Chapter 22

So much for The truth shall set you free.

Wyatt picked up a pebble and flung it into the black water. More like the truth shall make you an idiot. No wonder his family had avoided undiluted honesty. It was some dangerous shit.

But she had kissed him first.

Which didn’t excuse going off like a powder keg. He could blame it on lack of sleep, but he knew better. He’d been exhausted for months. Sick of himself and this screwed-up situation. Worn to the bone by constantly guarding every word and lying to people he loved.

He hated the lying…almost as much as he dreaded having to stop. And on the inevitable day of judgment, that kiss would be one more piece of the evidence stacked up to damn him to hell.

He glanced over to check on Melanie, huddled in the glow of the fire she’d rebuilt. Her chin drooped toward her chest, then jerked up as the nearby owl hooted again. If life was anything close to fair, he could go over there, wrap her in his arms, and stroke her hair as she dozed off, her head cradled against his shoulder.

But who was he to complain, considering the good fortune that had been heaped upon him merely by an accident of birth? To assume that he also deserved love and all of its trappings was beyond greedy. He’d never known anyone who’d managed more than an appearance of both.

Then he thought of Gordon, with his gentle smile and pocket full of Tootsie Rolls. Scratch that. He did know one person. But if Wyatt had ever had a chance to be that kind of man, he’d missed the turn.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Melanie do another head jerk. Oh, for crying out loud. He yanked his foot out of the water, peeled off the plastic bag and pulled on his sock and shoe. Then he jammed the crutch under his arm and stomped off into the woods with the plastic rain poncho clutched in one hand and her tiny flashlight between his teeth.

The poncho was basically an extra-large trash bag with a hood tacked onto one long side. He tied a knot in hood and in the two short ends to close the armholes. When he was satisfied, he filled the sack he’d made with pine needles and limped back to drop it next to where Melanie sat.

“What’s this?” she asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“A pillow. Get some rest.” His voice was sharper than he’d intended, prickling with all of the things they weren’t talking about. He waved his crutch. “I’m going to find wood to make another one of these. I’ll tend the fire while I’m at it, and keep an eye out for critters.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out to her. “I downloaded a science podcast earlier. You’ll like it. They’re talking about how GMOs are developed. And it’ll drown out the other noises.”

“But your battery—”

“Isn’t doing me any good down here. As long as you’ve got a charge on yours, we’re fine.” Rather than waiting for her to decide, he dropped the phone in her lap. “At least lie down, even if you don’t sleep.”

He wheeled around and thumped off into the trees. When he was sure he was out of sight, he turned to see her scowling at the phone. She pushed Play, set it on the ground beside his makeshift pillow, then toppled over onto her side, back toward him and knees curled into her chest—closing him out even as she trusted him with her safety. He choked off a silent laugh. Wasn’t that the perfect metaphor for their relationship? She did trust him in certain situations, and respected him up to a point. Wanted him in a purely physical sense.

She just didn’t like him much.

He stalled as long as possible, waiting for her to doze off. His teeth were chattering when he crept back to the fire. He fed more sticks into the flames and stood as close as he dared. To the east, the outline of the mountains was beginning to emerge against a gradually lightening sky.

Melanie had one hand tucked under her cheek again, and the other fist clenched loosely under her chin. Again, the likeness was a knife slash to his chest. He jerked his gaze away. Turning slowly, he roasted his body like a chicken on a spit until the last of the shivers subsided. Then he settled down to sit and whittle at his crutches, watching the stars fade and blink out, one by one.

* * *

Melanie woke to the sound of her name, spoken softly from a near distance. She gathered her sleep-logged thoughts and oriented herself before responding. Forest. Cold. Wyatt. She opened her eyes to find him watching her from across the dying embers of the fire. The sky was a soft iridescent gray, pearly morning light chasing the shadows into the depths between the trees. She pushed up onto one elbow, blinking the grit from her eyes.

“It’s almost four,” he said, his voice as muted as the colors of the landscape.

She nodded, stifling a groan as she forced her tight muscles to unwind. Wyatt stood and moved as if to offer her a hand, then stopped, thinking better of it. Smart man. If he pulled her anywhere close, she might wrap herself around him like a kudzu vine, seeking heat.

He held up a bottle. “Ibuprofen?”

“Please.”

He tossed it to her. She fumbled, her fingers awkward with cold and sleep, but managed to trap it against her chest. While she washed down a couple of tablets with a swig of tea and combed her hair, he used the empty tea bottle to dump water on the fire, poking at the embers until he was sure they were extinguished. She emptied the pine needles from the poncho sack and gave it to him to tuck in his pack.

All the while, he avoided meeting her gaze. Impulsively, she put a hand on his arm. He froze.

