by Angel Smits
“Uncle Wyatt?” Tyler’s voice came from the doorway. “Are you okay, Ms. Ivers?” The fear in his voice stilled them both. Wyatt placed a soft kiss on Emily’s forehead before stepping away.
Her shivers returned, making her teeth chatter. She wrapped her arms around her waist, finding no warmth. “I’m fine, Tyler,” she lied, understanding too clearly why her mother had protected her with lies. “I j-just got too c-cold.”
“Oh.” Tyler perked up immediately. Footsteps at the door grew louder and Yolanda, with a huge umbrella, stepped inside.
“Can you behave for Ms. Yolanda while I help Emily?” Wyatt asked.
Tyler was being very stoic, and even in the haze of her mind, Emily saw what he was doing. He was turning into Wyatt. “Th-thank you, Tyler,” she whispered to the young boy.
“Don’t worry.” Tyler walked over to her. “Uncle Wyatt knows how to take care of damsels in distress.” His words were so earnest and sweet. Emily’s eyes burned again, but these tears didn’t hurt her heart so much.
“Let’s get you a hot shower and some dry clothes.” Wyatt led her to the stairs, his hand firmly curled around hers. He didn’t take her into his room, though, as she’d hoped. Instead, he led her to the huge bathroom.
The old-fashioned claw-foot tub looked original, but a huge glass shower had been added sometime later. Wyatt reached into the shower and turned on the hot water. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
So he had noticed her trembling.
“I’m not that cold.” They were whispering, which seemed silly and yet intimate. He moved to the door and a gasp escaped her. He looked over his shoulder at her.
This was it. This was her chance. There was no turning back. “Don’t go,” she said.
“Emily.” His voice came out strained. “You’re vulnerable now. I can’t.”
“I hurt. But I know what I want.” She met his gaze and held it. Her heart sank as he walked to the door. Until he stopped, closed and locked it.
He was there beside her, before she could blink, cupping her chin with his warm hands. “Be sure. Be very, very sure,” he whispered as his lips found her. The splash of the water on the tile was the only sound for a long while.
Slowly, Wyatt’s fingers trembled against her skin as he reached out and opened the first button of her dress. The still-damp fabric clung to her, and she knew he could see every curve beneath.
Another button opened. The fabric slid apart and Wyatt leaned forward, his lips burning hot against her cool skin. When he leaned away again, she curled her fingers in the front of his shirt and tried to pull him back. He didn’t budge, just continued to undress her. Slowly. Carefully. Reverently.
Steam wafted around them with a warm kind of calm. When all her clothes had slipped away and were neatly hung to dry, Wyatt’s hands, now warm, curled around her shoulders and nudged her toward the hot spray.
“Are you going to join me?” Her voice shook, and she couldn’t put it off to the cold this time. She was more than warm now.
“Your choice. I won’t push you, Emily.”
She turned to face him and watched him follow the path of the water spilling down over her. “Love me, Wyatt.”
Wyatt didn’t wait to be asked again. His shirt, jeans and boots disappeared not nearly as neatly as hers had. Emily shoved the water from her eyes, needing to watch him for fear he’d disappear. His well-toned body was proof of all the hours of hard work he put in, as well as his desire for her.
He walked slowly toward her, letting her look. At the edge of the shower he paused, and she held her breath waiting. “You’re sure?”
She nodded, not sure which she wanted to see more, the caring in his eyes, or the hard evidence of his desire. He took that decision away from her and stepped inside. The latch sounded loud and—blessedly—final.
Wyatt pulled her into his arms and the lingering shivers stopped. “Let me take care of you,” he whispered as he pulled her close and kissed her again.
His words, the words that were the very heart of Wyatt Hawkins, vibrated through her, bringing her into him, into his world. It was all she’d ever really wanted from him. All she needed.
His care. His love.
She answered by leaning into him and returning his kiss, hoping he understood. She had no words left. She closed her eyes and let him take care of her.
