Then Came You (24 page)

As she said this, Blue took advantage of how accessible she was and began to search her pockets for goodies, snorting her displeasure to find her goodie-less. She couldn't concentrate on that because there was an odd tension coming from Wyatt, which she didn't understand.

She
was the injured party here.

Wasn't she?

He was hands on hips, staring at her. “So you expect me to believe that you came out here because Blue needed you, and not because Caitlin showed up.”

Hearing the name of the woman he'd once loved, maybe still loved, fall so easily from his lips was like a sharp knife in the gut. “Caitlin showed up?” she asked with false casualness.

He narrowed his gaze on her and didn't answer.

Feeling defensive, and for good reason, as she was truly a crappy liar, she went hands on hips, too. “Why are you out here looking for me anyway? You were very busy a few minutes ago.”

“So you
did
see her.”

Fine. The jig was up. “Hard not to, since she was attached to your lips.”

“Shit.” Wyatt stared down at his boots for a long moment. Hard to tell if he was fighting the urge to strangle her or walk away. Then he met her gaze again. “I wasn't expecting her.”

“As you don't expect much, this doesn't surprise me.”

Wyatt shoved a hand through his hair, a very unusual “tell” from a man who was usually so comfortable in his own skin in every single situation that came along that she'd never really seen him so much as slightly rattled before. “I'm guessing she wants to start up again,” she said.

He nodded, and it happened again, that stab right through her heart. “She missed you,” she guessed.

“Yes.”

“Not surprising,” she managed, sounding oddly normal for a woman who could no longer feel her bones. “Seeing as when she broke up with you, it wasn't because she didn't love you anymore, but because she was going off to live a dream of hers and help people.”

He said nothing to this.

“Why is she here?” Emily asked. “I thought she was in Africa or somewhere.”

This got her a small lip twitch. “Haiti. And she accepted a fellowship at a hospital in Coeur d'Alene, working with a group of surgeons she admires.”

Coeur d'Alene. Less than an hour away. “So . . . I guess congratulations.”

He stalked past her to the fence. Leaning on it, he stroked Blue's face, shoving the horse back when she tried to frisk him. “Knock it off,” he said, and she knew he was talking to her, not the horse. She stiffened and stared at his broad shoulders. “Excuse me?”

“You think she dumped me.”

“Didn't she?”

“And in thinking that, do you really then
also
think I'd go back to the woman who walked away from me?”

She opened her mouth, and then shut it again as she stared at his back. She didn't know what she thought. He was so deceptively chill most of the time that she'd forgotten one important thing. He was strong, tough, and actually, pretty damn alpha.

He turned to face her, his eyes glittering with a dark emotion that she realized was temper, however rare. “
I
broke things off with
her
, Emily. I'm the one who sent her away, the one who said we were over. I knew she wanted to take the job, and I knew I didn't want a long distance relationship. I also knew that she wasn't ever going to be the right woman for me, regardless of my feelings for her at the time.” A muscle jumped in his jaw as he stared at her. “And yeah, I had feelings for her. I loved her.”

“Past tense,” Emily whispered, feeling the teeniest flicker of hope deep inside.

“Past tense,” he agreed. “I'll always care for her, about her, but she's not the one.” He never took his eyes from hers, which made it all the harder to hear when he said, “I thought maybe I'd met the one for me, but I was wrong.”

The tentative hope shriveled, replaced by dread. “What does that mean?”

“You got something you want to tell me?” he asked, voice even, face blank, like he was asking about the weather.

“Uh . . .” Her heart started to pound. “Yeah.”

He leaned against the fence, all ears and bad 'tude.

“I won you in the auction by cheating.”

He blinked. “You . . . what? How did you—” He shook his head. “Jesus, never mind. The internship, Emily. I'm talking about the internship. You're leaving. When the hell were you going to tell me?”

“Oh.” Dread turned to fear. “That's not as easy to explain as the auction thing.”

“Yes, it is,” he said. “It's a sentence. Hell, Emily, it's two
words
: I'm. Leaving.”

She shouldn't have been surprised at how angry he sounded, but she was. Still, she was more surprised at her
own
anger. “You know how much I wanted that internship,” she reminded him. “It's in L.A., near home for me. It'll lead into a job that pays a lot more money than anywhere else. I've planned for that job, I—”

“Christ, are we back to your plan? Seriously?”

