Impulsion: A Station 32 Fire Men Novel (38 page)

Wyatt’s stare fluttered over his mother, wondering what those conversations with Garrison and her held, if Garrison ever believed Harley was with Collin. If he didn’t, and Harley kept this game up, she was hurting him instead of protecting him, making it worse. That made him regret not fighting harder for her to see his point.

“You want me to fly up there and tell him I love his daughter?”

“I do.”

“You just said that you know I would always protect Harley. She’s doing all this for that Collin boy, too, for his reputation.”

“I told you this wasn’t about Collin or anyone else. This is about you manning up and telling Garrison that you love his daughter. I don’t care if you go to some party or not. I just want you to have a conversation with the man before he meets the good Lord. You’re not destroying any story. Garrison knows where she’s been.”

Wyatt nodded to Easton’s truck. “What’s with the cavalry? If Garrison knows I’m coming, why do I need back up?”

“I didn’t say he knew you were coming. You need to call him and ask for a conference
—once you’re there, of course. And Memphis and Easton, they managed to keep you out of jail last time; figured it wouldn’t hurt to have them there this go ‘round, and they agreed.

Wyatt went to argue his same point once more, but Camille stepped away from the gate. “Your bag is inside my front door. I made sure your dress suits were clean, packed a few other things, too.” And with that, she walked away.

Wyatt leaned back from that fence. His mother looked over her shoulder, then pointed to her front porch, her way of telling her son to move or she was going to move him herself.

Wyatt caught his father
’s stare coming from just inside the barn. All Beckett did was stand up straighter, pull his shoulders back, and raise his chin—gestures he always gave Wyatt as he was entering a ring on a wild ride which meant ‘man up, son.’

A million thoughts raced through his mind. Chasing her seemed dangerous, but at the same time he saw his mother’s point. He had built a life with Harley; twenty years from now, he’d be furious if the man his daughter was with hid
from him like a coward.

Wyatt walked to the door and got his bag, checked it over to see that his best suits were in there, the ones that he only wore on the occasions he could not get out of, the kind of suit that Collin guy wore like a pro. It should make him feel like a scam artist dressing like this, but it didn’t
. It would have if he had gone out and bought clothes for this deal, but this was his stuff. He knew how to walk this line. His mother had instilled southern mannerisms in all her kids at the same time she’d taught them not to fear dirt.

Easton and Memphis never bothered to get out of the truck. Wyatt opened the back door and threw his bag in.

“Both of you are missing work to keep me out of jail?”

The both laughed aloud.

“Not holding your hand, brother. Just support. You’re the man with the words,” Memphis said.

No, I’m not
, Wyatt thought to himself. He wasn’t afraid of much, but oddly the idea of talking to Garrison Tatum, telling him that he loved Harley, was causing adrenaline to course through his veins.

Wyatt waited until they arrived in New York, reached the hotel that was not far from Harley’s family home before he called Garris
on, all the while wondering if he should at least wait until after this party to say anything, if that would appease everyone.

Harley could play her role, Wyatt could clear his conscience and honor both sets of parents, but nagging thoughts told him his mother would never exaggerate how sick Garrison was. For all he knew, the man would either live minutes, days or years. It would never
sit right with Wyatt if he lost his chance to tell him how he felt about Harley, if he lost the chance to promise the man that he’d always keep her safe, that Harley would have the life she always wanted at the Dorans’.

When whoever answered the number his mother had given him and asked for Wyatt to leave his name, his glance met Easton’s, then Memphis’, thinking if he gave them their names, there was no chance for Claire Tatum to recognize it
. But the second thought told him that would make him a liar, something he had basically preached to Harley was the worst infraction within a family. He gave his name, hung up the phone, and leaned forward.

“You got this,” Easton said.

Wyatt shook his head. “You don’t get it. Harley thinks things through, sometimes too much. She has done whatever this is for a reason. I have no problem telling Garrison I love her, but at the same time I think I should tell her I’m here, what I want to do. Let her play this part first.”

Memphis met Easton’s gaze, then Wyatt’s. “Look,” Memphis said in the calm, level voice he was known to have. “I was eighteen when I lost my dad. It killed me. I really don’t think it would matter how old he or I was when it happened; it would have hurt the same. Harley is grieving early, preparing early. She wants him to die thinking she’s safe, or will be. All your mother was saying to you is that if you love her, then tell the man. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could tell me that I’m not good enough for her.”

“Would that stop you from loving her? Being with her?” Memphis asked.

Wyatt shook his head.

“Then it doesn’t matter. You’re saying your piece to a dying man.”

“By all accounts, he’s a stubborn son of a bitch, stubborn enough to tell his doctors to go to hell and live another ten, fifteen years.”

“Maybe so, but there is no promise in that—” Easton started to say but was cut off.

Wyatt’s phone was ringing. It was the same man that had answered the phone before, asking Wyatt to come to dinner that evening, telling him a car would be there to pick him up within the hour.

All at once, the gravity of this situation seemed to feel all too real to Wyatt.

By the end of the next hour, Wyatt was dressed in one of his nicest suits and was in the back of a Lincoln Town Car which was pulling into a massive driveway that was hidden by a wrought iron gate.

Wyatt had always tried to imagine the wealth that Harley came from, the idea of it. He was sure he had a handle on the magnitude of it
, but pulling up to that house, he knew he wasn’t even close. The house reminded him of a storybook palace.

