Rebel

“Why don’t you just ask me what you really want to know?” Her stomach burned, even while knowing he had every right to ask. To know. To suspect. “Will I fuck someone else when you’re not around, right?”



His jaw tightened. Nostrils flared. “You know right now whether you will or won’t. It’s already in your heart, Rubi. Is it really unreasonable for me to ask which it is?”



“No,” she said softly. “It’s not.”



And she did know in her heart. But the fact that he needed to ask made the question too complicated to answer-especially in the airport drop-off line.



A traffic guard strolled by. “Keep it moving, people.”



Wes nodded affirmation toward the man, but when he turned back to her, a desperate, disillusioned look lay heavy in his eyes. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, lingering as if delaying the inevitable. She met the kiss, wrapping her hand around his head. And found herself hoping, praying, this wouldn’t be their last.



When he finally broke the kiss, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.



“I’m crazy about you.” He murmured the words so softly she was sure she’d imagined them, as if the feelings between them had lifted into the air. “I don’t want anyone else.” Wes’s long, blond lashes trembled as he squeezed his eyes shut, a painful expression tight across his face. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s just who I am. I love everything you hide and everything you don’t. I just…love you.”



He leaned away, gaze averted. But she saw the wetness clinging to his lashes. And her heart lunged to her throat.



“Wes-”



“Do what you need to do, Rubi,” he said, his voice rough. “I understand.”



She opened her mouth-to say what, she couldn’t fathom. But she didn’t get a chance. He gave her one more hard kiss and exited the car, disappearing into the airport chaos before her head had even stopped spinning.



Eighteen



Wes blinked his eyes open to the bing, bing, bing of the plane’s intercom.



“Ladies and gentlemen.” The pilot’s smooth, calm voice filled the cabin. “We’re beginning our descent into St. Louis. Right now we’ve got partly cloudy skies and a temperature of fifty-seven degrees, humidity at sixty-four percent. Relax, and we’ll have you on the ground in about fifteen minutes.”



Wes pushed himself up from the slouch he’d fallen into while dozing and rubbed his face. He winced when he tried to straighten the fingers of his right hand, and again when he touched a sensitive spot on his injured eye. But it couldn’t compete with the discomfort burning in his gut.



He hadn’t meant to tell Rubi he loved her. Hadn’t even really known it was coming until it was so high in his throat he couldn’t keep it from falling out. And he still felt weird about it. Not wrong, just…weird. He’d only said it to one other woman in his life, so it wasn’t like he went around professing his undying love. But by the panic shining in her eyes when he’d walked away, he knew it had been an ill-timed epiphany. Though he couldn’t imagine a time a declaration like that wouldn’t have been ill-timed for Rubi.



Rubi. Out of all the women he could have fallen in love with, he’d gone and fallen for Rubi Russo? Seriously?



He glanced out the window, staring blankly at the thick treetops outlining farming fields. The muddy Missouri River snaking through the green terrain. A sliver of ease crept in. This was home. It would always be home, even if the career he loved took him elsewhere.



He glanced at his watch, his first thought of Rubi and what she might be doing now.



Which was moot. Whatever chance he’d had of making something work with her, he’d killed by spilling the L-word.



Fortunately, landing and exiting the plane diverted his attention from yet another fuckup. He walked up the gate ramp, phone in hand, scrolling through messages searching for something from Whitney to tell him where she was picking him up. But his gaze paused on a text from Rubi.



RUBI: I can’t believe you sprang that on me and then walked away. What the fuck is wrong with you?



He shook his head. He wasn’t sure what the fuck was wrong with him, but he suspected being crazy in love with her while knowing emotion scared the crap out of her might have something to do with it. He would have texted that to her, but he was pretty sure it might make her board a plane to Australia, never to return.



He walked through the terminal and passed the security lines for passengers boarding a flight.



“Uncle Wes! Uncle Wes!”



The joint scream sounded off to the side in a restaurant seating area. His nieces’ squeals swept over him like a cool breeze. A smile split his face, and his spirits soared. They were jumping on their toes, their little blonde heads bobbing, their excited, open faces exposing missing teeth. His sister, Whitney, her wheat-colored braid pulled forward over her shoulder, stood behind them.



His whole world righted. And for a moment, the pain faded.



“Hey there.” Wes broke from the stream of pedestrians and dropped to his knees in front of the girls. He didn’t get his duffle off his shoulder before they jumped on him, Abby clinging to his neck, Emma attached to one arm. He wrapped them both close—Christ they were so tiny—and pressed kisses to their blonde heads. “Look at you two. You’re so beautiful.”



He pulled back and looked down at Abby. Her crystal blue eyes sparkled up at him with so much innocent joy it squeezed his heart. “Where’d all your teeth go? How do you eat?”



“Lost ’em. Look.” She opened her mouth, sticking a little finger in to point out every gap.



