Chapter 20

All of her questions seemed much too personal now. She had based the questionnaire on one she’d found on an online dating site that promised to reveal your inner selves, but she’d steered clear of anything with obvious romantic intent and adapted the rest to suit a business environment.

This environment was as far from businesslike as she could imagine, but Wyatt’s expectant silence was stretching too long.

She cleared her throat. “Okay. First question. If you’re at a karaoke bar, what song do you sing?”

“I don’t.”

She shot him a surprised glance. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, looking for all the world like he was on a private beach soaking up the sun. “You can’t sing?”

“I said don’t, not can’t. I sang in our church from the time I was eight, and I was a soloist in show choir in high school.”

Of course he was. She could picture him center stage in the East Coast prep version of Glee. “But no karaoke?”

“Not my thing.”

She tried to imagine him belting out a George Strait song to a drunken mob, but even in her mind, he refused to step up to the microphone. He stayed firmly planted with his arms folded and one of those infuriating half smiles, too cool for such foolishness.

Well. She was already annoyed, even if he wasn’t. “Fine. Let’s say you lost a bet and had to. What song would you pick?”

He hesitated, just an instant.

“First thought,” she reminded him.

He opened his eyes to frown at her, then gave a slight shake of his head. “I was going to say the Beatles’ ‘Let It Be.’ But that’s hypocritical.”

“Why?”

“I don’t look to the heavens for guidance.”

Rather than argue the existence of God—she was pretty sure he’d done his research and then some—she took a different tack. “That song is about Mary, who was probably a real person, if you consider the Bible as a historical document. Treating the lyrics as purely metaphorical, calling upon her memory is no different than being inspired by say…Martin Luther King Jr.”

His thoughtful squint made the crows’ feet around his eyes more prominent, and for a moment he looked his age. Nearly forty—and at thirty-four she wasn’t so far behind. How the hell had that happened?

“You could look at it that way,” he conceded. “But I’d sing something else. Maybe ‘Lean on Me.’”

She snorted.

He sliced a glance at her. “What?”

“That’s pretty much you in a nutshell…always there to save the day. But you’re forgetting the second part.”

He frowned again.

“You know. You can lean on me, ’cuz it won’t be long until I need someone to lean on too?” She snorted again. “You’re all give and no take.”

“I prefer to deal with my own problems,” he said stiffly.

“No kidding.” Oops. She was supposed to be going cold turkey on the sarcasm.

“What’s your song?” he asked.

“‘These Boots Are Made for Walkin’,’” she answered promptly. “Shawnee, Violet, and I sang it every time in college.”

Wyatt smirked. “Talk about a theme song.”

“We liked to think so.” She scanned her list and picked the next most harmless question, assuming there was such a thing. “What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t?”

He turned his head slowly and gave her a deliberate once-over that made heat flash from her head to her toes. Then he raised his eyebrows. You really want me to say it?

She tucked her chin and cleared her throat. “Alrighty, then. Moving on…”

“You didn’t answer.”

She could have pointed out that he’d covered it for both of them. Instead, she said, “Shawnee and I used to talk about team roping together at the Women’s National Finals Rodeo.”

“Why haven’t you? You’re both good enough.”

She shrugged. “You know. Time. Work. I had to prioritize.”

“And now?”

She glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“You have an opportunity to evaluate your priorities, and thanks to Shawnee, you have the horses. Rodeo was a huge part of your life. Don’t you miss it?”

“Of course. I just…” Didn’t have an answer. The old urge was an increasingly insistent tug on her sleeve, but she wasn’t ready to scrap her career in favor of selling ads for the Earnest Herald, and she’d already failed at juggling both.

“Shawnee has Tori now,” she said, and picked what she had considered to be the most provoking question on the list. “If you could change your upbringing, would you?”

“No.”

His immediate answer was the exact opposite of what she’d expected. “Why not?”

“My upbringing”—he gave the word a cynical twist—“has given me advantages I wouldn’t have had otherwise. I like to think I use them to help as many people as possible.”

Oh. Well. She wouldn’t have thought of it that way. And she didn’t like how his quiet declaration made her heart give a little flutter.

“What about you?”

She did hesitate, but she’d made the rules so she gave him the honest answer. “Yes.” Then she hurried to clarify, before he could ask. “For Hank’s sake, not mine. I had some really good years with our parents, but by the time he came along…”

“You’d change your parents but keep Hank.”

She glared at him. “Yes, I would keep my brother. I know that might be hard for you to understand—”

“I’d trade you in a heartbeat.”

She blinked, confused. “Parents?”

“Brothers.” His voice had gone flat. “Mine, the pious prick, in exchange for yours, who doesn’t know what manipulative means.”

Yikes. Bitter much? “Hank still manages to do a lot of damage.”

Wyatt opened his eyes, and the black void in their depths made a chill shoot up her spine. “You have no idea.”

And she wasn’t sure she wanted to get one. She fumbled with her list and blurted, “What’s one thing about you that most people don’t know?”

His smile mocked her as if to say, Made you blink. Then he tipped his head back and stared up at the stars. “My given name isn’t Wyatt.”

“Really?” She did a double take. “What is it?”

“Charles. Charles Stanchfield Darrington.”

Melanie choked down a laugh. “Not the third?”

“I’m the younger brother. Matthew got the privilege of being numbered. And he’s the sixth.” His lip curled. “The Darringtons have been a plague on humanity for a very long time.”

Double yikes. Even she wouldn’t go as far as to call her parents a disease. “How’d you pick Wyatt?”

“It was my nickname when I played lacrosse. I was the fastest shot on the team and had deadly aim.”

She knew nothing about lacrosse, other than it seemed like an irresistible temptation to whack opposing players with a stick, but she still got the reference. “Like Wyatt Earp.”

“Yep.”

And he’d been so determined to leave his past behind that he’d even shed his name. She turned a page in her notebook. “So, Chuck…”

He fired a warning glare at her. “Don’t even think about it.”

She grinned until he said, “What don’t people know about you…other than you’re scared of the dark?”