Chapter 23

Wyatt woke when she drove past the bar, crossed the bridge in downtown Pendleton, and started up North Hill. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“I’m taking you home.” She tapped the phone on the console between them. On-screen, the map function was silently guiding her. “I put your address in my contacts before I left Texas, just in case.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, frowning. “Why didn’t you stop at the bar? I can drive across town.”

Of course he could—but then she wouldn’t have an excuse to see where he lived. “It’s not far to walk, and it’s all downhill. Plus I can grab some breakfast along the way.”

She waited for him to insist that she turn around, but he only reached down to remove his melted pea ice pack and put on his shoe. The navigation system led her to a condo fourplex, all dark wood and high, angular rooflines, fronted with generous expanses of glass to maximize the mountain view.

“I’m in number one,” he said—as if there was any doubt—waving her to the far end of the narrow parking lot and a double-stall garage.

He pushed a button on the remote clipped to the sun visor. The right door rolled up to reveal what looked like a sporting goods warehouse. Three bikes, water skis, snowboards, a pair of kayaks, a canoe, a paddle board, and what she thought might be a windsurfing whatever-they-were-called…all mounted on special racks in the extra stall.

Not hard to figure out what Wyatt did in his spare time. Or to picture him racing over the waves in water-soaked spandex. Great. She really needed that image stuck in her head. But Lord, it would be a sight to see. He would be good at it. Wyatt was good at everything.

She parked the car in the exact center of the empty stall, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and dropped them into the palm he held out. “Well, it’s been—”

“I have bagels,” he said abruptly. “And eggs and sausage.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “Are you offering to make me breakfast?”

“I have to cook for myself anyway.”

She opened her mouth to decline but immediately thought better. Hell yes, she wanted to see the inside of his condo. After all the times Violet had gushed about the granite, the custom furniture, the artwork—how could she resist? And seeing how he chose to live could give her valuable information she could apply to the bar.

Yep. Purely business. Nothing personal, like how the more she learned about Wyatt, the more she wanted to know.

“Thanks. That sounds great.”

He did the slightest double take, as if it was another offer he’d made not expecting her to accept. Really, you’d think he’d know better by now. He pushed open his door, swung himself out of the car, and grabbed a pair of real crutches conveniently hanging on a hook right next to a tennis racket. Of all the equipment, they looked the most worn.

“How bad is your ankle?” she asked again as she followed him to the door into the condo.

“Nothing major. A couple days’ rest—”

“I mean in general. I know you’ve had a couple of surgeries…”

“Three,” he said. “The last one was to clean up the cartilage inside the joint. It’s not pretty in there, but as long as I wear my brace and don’t fall off of cliffs, I get by.”

Until a bull decided to rearrange his plans. “For how long?”

He reached up to swing the door open before crutching up the two steps into a mudroom. “Cutting my schedule back and being very selective about which rodeos I work has been a big help. I’ve got a few more years in me.”

“Barring another major injury.”

He shot her a dry look over his shoulder. “Me and every other bullfighter.”

A truth universally acknowledged. Every time they stepped into the arena could be the last. It was a reality they accepted the same as a cop, a firefighter, or a soldier.

She followed him into the laundry/mudroom, closing the door behind her and deliberately not looking at the basket of clothes on the dryer. She did not need to know whether Wyatt was a boxer or briefs guy. They passed through a short hallway and into the living room. Melanie had a moment to get an impression of a soaring, vaulted ceiling, gleaming hardwood floors, a wall of shelves packed with books, a pair of waist-high, glossy black abstract figures that curved around each other in a way that was incredibly sensual, and pieces of pottery and glass that were clearly works of art.

Then a woman sprang from the nearest chair—a leather recliner that had swallowed up her slender form. “Wyatt! Where have you been?”

Silvery blond hair, enormous green eyes, and a face…damn. She was too exquisite to be real. It was like walking in and finding a…a…unicorn, or some other magical being you assumed only existed on-screen, courtesy of liberal airbrushing.

“Laura.” Wyatt had gone stiff as a board. “This is a surprise.”

