Chapter 40

Melanie woke up alone on Tuesday morning. She had—reluctantly—sent Wyatt home the night before to pack and rest up for the flight to Reno. And to be honest, she’d needed to take a step back, if only to prove she still could.

No matter how much it hurt.

She dragged on jogging clothes, laced up her shoes, and headed outside. As she stepped into the hall, something thumped onto the floor—a box that had been propped against the door, sporting a Justin Boots logo. What the heck? She pried the lid open and inhaled the intoxicating scent of new leather. Peeling back the tissue paper, she sucked in another, even more appreciative breath. She had drooled over this exact pair of boots in the western store a block down the street—plain, brown square toes with a low roper’s heel, and tops stitched in an intricate floral pattern of pink, turquoise, and white.

She couldn’t resist. She toed off her sneakers and pulled on the boots. Of course they were the right size. She fished out the folded piece of yellow legal paper in the bottom of the box.

These will fit you better than those shoes.

The paper crunched in her fist. Damn him. For a guy who didn’t think he was good at relationships, he had a real knack for twisting her heart into a corkscrew, even from a thousand miles away.

How much worse was it going to be when she was the one who had to leave—permanently?

* * *

Wyatt landed in Reno on the heels of a morning thunderstorm. Puddles steamed on the pavement as he walked into the terminal, and there wasn’t enough product in the world to squelch the curl in his hair. By the time he got back to Pendleton, it would be totally out of control.

Sort of like his feelings for Melanie. He’d thought it was hard lying to her before, but nothing compared to looking her straight in the eye and insisting he didn’t want her to be a part of every minute of his future. Although, there had been some truth to what he’d said. He couldn’t have her, and he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever stop loving her, since he’d already tried every way he knew how.

So no, he would never get married again.

He’d had to say it. The way she was looking at him…Wyatt couldn’t take the chance that in her emotionally battered state she might finally give up on Hank and turn to him, if only for consolation. He might not be strong enough to push her away, so he’d had to throw up another block.

Why not the same, old tired one he’d used to screw it up at the very beginning?

The clerk smiled brightly as Wyatt dragged his luggage cart up to the desk. “Welcome to Reno! Here for the rodeo?”

“Yes, and thank you.”

Not a question he usually got, but today he’d opted for jeans and worn his belt and National Finals bullfighter buckle, which he usually left in his suitcase unless he was making an official appearance. Also, the rope Melanie had given him was hanging from the cart. With plenty of time to kill at the rodeo grounds and dozens of potential coaches among the roping contestants, he just had to swallow his pride, ask for help…and take a ton of ribbing from them about how terrible he was.

He slid his gold member card across the desk, and the clerk tapped the information into her computer. “I have a Mustang convertible reserved for you, Mr. Darrington. Is that correct?”

It was what he’d requested, but it didn’t suit his mood. He leaned across the desk and hit her with his best smile. “It was…but I changed my mind. Could we look at another option?”

He was waiting outside baggage claim when a familiar figure strode out with one battered gear bag slung over his shoulder and another in his hand, weaving through the crowd like there was a prize for who got to the curb first. He stopped dead when he spotted Wyatt leaning against the side of the black short-box pickup.

Joe looked left, then right, then back at Wyatt. “Who are you supposed to be?”

Wyatt bared his teeth. “You’re welcome to grab a taxi.”

“Oh no. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to miss it.” Joe tossed his bags in the backseat, looking more respectable than usual in a blue Jacobs Livestock polo shirt and starched jeans. His hair was still a straggly mess, but Violet seemed to like it that way. He climbed in the cab and rubbed a hand across his own clean-shaven jaw. “What’s this?”

“I forgot to renew my monthly razor subscription.” Something for which Joe had given him no end of grief, gob-smacked that anyone would pay more than five bucks for a six-pack of plastic disposables. “If I can’t shave with a decent blade…”

“You don’t shave your precious face at all,” Joe finished, curling his lip in disgust.

Wyatt shrugged, satisfied that he’d deflected Joe’s curiosity. He was not going to admit that he intended to keep the stubble for as long as Melanie was around to appreciate it.

As they eased into the stream of shuttle buses and taxis, Joe twisted around to look into the backseat. “Why are you packing a rope?”

“I bet Melanie I’d be able to catch a dummy five out of ten times when I get back to Pendleton.”

“Yeah? And what does she have to do if you win?”

“Kite-surfing.”

Joe gave a low whistle. “Do I dare ask what you’re wagering?”

The ring of Wyatt’s phone through the pickup speakers cut him off. Melanie’s name flashed up on the dashboard screen. Before Wyatt could react, Joe poked the answer button, then sat back and looked expectantly at Wyatt, mouth firmly shut.

“Hello? Are you on the ground?”

Wyatt bit back a curse. He’d been trying to work out how to tell Joe about the two of them, and this was not it. “Yes. I just picked Joe up. Is everything okay?”

“Hunky-dory. I just needed to ask…do you trust me, Chuck?”

He winced at the nickname. “That depends on the context.”

“We’re not standing at the top of a mountain, so you can breathe easy on that account. Which reminds me, if that ankle gets sore, you let Cruz pick up the slack. He’s young. He can take the beating.”

Ankle? Joe mouthed at him.

Wyatt let a slow breath stream out through his nose. “I’ll keep it in mind. What is it you want me to trust you with?”

“Your checkbook. I’m fixin’ to spend some money.”

“On?”

“The bar.”

He wedged the pickup between a tour bus and a white courtesy limousine from one of the casinos. “Louie can write checks on the Bull Dancer account. What are you going to do?”

He heard the grin in her voice. “That’s the part where you’ve gotta have faith.”

God help him. Or whoever. Then again, short of turning it back into an actual brothel, how much damage could she do in ten days? “Let me know if I should recruit some new employees as long as I’m in Sin City Junior.”

“Nah, I’ve got the staffing handled. And thank you for your confidence.” He started to relax. He might just get out of this conversation without Joe too much the wiser. Then she added, “Oh, and Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep him away from the strip clubs. I’ve heard he has a weakness, and you know how I am about sharing my toys.”

The phone clicked off. Wyatt stared straight down the road, the stream of traffic exiting the airport giving him an excuse to avoid even a glance in Joe’s direction.

After several excruciating moments, Joe asked, “Why is she calling you Chuck?”

“That’s the only question you have?”

“It’s the only confusing part. Sounds like everything else is proceeding according to plan.”

Wyatt shot him an incredulous look. “Whose plan?”

“Ours.” Joe cocked his finger, pointed it at Wyatt, and pulled the trigger. “Gotcha.”