Chapter 4
Wyatt eased some of his weight onto his elbows to avoid crushing her, but they were still pressed so tightly together that he could feel her rib cage expand when she sucked in a breath. His own lungs hitched as he watched the Amarillo police cruiser idle down the street. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop…
Thankfully, the pickups were parked at an angle that made the neon spray paint invisible from the street—yet another detail she’d managed brilliantly. The cop kept moving, but at a snail’s pace. The quiet swish of the tires on pavement, the hum of the engine, and the pain from the piece of gravel digging into his right elbow faded away as Wyatt’s senses filled with warm, firm woman.
And if they stayed in this position much longer, his hips pressed hard between her thighs, he wasn’t going to be able to pretend that his ragged breathing was entirely due to adrenaline. His senses painted in all the details he’d only been able to imagine before—the taut curve of her waist under his hand, the way their breathing instinctively fell into rhythm, creating a micro-friction that brought every nerve ending to tingling life. The sunshine and wild prairie scent of her hair tickled his nose as he craned his head to watch the cop turn the corner at the end of the street.
Melanie’s breath whooshed out, a hot caress against his neck, and her lips brushed the bare skin just above the collar of his T-shirt when she twisted again, pushing at his shoulders. He rolled off of her onto his back, taking a moment to regroup as she scooted out from under the pickup. Deep breath. He grimaced. Nothing like the aroma of engine fluid and asphalt to bring him back to earth. He slid out after her and snatched the backpack before she could get a hand on it.
“What—”
“I assume you either have mace or a .45 if you were planning to jog in this neighborhood. I’d rather you didn’t use either of them on me.” He hitched the pack over his shoulder, took a moment to look and listen for traffic, then set off for the gate. “Let’s get out of here before that cop circles back.”
She hesitated, swore again, but followed. The sky was brightening fast as they jogged across the lot, ducked under the locked driveway barrier and into the alley. Wyatt glanced at his watch. Six fifteen. All of that had taken less than five minutes. When they reached his rental, he tossed her backpack in the trunk.
“Hey! My house keys and my wallet are in there.”
“So I assumed.” Wyatt climbed into the driver’s seat and waited while she kicked the nearest tire and cursed some more.
Then she got in and slammed the door hard enough to rock the car. “Where are you taking me?”
“To breakfast.”
He, for one, was dying for a cup of decent coffee. Melanie sat in stubborn silence as he drove clear around the 335 Loop to the Waffle House off the I-27 exit, on the opposite side of the city. Had they ever been alone together? Not that he could recall—and he remembered every word they’d ever exchanged. His body was so intensely aware of hers in the closed space of the car that it was a relief to escape into the Waffle House. Neither of them spoke as they nodded yes to coffee and retreated behind their menus.
Wyatt ordered blueberry waffles with bacon on the side. He waited for Melanie to declare she wasn’t hungry, but she flashed him a bright smile instead.
“As long as you’re buying…” And proceeded to order a ten-ounce T-bone smothered in onions with eggs and bacon and a large orange juice. She winked at the waiter as she handed over her menu. “He can afford it, and he’s a great tipper. It makes him feel better about himself if he shares the wealth with us less-fortunates.”
Zing! Direct hit. Wyatt just smiled. “Now, honey. Don’t be cranky. I know you’re disappointed that the Turners didn’t turn out to be as…um, aggressive as you like, but I promise the next couple will be much more experienced.”
The waiter’s mouth dropped open, and his wide-eyed gaze jumped from Wyatt to Melanie before he scurried off.
“Nice.” She leaned back and folded her arms. “But I’m already a home-wrecker, so masochistic swinger doesn’t make much of a dent in my reputation.”
“That stunt you just pulled will.” Wyatt took a sip of coffee as he studied her over the table, trying to pretend he wasn’t drinking her in, too. “You did it anyway.”
She angled forward, her body straining against her arms as if they were the only thing holding her back. “I am so tired of watching men like that strut away while women like me slink off in shame. Screw that. This time I made sure the boys are gonna get burned, too.”
But she would pay the bigger price. The boys would do everything in their power to make sure she never worked in Texas agribusiness again. Or any other state, if they had enough reach. And Melanie might have a temper, but she wasn’t delusional.
“Bullshit,” Wyatt said calmly.
She gaped at him. “Excuse me?”
“What I said. You had all night to think about the consequences. This wasn’t your temper going off.” He cocked his head, studying the tightly drawn lines of her face. “So that leaves us with the question: Why did you decide to blow up your career?”