The soap in Wyatt’s shower was nothing frilly, nothing sweet. It was a simple soap that lathered well in his hands. Those big, work-roughened hands moved leisurely over her shoulders, down her arms, back up her belly to cup her breasts. The water rinsed away the soap suds and Wyatt’s fingers slipped lower, between her thighs, to the tender spot he’d found all those nights ago.
Slowly, oh, so slowly, he stroked her, winding her up so that her breath came in heavy pants. “Wyatt.” She called his name softly, and yet it echoed off the tiles.
As he brought her closer to the edge, his head descended and his lips matched hers. She was ready to explode and when he finally slid his finger inside her, she flew apart. He caught her cries of completion with his lips, his touch slow, making it last and last, making her body his.
She snuggled against his strong chest, trying to catch her breath as he soothed her with simple touches and short, sweet kisses on her face and neck.
“What about you?” she whispered.
“Oh, honey. I’ve waited this long.” He leaned back and smiled down at her. “If I start now...there might be dinner and a show downstairs.” His smile was wicked and warm and made her laugh. “Later...” The promise in his eyes had her blushing. “You warm now?” He smiled down at her, his forehead against hers.
She nodded and actually felt like she could almost smile back.
“Good. ’Cause half a dozen cowboys will be here for dinner soon. Let’s get dressed.” He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a fluffy white towel from the shelf. He unfolded it and held it out for her to step into.
Briskly, he rubbed the fabric all over her, drying and caressing. She alternately laughed and melted so that when he was done, she drifted into his arms again. The resulting kiss was magical.
Once dressed and ready to open the door again, Emily froze. In here, in this small, cozy room with Wyatt, she felt alive, safe, sheltered from reality. Out there—
“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” he said as if reading her mind. Before she could stop him, he reached past her to turn the handle and open the door. Cool air washed over her, but the shivers didn’t return.
She didn’t feel alone anymore.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE NEXT MORNING Emily awoke in Wyatt’s bed, alone. Sunlight poured in the big windows. The sound of people moving around, of life going on around her, felt safe and right. And sad.
Mom was gone. And finally at peace.
Emily dressed quickly, determined to meet the day with the same strength and determination she’d found yesterday. She had a lot to get done but right now she was doing well enough just finding the will to breathe. She needed to find Wyatt. Wanted to find him.
Last night he’d been so kind and caring. A gentle yet insistent lover. Just thinking of his touches and kisses made her pause and her knees go weak. Smiling, she stepped out into the hall the same instant Tyler ran out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of water behind him.
He might have a towel around his skinny little waist, but she knew the rest of him was totally bare. “What are you doing?” Emily asked.
“Forgot my shirt.”
“You couldn’t dry off first?” She walked closer to Tyler. The boy wasn’t just wet, he was dripping wet, from head to toe. His hair was plastered to his head and a river of water trickled from there down his bare shoulders.
He turned to face her then and she felt as if a mighty fist had slammed into her. On his l
eft shoulder three purple marks stood out against his skin. She hurried over to him, carefully turning him to face her. “What happened?” Her voice trembled.
He looked up at her, his eyes widening. He glanced down at his shoulder. “N-nothing.” He tried to scoot away, the banked fear thick in his eyes.
She followed him slowly, not wanting to scare him. “Tyler. You’re safe with me.”
“I know,” he said softly.
The sound of the dripping water from the towel to the floor was loud. She didn’t want to push him, but the churning in her gut wouldn’t let up. Her worst fears were rearing their ugly heads. Pushing her. She took several deep breaths.
“You can tell me.” She knelt down beside him. Not threatening. Trembling, but not threatening.
Tyler simply shook his head and backed away. He bumped into the door frame and hastily ducked into his room. What should she do? She knew that mark on Tyler’s shoulder. It was a handprint. Fingers. Big, wide fingers.