And not a good one. Laura made a sheepish face. “I know. I should have called, but…”

She trailed off, and her gaze locked on Melanie with an intensity that was unsettling. Not angry or jealous. More…excited. And nervous. As if she’d hoped and prayed for this moment and couldn’t believe it was happening. She stepped forward and held out a slender hand. “It’s so good to meet you.”

“I…” Melanie accepted the greeting, feeling like an Amazon shaking hands with a fairy. “Hello.”

Laura laughed, a sound like the ring of priceless crystal. “I’m sorry. I’m freaking you out. It’s just that I’ve heard so much about you that it seems as though we already know each other.”

“Really?” Melanie shot Wyatt a baffled look. Why on earth would he talk to this woman about her?

His face was utterly blank, but his eyes… “Did you come alone?”

“Of course not. Julianne was bored, so she went downtown to poke around in the antique shops.”

At eight thirty in the morning? Melanie had walked by most of those shops during her tour of the bars. None of them opened before eleven. She’d made note because she intended to do some poking around of her own.

The skin on her back began to tighten. Something was off. The way Laura was studying her. Wyatt practically vibrating with…tension, or fury? Possibly both. And Laura lying about her friend’s whereabouts. It was just…Melanie couldn’t define the feeling other than wrong.

She took a step back. Then another. Then waved toward the door. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, but I was hoping we could chat,” Laura protested.

“I really need a shower. And a nap.” Melanie kept backing toward the door. “I’ll touch base with you when I have some ideas sketched out, Wyatt.”

She turned and bolted, her gut screaming at her to run, the same as when she’d watched a potential tornado cloud bearing down on the ranch. She didn’t know what was causing this disturbance in the atmosphere…but she had no desire to be caught up in the storm.

* * *

Wyatt waited until the door slammed shut behind Melanie, then let out the curse that had been boiling on his tongue.

Laura made an attempt to look chastised, but her eyes were bright with excitement. “Oh my God. The resemblance…”

“Are you insane?” Wyatt snapped.

Laura made an oh pooh gesture. “I didn’t expect you to bring her home with you.” Her green eyes sharpened as she took in his clothes and the crutches. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Where is Julianne?”

Laura’s eyes shifted to the window. “I told you. She’s—”

“Don’t feed me that bullshit. The antique shops aren’t open yet.” Hell, even Melanie had caught that lie, and she’d only been in town for three days. “Where is she?”

Laura made a face, then sighed. “She’s staking out the bar from that coffee shop across the street.”

“With Maddie?”

“Of course.”

Dammit. He grabbed the phone mounted on the kitchen wall. “We have to get her out of there.”

“But if we wait a few minutes, she’ll get to see—”

Wyatt jabbed at buttons, cursing when he hit a wrong digit and had to start over. Yes, the coffee shop was right across from the bar, making it the most convenient place for Melanie to grab breakfast. He expected this kind of idiocy from Laura, but Julianne…

Laura clamped her hand around his on the phone. “Relax. It’s not like she’s going to take one look and just know.”

“The hell she won’t. You have the damn pictures, Laura.” Pictures he’d snapped with his cell phone when no one was looking of photos scattered around Miz Iris’s living room, some so old the colors had begun to fade. Smiling girls from the ages of two to twenty. And boys. Wyatt ground his teeth, wanting more than he ever had to shake Laura, and that was saying something. He settled for shoving her hand away.

He drummed his fingers impatiently on the handgrip of his crutches as he waited. One ring. Two. How long would it take Melanie to walk twelve blocks downhill?

Laura pushed out her bottom lip, a pouty Tinker Bell. “You’re overreacting.”

“No, I am not. You, on the other hand—” He cut off when a woman’s voice answered. “Get out of there now, Julianne.”

“Well, good morning to you, too, Wyatt,” she drawled.

“I don’t have time to screw around. Melanie could walk in there any minute. What do you think is going to happen if she comes face-to-face with Maddie?”

Julianne hesitated a beat, then sighed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have let Laura talk me into taking the chance. We’re out of here.”

Relief weakened Wyatt’s knees. Thank the damn stars, one of them had some sense. “Use the back door, just to be safe.”