“I did not—” She sucked in air between her teeth and spit out a curse before continuing in a mocking imitation of a talk show host. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we welcome renowned amateur psychologist Wyatt Darrington, who sees all and knows even more.”
He raised a lazy eyebrow. “I’m not a doctor, but I watch them on television every afternoon.”
And he’d been watching Melanie for years. Like Violet and Joe and all her other friends, he’d seen how this damn job had sucked the joy out of her. Dragged her away from too many of the things that had always mattered most to her. For what? Ambition? Money? The same driving need to win that had made her a champion roper?
Possible. Take away the rodeos, and that intensely competitive spirit would have to find another outlet.
“So? What’s the diagnosis?” she asked, applying the sarcasm with a trowel.
He shook his head. “As you say, I’m not qualified to make that call. I’m just pointing out the obvious.”
“Which is?”
“There are other, less-damaging outlets for revenge. You’ve got to ask yourself why you took the nuclear option.”
“The hell I do,” she muttered into her coffee cup.
Okay then. Definitely not ready to discuss her choices. Wyatt wondered how long it would be before she realized that she’d acted from a deeply buried sense of self-preservation. And being Melanie, she’d made sure she got in a few good licks on the way out.
He continued to study her while she dosed her second cup of coffee with sugar and cream, wondering yet again what it was about her that he found so irresistible. He knew plenty of beautiful women—breathtaking, eye-poppingly gorgeous women. Melanie wasn’t one of them. Yes, she was attractive, but there wasn’t anything truly remarkable about her looks. Strong bones, a hint of freckles—the kind of face that smiled from the back row of every small-town basketball team photo, feet braced, a ball tucked under one arm and a just try me set to her shoulders. The player sports reporters invariably called scrappy.
In his fifteen-plus years on the rodeo circuit, Wyatt had met dozens of them. Ranch-raised, cowgirls to the bone, with a thin layer of sophistication on top. But none were quite like Melanie. She had a way of looking into him, making him feel exposed, as if he’d spent his entire life playing the Wizard, and she was the only one who could see straight through the curtain.
If this were Oz, he could wave his hands and make it all better—call in a favor or two and line up another job for her at a better company, with no awkward questions asked—but he knew exactly how that offer would be received. His stomach burned with the frustration of being forced to stand aside and twiddle his thumbs, and the hot coffee wasn’t doing much to soothe his ulcer.
She tilted her cup toward him in invitation. “Go ahead. I’m sure you’re dying to analyze why I let myself be a complete fool.”
“Were you?”
“Obviously, or we wouldn’t be having this delightful encounter. Here…Exhibit A.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and set it in the middle of the table, displaying a series of texts. “Read them if you want. Michael never said anything that couldn’t be explained away as business if the little woman checked his messages. Never called me outside of office hours. And the real kicker…” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “On the phone, he always called me Mel.”
“So it sounded like he was talking to a man.”
She tapped a finger to her nose, then pointed it at him. “You got it.”
“Most of your friends call you Mel at least some of the time. Why would it strike you as odd?”
Her straight, dark brows lifted. “What, you’re not going to question how I, of all people, fell for the scam?”
“From what Violet told me, it sounds like you were the victim of a master manipulator.” The instant victim popped out of his mouth, Wyatt wanted to snatch it back. Wrong, wrong, wrong…
Her eyes flashed, and her voice took on the silky edge of a razor. “Well, you would know.”
Zing! Another bull’s-eye. This time he refused to return fire or defend himself. But I’m not like that… I would never… I only do what’s necessary…
None of which made him any less guilty of her accusation.
“Right. I forgot your ironclad moral code.” She leaned back again, her lip curling. “You only scheme and lie and deliver judgment in the name of all that is righteous…by your definition.”
Again, he had no defense. He could tell her the truth about what had happened between him and her brother, but what difference did it make that it had all been an act on Wyatt’s part? He’d threatened to use his influence to blackball Hank at the biggest pro rodeos, hoping to scare some sense into the kid. Instead, Hank had gone completely off the rails—and Wyatt had helped push him. If he’d listened to Joe, let him tackle the situation head on instead of trying to be so damned smart…
Hank might be back at work for Jacobs Livestock by now. He might not have made one increasingly bad decision after another, as if he was determined to destroy his life—and doing a damn good job of it.
But Hank hadn’t failed at everything. Before slamming out of the hotel in Fort Worth, he’d jabbed a finger at Wyatt. “Someday I’ll make you pay for this. I swear it.”
Mission accomplished. Wyatt was definitely paying the price for Hank’s implosion. Hank just didn’t know it.
And thankfully, neither did his sister. Yet.