Her throat tightened and she fought to breathe. Images of her own past tried to crowd in, but she shoved them away. This was about Tyler. Not her.
Wyatt? No, she’d have noticed before, wouldn’t she? Or was she blinded by her attraction to him? Slow, struggling footsteps came to her ears, and she glanced over her shoulder to see DJ coming up the stairs.
She spun around and, with her hands fisted at her sides, faced the injured soldier. As he reached the landing, he looked up and their gazes clashed. She bit back her anger, holding still by sheer forced will. She clenched her jaw, trying to keep back the accusation, but failing. “There’s a handprint on Tyler’s shoulder,” she whispered.
He froze, much as she had. He didn’t deny nor confirm it. He simply shut down, turned off any sign of emotion or humanity in his face. She shivered. This was a man the government had paid to kill people. A man Wyatt had let come into his house.
“How dare you,” she growled and headed for him. She didn’t get far. Strong, hard arms grabbed her from behind. Despite the fact that she recognized those arms, she fought and screamed.
“Emily, stop.” Wyatt’s voice was close to her ear. It did nothing to calm her. If anything, it heightened her hurt and anger. She tried to kick back, her heel connecting hard against Wyatt’s shin. He cursed but didn’t let her go.
“Stop it!” Tyler’s voice cut through the insanity and she looked over to see the boy, wrapped in his soggy towel, in the doorway. Tears filled his eyes. She stilled, anger fading as sharp pain and disillusionment took its place. How dare they!
Emily gathered her breath and strength and ripped out of Wyatt’s arms. She looked back and forth between the two men, her anger nearly blinding. She strode over to Tyler and knelt beside him again. “Don’t worry, Tyler.”
“You wanted to hurt my dad.”
“No, I’m just angry. I’m okay now. Can you go into your room for me and get dressed?”
He looked at her, his eyes full of distrust and questions. “You won’t hurt them while I’m gone, will you?”
Emily doubted she could hurt either of these men. DJ might be injured but his years in the military had honed him into a strong warrior. Wyatt worked hard each day on the ranch. She knew intimately the extent of his muscle and strength. She couldn’t look at him now. DJ she glared at.
Tyler hesitated only a minute before trudging back to his room. He didn’t close the door, as if not fully trusting her. She reached out and closed it for him. And then she spun back around.
“Emily—” Wyatt started.
“No.” She held up her hands. “I’m not asking for an explanation because there’s nothing, nothing that justifies hurting a child.” Her anger returned, but this time she was able to keep it under control, barely.
“There’s an explanation.” Wyatt turned expectantly to his brother, who leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. DJ remained silent.
“We’re leaving.” Emily curled her hand around the doorknob of Tyler’s room.
“Emily, don’t,” Wyatt said.
Despite her anger she managed to see the frustration in Wyatt’s face, but she chose to ignore it. “He either goes with me, or I call social services now.” She pulled her cell out of her pocket.
“Then take him.”
DJ chose that moment to speak? She stared at the man, incredulous. And sad. Sad for Tyler. He so wanted DJ to step up and be his dad. She didn’t look at Wyatt, she simply turned the knob and went into Tyler’s room.
The boy had managed to pull on his jeans and a T-shirt that looked old and well-worn. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head down, his fingers curled tight around something metal. What was she going to tell him?
“You’re going to take me away, aren’t you?” His voice cracked.
She had to choose her words carefully. “I think it’s best right now.”
“He didn’t mean to. I know he didn’t.”
Emily closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. How many times had she heard that? How many times did the victim defend their abuser?
“Give him another chance, please,” Tyler pleaded.
She couldn’t do it. All her nightmares had come true. She was a fool. Her shivers returned. She could not stay here and condone this. And she sure as hell couldn’t leave him here. Opening her eyes, she met Tyler’s gaze through blurry tears. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I can’t do that. I’m the one who let you stay here. You can come to my place and we’ll sort it out, but you can’t stay here.”
He nodded slowly, his fingers tightening around what he held in his hand.