“Yes, and dammit, you know why. You know I don't want to be like my dad, barely getting by.
Not
getting by. I want money in the bank, Wyatt, a house I can pay for. I want to be okay, for once I want that. I need that. It's not so different from your dream, you know. You gave up a relationship to stay here and build your home.”

“And us?” he asked with his characteristic bluntness. “Did we not factor at all?”

“I wasn't sure there was an us.”

His eyes merely darkened, his mouth going more grim.

“It was a difficult decision,” she said softly.

“Doesn't sound like it was difficult at all.”

“I told myself I couldn't pin my future on a crush,” she said, and paused, waiting for a response. A bread crumb. Anything.

But got nothing.

“We both know this started out as just a fun thing,” she said as calmly as she could. Not easy when she was so close to tears that she didn't dare blink. “Not a forever thing. How am I supposed to throw away everything I thought I wanted on a fun thing?”

“So you're what, going back to a job in a fancy zip code?” he asked. “And then what, Emily? You find your John? Is
that
the dream? Really?”

“I have to take care of my dad,” she said. “Before he ends up in a cardboard box with eighteen dogs.”

“Your dad's fine. Your dad's happy. Happier than you.”

The barb hit hard. So hard she actually staggered back a step and put a hand to her chest, which didn't assuage the ache. “Why should I stay?” she asked. “Give me one reason.”

He stared at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw as her heart shriveled a little bit inside.

“I hope this is what will make you happy, Emily,” he finally said quietly. “You deserve to be happy.”

And then he was gone, vanished into the dark night.

E
mily sat straight up with a start and looked at the clock.

She had no idea what had woken her. Beside her, Woodrow stirred and raised his head.

“Stay,” she said, sliding out of bed. “I'm just going for some water.”

He didn't stay. He hopped down off the bed and sat at her feet, looking up at her.

She sighed. “Okay, you can come. But you have to be very quiet.”

She moved down the hall and peered into Sara's room.

Empty.

Figured. Even her sister, more of a city woman than Emily could ever hope to be, had found a nightlife here in Sunshine.

The night was warm, and they'd left a window open. As she pulled a glass from the cupboard, a long, thin howl of pain came through the screen, making all the hair on her body stand up.

Another dog, she was certain.

She was equally certain that she couldn't ignore it any more than she'd been able to with Woodrow. She ran to her room and threw on clothes.

“I know you're gonna hate this,” she said to Woodrow, “but you're staying. There's another dog out there in trouble.”

She ran to her car, following the cry that tugged at every heart string she owned. Three minutes later, she slammed on the brakes when her headlights caught the dark huddled form on the side of the road near where she'd found Woodrow. “No,” she whispered, running out of the car, heart in her throat. “Oh, no.”

It was another dog, this one much more injured than Woodrow. It hadn't been hit by a car, but in a vicious fight, and was bleeding from so many deep wounds she didn't know where to start. She flew back to her car, grabbed a blanket from the backseat, and carefully scooped up the dog, who whimpered in pain.

“I know,” she whispered, heart in her throat. “Hold on, baby, just hold on.”

She broke a few speed limits heading toward the clinic, and also the no cell phone law when she hit Wyatt's number.

He answered with a low-pitched, sleepy, “I hope this is a break-up sex booty call.”

She let out a half laugh, half sob, and he came immediately alert. “Emily?”

She pictured him putting on his glasses to check the screen. “You okay?” he demanded.

She swiped her nose on her sleeve and swallowed hard. “I'm heading to the center.”

“What's wrong? What do you need?”

“I forgot my keys and don't have time to turn around.”

She heard some rustling and knew he was getting out of bed. Normally she'd wonder if he was naked, and maybe even indulge in picturing it, but right now she just wanted him to hold her, as much as that set feminism back fifty years. “Is there a set of keys hidden anywhere on the property?” she asked.

“No, but I'll be here waiting for you. What's the matter?”

“I don't want to get you out of bed—”

“Emily,” he said, “I'm already halfway there. Talk to me.”

She felt her eyes fill again and quickly blinked away the tears. What was it going to be like in L.A. without him in her life?