“Man, you must be rich.”



“Uh-huh.”



He smiled at Emma, always more reserved. “And you’ve got a couple coming in.”



She grinned without meeting his gaze—eye contact was difficult for her—showing her beautiful new teeth.



He soaked in the sight of them, and his heart loosened. His troubles dimmed. He ran a hand over each of their feather-soft heads again, pulled them close to kiss their foreheads one more time, and stood.



“Hey.” He stepped in to hug Whitney tight. “Thanks for bringing them. I needed that.”



“They needed it too,” she whispered. “I’ll take your bag. You take them. They need some surrogate-daddy time.”



Wes’s mind shifted to Wyatt, and his joy dimmed. He let Whitney take the duffle from his shoulder and pointed at Emma. “Shoulders to baggage claim.” He pivoted his finger toward Abby. “Shoulders to the car.”



Wes swept Emma up and onto his shoulders. Abby reached toward him, and Wes tugged her into his arms.



“Whit,” Wes said, “grab my phone from my pocket and get a picture of us, would you?”



She lowered one brow at him but did as he asked. “When did you become a shutterbug?”



Wes was saved from answering by the high-pitched stereo, “Cheeeeeeeeese” streaking from the girls as soon as they saw the phone pointed at them. Whit slid it back into Wes’s pocket, and they started toward the exit.



“Did you bring us presents?” Abby asked, her light eyes so round and bright.



“Would I ever come without bringing you presents?”



Whitney slid her arm into the crook of his and squeezed. “So good to see you.”



Wes leaned toward her and kissed her head. “You too.”



She stepped away, readjusted his duffle on her shoulder. “How was your flight?”



“Can’t beat first class.”



“Are you raking in the big bucks, or did Jax buy it for you?”



“What do you think?”



“I like that guy.” Whitney’s grin was light and easy. “Mom’s going to love the black eye. Do you have a suitable story made up, or do you need my help?”



“You always did come up with the best stories.” He sent her a conspiratorial grin. “You tell her yours first. If it doesn’t fly, I’ll try mine.”



“Deal.”



“How are things at home?”



“Crowded. Crazy. The usual,” she said. “I forget how many relatives we have until they besiege us. They exhaust me. I don’t know how Mom does it.”



“We have a new puppy, Uncle Wes,” Emma said from above him, her little hands curved around his face to hold on.



“I heard.” He cut a glance at Whitney, who rolled her eyes. “Can’t wait to meet him.”



“And we’re going to see Daddy now,” Abby added.



They stepped onto the escalator toward baggage claim and parking, and Wes turned to Whitney. “We are?”



“Only if Uncle Wes isn’t too tired.”



“Never too tired to see Wyatt.” When the girls’ cheers faded, he asked Whitney, “Is Grams moving in with Mom and Dad?”



“Yeah. She’s deteriorating. Don’t be surprised if she introduces herself to you. She is completely, physically capable. A real help to Mom most days. She does laundry, cooks, even pitches in at harvest, but her mind is really slipping. We can’t leave her alone anymore. Mom hired a home care nurse who comes when she needs extra help.”



“And Wyatt?”



“Baggage claim!” Abby yelled. “Baggage claim!”



They stepped off the escalator, and Wes traded the girls’ positions.



“Wyatt’s about the same,” Whit said as they headed toward the garage. As soon as they walked through the doors, a familiar, soothing humidity hit Wes. The air felt heavier, smelled richer. And told him he was home. “A bit of a plateau he’s frustrated with. What do you think about the rig?”



Wes’s mind took a sharp turn and slammed into Rubi. His heart clenched.



“It’s really something.” He followed Whit to her Tahoe, pulled open the rear passenger door, and eased Emma to the seat first, then whipped Abby from his shoulders and tossed her in the air just to hear her giggle before sliding her in beside her sister and buckling her seat belt. When he was in the passenger seat, he said, “There’s no telling, but Melissa is optimistic.”



“Yeah.” Whitney drew out the word as she backed out and steered toward the exit with a discreet but suspicious glance his way. “I’ve heard. What’s happening there?”



“Nothing.” Wes held up a stop hand just to reinforce. “We’ve e-mailed a few times about the rig. That’s it.”



When Whit went suspiciously quiet, he pushed out a frustrated breath. “Why?”



She lifted a shoulder. “She asks about you every time she sees me. Specifically whether or not you’re seeing anyone.”



“What the—? She’s engaged.”



“Not anymore.”



Old, old, old emotions gnawed at Wes’s gut. Anger, loss, disillusionment. Feelings that felt centuries old…but still had bite. “What happened there?”



“Don’t really know. I’ve only heard through the rumor mill and confirmed when the ring was gone from her finger.”



“And you’re telling me because…?”



“Heads-up, that’s all.”