Laura scowled at him as he hung up. “You didn’t have to be rude.”

“Jules gets it. You—”

“I just wanted to meet her.” The pout turned into a whine that set Wyatt’s teeth on edge.

“That is not in the contract.” Another thought slammed into him. “Grace doesn’t know you’re here.”

If she had, she would have warned him when he’d talked to her this morning.

Laura ducked her head, a flush staining her translucent skin. “It was a last-minute trip.”

“You’re required to give Grace twenty-four hours’ notice.”

So she could decide whether to brace herself for a visit…or leave town. If she’d stumbled across Julianne and Maddie unexpectedly…

Wyatt cursed again.

“I just wanted to meet Melanie,” Laura repeated obstinately. “It’s only a matter of time before you chase her off. Although, since you apparently spent the night together…”

Wyatt fisted his hand and ground it into his forehead, which had begun to throb in counterpoint to his ankle. Laura was the sweetest, kindest, and most impossible person on the continent. Honest to God, there were times he was convinced her brain had an off switch. And Melanie thought he didn’t understand what it was like with her and Hank.

He let out a low, hard laugh. There was some irony for you.

Laura frowned at him, then at the hallway to the garage. “I don’t understand why she ran off like that.”

“The way you were looking at her—” He threw up his hands, pushed beyond anger. What if Melanie somehow suspected… “I’ve told you, she is the most intuitive, observant person I’ve ever met.”

And Melanie had instantly recognized that Laura’s interest in her was way out of proportion.

“I know. But I didn’t think—”

“No. Kidding.” The story of her life. Once upon a time he’d thought it was cute. Hell, he’d thrived on it. With Laura, there was always an opportunity to come racing to the rescue, only one of many reasons their relationship had been out of whack from the beginning. And now she was giving him those wide, wounded eyes that made him feel like he’d plucked the wings off a butterfly.

“I’m going to change my clothes.” He swung past her to his room, where he peeled off the sweat-dank T-shirt and tossed it in the general direction of the hamper. A shower would have to wait, along with popping a couple of pain pills, crawling into bed, and dragging the covers over his head. First, he had to get two women and a child bundled up and safely out of town—and follow them clear to the county line to be sure they didn’t turn back.

He blew out a long, harsh breath. Stand down. The imminent danger had passed, and he could trust Julianne. Like a younger Wyatt, she was occasionally too blinded by love to say no to one of Laura’s ridiculous schemes, but now that she’d come to her senses, she would take charge. Laura might be stubborn, but she was no match for her wife’s iron will.

Most of the time. It was that potential other that kept a slight, wary distance between Wyatt and Julianne. They were both all too aware that if the going got tough in Laura’s marriage, she might not hesitate to use Wyatt as an escape hatch.

And he might not be able to resist letting her.

He brushed his teeth, popped another couple of antacids, then dug out clean cargo shorts, socks, T-shirt, and his ever-handy ankle brace. As he tightened the last strap on the Aircast, the doorbell chimed. His heart shot straight into his esophagus. What if Melanie had come back—

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a little girl’s giggle.

A reluctant smile was already tugging at his mouth when he came out of his room, leaving the crutches behind. He’d be needing both hands. Julianne straightened, as graceful and lovely as the statues she’d brought back for him from one of her trips to Ghana, her skin and hair as dark as Laura’s was light. She offered Wyatt an apologetic grimace. He just shook his head. Lord knew, he understood better than anyone.

Then the child clinging to her leg spotted him and shrieked in delight. She threw out her arms and began to topple forward. With two long strides, he caught and scooped her up, the pain in his ankle a distant second to the aching joy of her weight in his arms, the sweet baby-girl smell of her filling him up and emptying him out at the same time.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, unable to help a smile even if it threatened to crack at the edges.

She pressed pudgy hands to his cheeks, fascinated by the day-old stubble. He kissed a nose that would probably someday be sprinkled with Grace’s freckles. Smoothed a hand over hair as dark and straight as Melanie’s. Maddie flashed him a carbon copy of her daddy’s grin.

The spitting damn image of Hank.