Your own doing . . .

“Emily?”

“I've got another injured dog.”

“ETA?”

“Ten minutes.”

“I'll have a room ready,” he said calmly. “Drive safe, sweetness.”

Because she didn't trust her voice, she nodded, for all the good that was going to do him. Then she ended the call and tossed her cell to the passenger's seat and drove.

*   *   *

Wyatt did indeed get to Belle Haven before Emily. He hadn't expected to hear from her, and for a moment, when her number had come up on his cell phone, his heart had squeezed, hard.

She'd changed her mind.

He'd been unprepared to hear her tear-ravaged voice, and fear had gripped him.

When her car pulled into the lot, he strode out into the night to meet her, opening the driver's side as she turned off the engine.

“The dog's in the backseat—” she started.

He pulled her from the car and gave her a quick once-over.

“I'm fine,” she said, opening the back passenger's door. Wyatt gently pushed her aside and eyed the dog. Ah, shit.

“It's bad,” she whispered.

Yeah. Real bad. He scooped the injured animal up while Emily ran ahead of him to get the front door.

“Where was he?” he asked her.

“About a quarter of a mile from my house, between my place and my neighbor. Right near where I found Woodrow. I heard him crying.”

And she'd gone out alone. He hated that. He shouldered himself and the dog through the door, striding directly to the back. “You went out at this time of night by yourself.”

“I had no choice,” she said. “You'd have done the same thing.”

The dog hadn't moved, but was breathing heavily, a distressed pant. He'd gone into shock and was badly damaged. Torn to shreds really, bleeding through the blanket from too many places to count. Wyatt gently set him down on the exam table and turned to Emily, who'd immediately shifted closer to stroke the dog's face and murmur softly to him.

She stood there, bent over the dog, tears shimmering in her eyes, balancing on her lower lashes. “It's going to be okay,” she whispered.

Wyatt's heart tightened painfully. He knew that devastated look, he'd felt it all too many times himself.

It was one of the things that few people realized about being a vet, how much death and devastation they really faced every single day.

It took its toll on even the most distant and cool, levelheaded of people. And Emily was one tough cookie—he loved that about her—but she was never distant and only sometimes cool and levelheaded. Everyone had their breaking point and she looked to be at hers. “Emily.”

“I . . .” Lifting her gaze from the table, she stared at him. She was covered in blood. The dog's, he told himself as she shook her head helplessly. “I—” Without another word, she whirled to grab some supplies and started assessing the dog as he would. “Shock,” she choked out. “He's in shock.”

“Yes,” he agreed quietly. Waiting. It didn't take but another two seconds. “He can't take a surgery,” she realized. “He can't—” She shook her head as it sank into her that the dog wasn't going to survive, that the humane thing to do was put it down. “I have to . . .”

“I'll do it,” he said.

“No.” She shook her head again. “This is on me. He's my responsibility—”

“Did you attack this dog?”

“Of course not!”

“Then it's not on you. Let me,” he said.

“But—”

“I know, you want to handle it all on your own, and you do. You handle everything on your own better than anyone I know. But let someone help, just this once.”

She was breathing a little heavily, telling him that the dog wasn't the only shocky one. He had no idea what it was about this dog that had gotten to her so deeply, but it happened. It was the job. And sometimes, the job sucked. “Can you get me a warming blanket?” he asked.

He wasn't going to need it. The dog wasn't going to need it. And if she'd been thinking clearly, she'd have known it.

But she went, leaving him alone to do what had to be done.

*   *   *

Emily was at the closet where they kept the warming blankets before her brain kicked in and she realized what Wyatt had done for her.

“Damn him,” she whispered, and sat right where she was, on the floor by the closest. She pulled her legs into her chest, dropped her head to her knees, and tried to keep it together.

A few minutes later, footsteps came down the hall toward her and she busied herself with the blankets in the closest, like she was actually doing something.

“Come here, sweetness.”

“I'm organizing the closet.”

He sat next to her, right there on the floor, and then two warm, strong arms encircled her, pulling her into his lap.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, and lost it.

He tucked her face into the crook of his neck and pressed his jaw to the top of her head. And then he did what she couldn't remember anyone ever doing for her before.

He let her cry.