He didn’t feel like a man
as he was led inside—he felt like a boy. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he passed Claire Tatum, if she was at this dinner. Memphis and Easton had coached him over and over on how to keep his cool, how to count to three in his mind before he answered any harsh words she said.

“Mr. Doran, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” the man that greeted him said. “Donald Matthew.”

Wyatt told himself not to smirk, not to ask the man if he meant to make him half-mad every time he called this house. The words stayed in, but the smirk didn’t.

“This way.”

Donald led him through a vast entryway where people were rushing from one side to the other, clearly getting ready for whatever party this was. He guided Wyatt down long, wide hallways with elegant paintings and works of art that made this place look more like a museum than a home.

Donald stopped at the end of one hall, pulled the double doors open, and extended his arm for Wyatt to enter.

It was a library, a two story one. It was dim. The dark leather furniture, massive dark oak desk only added to the wealthy ambience.

Garrison Tatum was walking in the room from a doorway on the side, all alone.

“Mr. Doran. In my home,” he said with a tone that reflected more Texas than New York, a tone deep with power.

Wyatt gave his most polite smile, walked to meet him, shook his hand, the firm handshake his father had taught him to use when he was just a boy.

The man didn’t look sick to him; just as powerful and intimidating as he did when Wyatt met him when he was just a kid.

His hair may have been white, there may have been age lines across his face, but his shoulders were still broad, and he still looked Wyatt dead in the eye, as if he could read his every thought.

“Happy Birthday, sir.”

“Why, thank you, though you are a day early.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt the party that has been planned for so long.”

Garrison laughed. “That party is not for me
. It’s a stage for strategy, strategies in all walks of life. Have a seat, son,” he said to Wyatt, nodding to the round table that had been set for dinner.

“I understand I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Wyatt tilted his head in confusion as he took his seat.

“You pulled my Harley from the cab of a totaled truck.”

Wyatt held his stare. “I don’t know if you recall him, but Easton Ballantine was the first from my department at her side. Once I saw who was on that horse trailer, I assisted. But Harley was unharmed all in all, no real danger.”

“You assisted,” Garrison said with a raspy chuckle. “I’m sure you walked as calmly as you could to the cab of that truck.”

Wyatt let a slow smile come to his face as the fear he did feel in that moment flashed in his ice blue eyes. “I have only met real fear a few times in my life. That moment was one of them, no doubt, sir.”

The conversation halted as a servant rolled in the dinner that was served to the two of them and poured a glass of wine for Wyatt.

When Wyatt ignored the wine, Garrison said, “I’m sure we have beers, too. Of course, I’m assuming since they keep them from me. This half glass of wine is my limit, supposed to ease me.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Meeting fear…interesting,” Garrison said to pick up the conversation once more. “When did you meet fear before then?” Garrison asked with a glance to Wyatt. “In a fire, or was it on the back of one of those wild horses you tend to tame with that deep, southern tone of yours?”

“It was the last time I saw you, sir.”

“You fear me?” Garrison asked, as if he had never heard such a thing.

“I don’t
. I respect you. That morning, I feared that I could not keep my promise to you or Harley.”

Garrison set his dinnerware down. “And what promise was that?”

“To keep her safe.”

Garrison nodded a few times, his piercing stare holding Wyatt’s. “And you didn’t think she was safe with me?”

“With you, yes.”

“Then what was it?”

Wyatt swallowed, not sure how blunt he should be. No one coached him on that point, and honestly they should have—the Dorans were known for their bluntness.

“Harley is a strong woman. She knows what she wants, but sometimes she has a hard time saying that. In most cases, she finds her own way to say or do what she needs to
. Her mother, she never really gave Harley the time she needed to come out of this mold she was born into.”

“Is that a fact?” Garrison said.

Wyatt couldn’t read his tone, was confused when he started to eat once more, as if Wyatt had not basically called his wife a controlling bitch.

“And how do you allow Harley to find this voice of hers?”

“Calm…patience…trust.”

“That’s how you are at all times around her?”

Wyatt clenched his jaw. He didn’t fly here to lie to the man, and he didn’t fly here to offend him either. After he counted to three in his mind, he answered, “No, sir. That would make us a fallacy. It would mean that we withheld parts of ourselves from each other. With that being said, we’ve never really fought. If we do, it’s a few sharp words, silence, then us finding a way back, seeing the other’s point of view. Time is too precious to spend it on anger.”

Garrison stared at Wyatt for a long moment, a lingering glint of pride in his stare. “Did you fight a lot growing up? Before you had the chance to figure out how limited time could be at times?”

“From day one, we knew any moment we had was priceless. I don’t recall any real fights. If we did, it was about her keeping her fears to herself, not letting me share them with her.”

“The man that rarely meets fear wanted to share my daughter’s?”

“I did. But the fears we had then were the fears of a teenage heart; they seemed impossible to contend with.”

“
The fear of being caught,” Garrison said.

“Fear of being separated. Being caught was not the issue.”

Garrison raised his chin. “And why is that?”

“Because one way or another, at some point in time I knew I would look you in the eye and tell you that I loved your daughter from the moment I laid eyes on her. That I will love her until the day I die.”

Wyatt leaned forward. “Sir, I know what happened a few years ago would look bad to any family. I apologize if I shamed or offended your family or broke any trust, but I assure you there was nothing torrid between Harley and me. We may have been just kids, but we were kids that knew that what was between us was more than a crush or a passing curiosity.”

Garrison went back to his dinner as if Wyatt had not laid out his heart and soul on the table before him. When he was finished with his meal, he sat back in his seat.