more than fair and they both knew it.
“Might be tough to get.” Wyatt let the challenge set a minute. “Fifteen, twenty years ago a man named Earl Walker tried to sell a horse named Sugar. White.”
“Hell, boy. That could be hundreds of horses.”
“I thought maybe you’d recognize the name.”
Pal shook his head. “What’s special about this horse? Why haven’t you checked sales records with the county?”
“I did. Didn’t find anything.” He’d found the original record when John Ivers purchased the horse for his daughter and put it in her name. Nothing else.
Pal stared at him a long minute. “Don’t see where I can help you.” And Wyatt could tell that ate at Pal. He wanted what Wyatt had—bad.
“Well. The sale might not have been totally legal.” Wyatt didn’t say any more. “The horse was badly injured. Beaten. A pitchfork probably left scars.”
Pal sat back in his chair. He met Wyatt’s hard gaze with a glare of his own. He obviously didn’t like Wyatt’s insinuation, but knowledge flashed in the old man’s face.
“If I know, how much you gonna charge for the stud?”
“If you give me the info and I can verify it, for you the fee is half. On my territory, though. Dancer doesn’t leave my ranch.” Wyatt didn’t break Pal’s stare.
Time ticked by as the old man searched around in his head, a calculator clicking behind those shrewd eyes. “There an expiration date on this deal?”
“I’d like the info soon, but nope.” Wyatt was taking a risk, but it was worth it. He needed to do this for Emily, but he wasn’t going to put Dancer at risk, either. He didn’t like Pal Haymaker, but he did respect him as a horseman. The foal that would come out of this would be top of the line. Pal owned nothing less.
The old man stuck out his hand. “Sounds fair to me. I’ll make a couple calls and get back to you.”
Wyatt shook the man’s hand and headed to the door. He stopped before stepping outside. “I’ll look forward to your call. You can make the other arrangements through my foreman.”
“Still employing that good for nothin’ Chet Larson?”
“Chet’s still the best foreman in the county, and you know it.” Pal had tried to hire Chet away often enough.
“Ah, I’ll be the judge of that.” Pal turned the television back on as Wyatt headed to his truck.
Anticipation rode close on Wyatt’s heels. He’d have answers. But were they answers he and Emily could live with?
* * *
IT TOOK TWO days for Wyatt and DJ to speak again. Wyatt walked into the den. DJ lay on the floor.
At first, Wyatt panicked, then as DJ remained there, staring up at the ceiling, Wyatt realized his brother wasn’t even trying to get up. Wyatt walked over to him, and his brother looked up at him. “You need help?” Wyatt finally asked.
“Have faith, brother.” DJ pushed up so that he leaned back against the recliner, his damaged legs stretched out in front of him. He rose slowly, using the old chair as support. “If I don’t learn to do this myself, I’ll be on the floor forever.”
It nearly killed Wyatt to stand there and watch DJ struggle. But he did it because DJ had made it very clear since he’d arrived home that he did not want anyone’s help. Finally, after what seemed like hours, DJ reached back and, with the arms that had been honed to thick muscular appendages, hauled himself up to sit on the edge of the chair. The damage to DJ’s legs had left them weak, and while therapy helped, he still h
ad a long way to go before he could stand easily.
“After that, I need a drink.” DJ’s voice was thready as he struggled to stand and walk to the liquor cabinet.
Wyatt looked over at the other man with both admiration and concern. “What meds you take today?”
“You’re not my mother,” DJ snapped. “I can have a damned drink.”
Wyatt walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink, as well. “It’s your funeral. But before you die, try explaining to your son what a jerk you can be so I don’t have to.”
DJ sent Wyatt a withering glare and Wyatt turned away, catching a glance out the window at the corral across the yard. Chet was exercising Dancer in a hearty trot around the arena. With Pal’s threat diminished, they’d decided to let the horse loose this afternoon.
Wyatt almost laughed. Dancer was a lot like DJ, determined but headstrong sometimes. The downtime hadn’t done a thing to keep Dancer from trying to escape the corral. But until Wyatt had gotten control over him and Haymaker, he hadn’t been able to let him loose.
He quickly glanced at his brother. Was that what he was trying to do with DJ? Control him? Break him? Wyatt cursed himself and turned back to face his brother. “So you wanna talk about it? The fall?”
“Just going too fast.” DJ leaned back in the seat, his legs up, balancing his half-finished drink on his T-shirt-clad stomach. “It sucks being so limited. I just want to get up and go without having to think about how to make my legs work.”
The sadness in DJ’s voice tore at Wyatt. He missed the free-spirited boy who’d gone off to war. But there was no sense in wallowing. They had agreed when he’d come here to look forward, not back.
“You’ll get there.”
DJ laughed but it was a mirthless sound. “Not like before.” He tore his gaze from Wyatt and stared into his drink. “Never like before.”
The silence grew heavy around them.
“I can take you to Dallas on Saturday,” Wyatt whispered. For all that DJ had lost and had sacrificed, Wyatt couldn’t deny him his bike or his freedom. No matter how much he disagreed with his brother’s intentions.