When she'd managed to curtail it down to noisy, hiccupping sniffles, he lifted her face to his. “Why did you become a vet?” he asked.

“To help,” she managed. Her throat got tight again. “To help animals.”

“And you helped him. You did,” he said when she started to shake her head. “You rescued him from a night of pure hell and put him out of his misery, and that was your job. That's what we do.”

She closed her eyes. “
You
did it.”

“You went out into the night, heedless of your own safety, putting his life ahead of yours—which, by the way, we're going to circle back to later—and you saved him from being alone.

She gave a shuddery, exhausted sigh. “Wyatt?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the intern switch. I should have. I . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I'm going to miss you,” she whispered. “More than I know how to admit.”

He blew out a breath. “Same. You came out of nowhere, knocked me on my ass.”

She set her head on his shoulder and tried not to cry again. “Will I see you? After I'm gone?”

“You marrying anyone anytime soon?”

She let out a watery laugh. “No.”

“Then yeah. I'll see you. It'll be okay, Em.”

“I hate it when you do that.”

“Do what?” he asked, stroking a big hand up and down her back.

“Act like a grown-up.”

It was his turn to huff out a laugh. “Yeah, well, it happens sometimes. We've got to call this one in, sweetness.”

“The police?”

“Yeah. That wasn't a hit-and-run. And that wasn't a coyote attack.”

“What was it?”

“I think someone's fighting dogs.” Still sitting on the floor holding her, he pulled out his cell, hit a number, and put the phone to his ear. “Kel? Yeah, sorry man, I know it's late. But we've got something you need to see.” He shoved his phone back in his pocket.

“Who's Kel?”

“Local sheriff. He's on his way.”

*   *   *

Kel arrived ten minutes later. He was a tall, lean, good-looking guy Emily recognized as one of the cops Wyatt played football against. Given his bed-head hair and unhappy expression, he'd clearly just dragged himself out of bed. “What's going on?” he asked.

“Remember what you were telling me the other night after the game?” Wyatt asked. “About the dogs? You said you suspected you had an illegal dog fighting ring in the county.”

“Yeah.”

“I've got something to show you. Wait here a sec,” he said to Emily, and then he and Kel vanished down the hall.

A few minutes later they were back, Kel looking royally pissed off. “I don't know what kind of sick fuck could do that to a dog.”

A half an hour later, Emily parked her car in her driveway, got out, and nearly screamed when a tall shadow materialized in front of her.

Wyatt.

“Need to be more aware of your surroundings,” he said.

“Why are you following me?”

“Making sure you got home okay.” He took her key from her and started to unlock the front door, but Sara pulled it open and gaped in horror at Emily's bloody sweatshirt. “What—”

“It's not her blood,” Wyatt said, and shouldered his way in, hands on Emily, nudging her ahead of him. “She's just exhausted. I'm putting her to bed.”

“Do you need a padlock to keep her there?” Sara asked his back as he strode down the hallway like he owned the place.

“I've got my ways,” Wyatt called back.

“I bet,” Sara murmured.

Wyatt took Emily into the bathroom and started her shower. “Need help?”

“No.” It was an automatic response. She was good at not needing help. “I'm fine.”

Wyatt let out a breath that was as close to a sigh as she'd ever heard from him. “Don't do that,” he said.

“Don't what?”

“Don't try to be Super Woman, not with me.”

She tried to laugh that off, but the sound was weak and she closed her mouth, afraid she'd go from laughing to crying again.

Leaning past her, Wyatt tested the hot water, and then he shocked her as he stripped quickly and efficiently, each movement economical and so masculine that she just stared at him.

When he was standing there naked and perfect, he began to remove her clothes, softening enough to smile when he caught her expression. “Don't look at me like that,” he warned.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me up.”

But God help her, she did. He was all smooth, rippled sinew and male virility, and in any other circumstance, she would've taken at least a nibble. “I'm not.”

He snorted, pushed her into the shower, and then followed, completely unselfconscious, even though he was quite obviously aroused. Eyes hooded, he washed her hair with firm, strong fingers, and she let herself enjoy the feeling of being taken care of. When his hands ran the soap down her body, her head fell back onto his chest. She closed her eyes so she couldn't see the dog's blood running off her, down the drain.