“It was bound to happen,” she said quietly. “We’ve always known it would if we got too close.”

He stared down at her hand for a long moment. “And that’s it? Chalk it up to the circumstances and move on?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

The next silence stretched even longer.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, even though a tiny part of her had been hoping for…something. She shook off the stab of disappointment, squared her shoulders, and turned to face downstream. “Lead on, Chuck.”

* * *

The going was as hard as she’d expected. Wyatt clambered over rocks and fallen logs, through brush and ankle-grabbing grass with amazing dexterity and barely a wince, but it had to be brutal. By the time they stumbled onto the wide, well-worn trail, the sun was full up and she had peeled off both her jacket and her hoodie. She could have cried when she saw the sign pointing up the hill that read Trailhead, 1.8 miles.

God. It was never going to end. And if she was dying, she could only imagine how Wyatt felt. He damn sure wasn’t going to tell her. Three switchbacks and a wind-sucking climb later, she nearly did weep when they finally topped the ridge and saw the Camaro, gleaming like a red-and-white rescue beacon.

Behind her, Wyatt blew out a long, relieved breath. “Can I borrow your phone?”

“Sure.”

She checked the time before handing it over. Today’s practice wasn’t going to happen. It was after seven, they were over an hour out of town, and he was in no shape to waltz with bovines this morning.

Wyatt dialed, then turned slightly away as he spoke. “Hey, Grace. This is Wyatt.” He paused. “Yeah, it’s Melanie’s phone. Long story. I need to cancel this morning’s session. Would you let the guys know? My phone is dead so I don’t have their numbers.” Another pause. “I will. Thanks.”

When he hung up and held the phone out to her, she waved him off. “Hang on to it in case Grace needs to call you. Hand me your backpack.”

He frowned, but passed it to her. She unzipped one of the side pockets.

“The ibuprofen is in the other one,” he said.

“I know.” She plucked out the car keys and tossed the pack at his chest, forcing him to grab it with both hands, dropping one crutch. She was a dozen steps down the trail before he recovered enough to yell after her.

“You are not driving my car!”

She lengthened her stride when she heard him stumping along behind her at a faster pace than she’d expected. “That ankle is killing you. Give it a rest.”

“I’m perfectly fine—”

“Yeah? Great. Then whoever gets to the car first drives.” And she kicked her tired legs into a sprint.

She was already behind the wheel when he limped up to the car. He didn’t argue, just tossed his pack into the trunk and climbed in. The silence vibrated with annoyance.

“Don’t pout.” She fired up the engine, and her heart revved along with its throaty rumble. “I promise I won’t even squeal the tires on the curves.”

No matter how tempting.

Wyatt folded his arms and stared straight out through the windshield.

“Fine. Be grumpy. Meanwhile, I will enjoy the drive.” She might as well, considering it might be the last time she was ever allowed anywhere near the Camaro. Or Wyatt.

She got the feel of the manual transmission as she crawled down the pitted gravel road. At the highway she turned right, toward where the signs promised she would find a gas station and convenience store in Tollgate. And most importantly—a restroom with running water.

Wyatt remained stubbornly silent as she parked in front of the rustic log store. She turned off the car and palmed the keys before he could make a grab for them, then made a beeline for the bathroom. The sight in the mirror was enough to make her wince. Her makeup had coagulated beneath her eyes, accentuating the lovely purple bags. Her hair hung lank and stringy, and she was still sporting a few pine needles.

Scrubbed and plucked reasonably clean, she wandered into the store, reaching for a pack of mini donuts, then replacing them with a sigh as she imagined powdered sugar scattered all over the interior of the Camaro. She settled for a crumb-free banana with her cup of coffee.

Out front, she found Wyatt lounging against the car. Her pulse did a big ker-thump at the sight. His hair was damp and rumpled, his eyes hidden by aviator sunglasses. With a day’s stubble and that grim set to his jaw, he looked lean and hard and a little dangerous in ratty jeans and a faded black T-shirt.

The effect was only slightly diminished by the bag of frozen peas in his hand.

They climbed in the car without a word. Wyatt kicked off his shoe and packed the bag of peas around his ankle. Then he peeled the wrapper off a roll of antacids and popped two in his mouth before tipping back his seat and closing his eyes. Obviously, their adventure hadn’t agreed with his ulcer.

She wheeled onto the highway, the big engine chomping at the bit like a horse fresh off spring pasture. The temptation was huge to give the Camaro its head and see what it could do, but she kept it in check. When she’d reached cruising speed without dropping the clutch or grinding the gears, the hands fisted on Wyatt’s knees relaxed. Five miles down the road, she heard a soft snore.

She grinned…and hit the gas.