“What’s that?”
“Mama gave it to me,” he whispered. Slowly, he opened his hand. An old locket, almost as big as Tyler’s palm, gleamed in the dim light.
“Can I see it?” she asked carefully. Tyler extended his hand and nodded. Emily carefully took it, popping the latch.
“Oh,” he said. “I couldn’t remember how she showed me to do that.”
“Here.” She closed it again with a soft snick. “Push this button here.”
He followed her instructions and the locket popped open again. “There’s Mama.” Wonder filled his voice. “She said she was comin’ back.” He looked up at Emily. “Where is she? Why isn’t she back yet? You think she got lost?”
“I don’t know.” Emily looked at the pictures in the locket. She recognized a much younger DJ. His smile bright, his hair long and thick. So different from the coldhearted man she’d just left. The woman’s image intrigued her. Long brown hair framed a face that was oddly familiar. Tyler had her eyes.
“She’s pretty.” Emily settled down on the bed. “I don’t think she’d want you with someone who would hurt you.”
Tyler pondered that. “Dom hurt me so she sent me away. Guess you’re doing the same thing, huh?”
She didn’t even know what to say to that.
* * *
WYATT GLARED AT his brother, wishing he could strangle DJ himself.
DJ simply walked to the door across the hall and closed it behind him with a soft click. Wyatt stood in the hall, alone. What the hell? This was his house, damn it. Tyler was his responsibility and here he stood in the hall alone?
He wanted to kill his brother. He slammed open the door of DJ’s room. “What the hell was that?”
“You heard her. She’s taking Tyler. Let her. He’s better off with her than a foster home.” DJ pulled the duffel bag out of the closet and threw it onto the bed. “Or with me,” he whispered. He hobbled over to the dresser and yanked open the drawers. Clothing flew.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? You’re not stupid, Wyatt. Well, not usually. I’m packing.” He slammed rumpled jeans and shirts onto the bed.
Wyatt rubbed his forehead. So much for taking his frustrations
out on DJ. Life had been much simpler when they’d been kids and could just beat the crap out of each other and let Mom patch them up. “Where are you going?”
“Back to San Antonio. The only reason I came out here was because Tyler was here. He’s leaving now.” DJ shrugged and turned his focus back to his packing.
Wyatt almost wanted him to go. This bullheaded, angry man was not the brother he knew. But that would be a mistake, for all of them.
“So that’s what they teach you in the marines? To give up?”
DJ spun around, belying his injuries, and seized the front of Wyatt’s shirt. “Don’t try that crap on me. You know that’s pure B.S.”
Wyatt had had enough. He shoved DJ, hard, watching as he stumbled back and nearly fell. “Don’t what? Let you know that I’ve had it up to here?” He sliced a hand through the air near his throat. “I’ve put my life on hold.” Wyatt didn’t let images of Emily enter his mind. Not now. “Tyler is your son. Your responsibility. I took him in, swearing in court that you’d come home and want him. Did I lie?”
DJ was silent, dropping to the edge of the sagging mattress. He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, his head hanging down. “No,” he whispered. And then he looked up. It was impossible to look into the tear-filled eyes of a U.S. marine, even if he was your little brother, and not ache for him. Wyatt cursed.
A sound in the doorway made both men look back. And freeze. Tyler stood there, watching. Emily was behind him, her arms full of clothing and bags. They both stared, and Wyatt wondered how much they’d heard.
Emily, judging from the anger on her face, had heard plenty. “Come on, Tyler. We’re leaving,” she said.
“Just a sec.” The boy stepped into the room. He looked up at Wyatt first, then moved farther into the room, coming to a stop in front of DJ. “D-dad?”
Wyatt wished he were sitting down like DJ. It was the first time he’d called him that, and something DJ had been waiting for.
“Yeah?” DJ did the whole manly thing of trying to pretend he wasn’t wiping his eyes on the shoulder of his shirt.