Chapter 26

Wyatt didn’t drop by the Bull Dancer that evening.

He told himself he was resting his ankle, but the less-appealing truth was he had no desire to watch Rowdy drool on Melanie…and no doubt that the annoying little bastard would show up for the beer she’d offered. The way he’d looked at her that afternoon made Wyatt wish he’d let Joe kick the crap out of Rowdy that night in Redmond, back when he’d been a continual pain in their asses inside the arena.

Of course, Louie had made a point of calling to give him a detailed report. He was like a damn cat, always knowing exactly how to get under Wyatt’s skin and enjoying every minute. He went on about how Melanie had charmed Rowdy and the friend he’d brought along so much they’d stayed for a second round. Then Gordon had strolled in with a couple of his cronies, and she’d won their hearts by ordering out for fried chicken with the works.

“We’ve even got a table full of tourists who wandered in and stayed ’cuz everybody was havin’ such a good time. This is more people than have been in this place since you bought it.”

And Melanie wasn’t even trying yet. She was like Joe. All she had to do was show up.

Wyatt tamped down the surge of envy, declined the invitation to join the fun, and hobbled to bed before the sun fully set. Dealing with Laura on the heels of a sleepless night was bad enough, but then he’d had to not only explain the impromptu sleepover to Grace, but confess that Laura and Julianne had come to town without warning…and why.

He had to keep secrets about Grace, but he categorically refused to keep them from her.

She’d sat on his deck, staring down at the Roundup grounds ten blocks below. “I don’t trust them.”

“I don’t blame you.” He was pretty damn uneasy himself. Laura was impulsive, stubborn, and extremely good at conjuring up reasons why her needs should take precedence, and today he’d lost some of the faith he’d had in Julianne’s ability to resist her.

Grace’s fingers curled around the arms of her wicker chair. “Can I trust you?”

“When it comes to Laura?”

Grace’s shrug said, Among others.

“I made you a promise, Grace. I don’t break my promises.”

She stared for a few moments longer, then nodded and pushed to her feet. “She’s never been good for you, you know.”

“Melanie?”

“Laura.” For the first time since the conversation began, Grace looked directly at him with a tired, sad little smile. “Thanks to me, Melanie is impossible.”

* * *

If anything, he was in even worse shape on Saturday morning. His ankle had stiffened up overnight, and his red-rimmed eyes bore testament to a shitty night’s sleep despite his exhaustion. He scooped handfuls of cold water and splashed them over his face and hair, which was standing on end, thanks to the stupid natural curl. That, at least, would be taken care of next Tuesday with his regularly scheduled appointment with his stylist.

He picked up a razor, weighed it in his hand, then tossed it down again. He was worn so thin that it would be like dragging the blade over fresh road rash. Maybe the beard would help disguise that fact that he looked like hell, felt worse, and couldn’t work up an ounce of give-a-shit. And if he didn’t get his butt in gear, he was going to be late for his own class.

He grabbed a pair of jeans from the drawer reserved for work clothes and the black T-shirt from the day before off a chair. A glance in the hall mirror had him grabbing a Cubs cap off a hook in the mudroom and mashing it down over the hair that had sprung right back up again.

Despite his lack of grooming, Wyatt was the last to arrive at the practice arena, parking between Melanie’s SUV and the crappy minivan he’d bought for students who didn’t own a vehicle. The horses had been fed, and Melanie had set out a hay bale and was roping one end as if it were a calf’s head. Scotty and Philip lounged in the shade, watching.

When Wyatt emerged from his car, cap tugged low over mirrored sunglasses, and fished out his crutches, Scotty gave a low whistle. “Holy shit, man. What happened to you?”

“I fell in a hole.” He ignored Melanie’s snort as he looked around. “Where’s Dante?”

Scotty hitched a shoulder. “Some of his Pasco buddies stopped by last night, and he took off with them.”

Oh hell. Wyatt knew exactly what kind of buddies Dante had in Pasco. “Did he take his stuff?”

“No.”

Wyatt inclined his head. “Grab a couple of boxes, pack what’s left, and give it to Louie. Dante can stop by the bar to pick it up.”

Scotty and Philip exchanged a quick glance before nodding.

Melanie stopped in the middle of coiling her rope to gape at him. “That’s it? One mistake and he’s out? That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“No.” Even though it tore at his gut, knowing how fast and hard Dante could fall when Wyatt cut him loose.

She shook her head, her mouth tightening. “I always thought you were bluffing when you told Hank you’d blackball him if he screwed up again.”

Always? Even when she’d raged at him and about him? His heart bumped, and if he’d had more than one good leg, he would have kicked himself. Geezus, he was dense where she was concerned. With Hank seemingly on a mission to get himself fired, Wyatt had set himself up as a target for Melanie’s wrath, to deflect it away from Joe and the Jacobs family. Did he really think she wasn’t smart enough to see what he was doing?

Or willing to use him as a sacrificial goat if it saved her relationship with the others?

And now Scotty and Philip were eyeing him, their ever-present distrust rising to the surface. Had they misjudged him? Would he give them the ax for the slightest misstep?

“Dante isn’t Hank.” Wyatt gestured toward the arena. “When Wild Woman got you down, Scotty and Philip jumped in without thinking twice. Dante stood and watched.”

Understanding dawned, clearing her face. “You would’ve had to chain Hank to the fence to hold him back.”

“Exactly.”

She cocked her head, studying him for a beat, then nodded as if something had been settled to her satisfaction. With a few expert flips of her wrist, she finished coiling the rope and tossed it on the bale. “So what’s the plan today, boss?”

With Grace off at a rodeo and Wyatt waddling around on crutches, he went back to the wheelbarrow dummy to avoid any injuries. Today, though, he dialed it up a notch, having Melanie and the two men take turns working as pairs, learning to coordinate their movements so they would be in the best possible position to rescue not only the rider, but each other.

“No, no!” he yelled at Scotty, when he and Philip collided and Melanie knocked them into a pile with the dummy’s head. “You’re attacking too soon. Float around the perimeter when your partner takes the lead, and don’t step in unless he gets into trouble or the bull comes unhooked and stops following him. Show him, Melanie.”

She did, timing her entrance perfectly. Damn. If she’d been twenty instead of thirty-four, he would consider her a serious prospect.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. “Um…excuse me,” a male voice said.

They all wheeled around to find a young man peering over the fence. “Uh, hi. I was told I might find a Melanie Brookman here?”

Her forehead puckered in concern, and Wyatt could see her mind jump straight to Hank. “I’m Melanie. Is something wrong?”

“I can’t say.” The young man sounded apologetic as he gingerly extended an envelope through the rails. “I’m just supposed to give you this.”

Melanie strode over and snatched it out of his hand.

“Oh yeah. I forgot.” He cleared his throat again, trying to sound official. “Melanie Brookman, you have been served.”

She swore, tearing it open while he beat a hasty retreat to the generic sedan he’d left idling behind the rest of the cars. As she scanned the document, her mouth went slack, and the color drained from her face.

“What?” Wyatt asked, reaching for the paper.

She balled it up, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it before slamming out of the gate and into her car. Her tires spit dirt as she gunned out of the driveway.

Wyatt picked up the letter and smoothed it out. He dropped an f-bomb of his own when he saw the letterhead.

That son of a bitch.

But Wyatt couldn’t help a fierce spurt of admiration as he read to the end. Michael had gone back to Colorado and been fired on the spot, thanks to photos of his paint-splattered pickup that had mysteriously been forwarded to his boss’s inbox, the return IP address untraceable. The Earnest Ladies’ Club had been busy.

Michael had immediately filed a wrongful termination suit against his employer, claiming his relationship with Melanie had been nothing but a mild office flirtation that she’d blown out of proportion. He’d cast her as a desperate, delusional thirtysomething who went ballistic when she learned he was married.

The letter requested her side of the story.

Wyatt folded the paper and stuffed it in his back pocket, then turned to Philip and Scotty, both wide-eyed with curiosity. “Take the rest of the day off.”

They hesitated, then Philip said, “Anything we can do?”

“No.” Wyatt bared his teeth in what didn’t even pretend to be a smile. “I’ve got it handled.”