Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) (31 page)

I paused, seeing he was trying to put aside his reservations. “Well . . . it’s about these aliens, I think. And they take over people’s minds, but not everyone’s. And I think there’s a love story between this girl who gets possessed and this guy who wants to hate her because she’s possessed. But he, like, falls in love with her anyway. And eventually doesn’t care that she’s possessed. I think they may save the world.”

“Sounds interesting.” He laughed faintly.

“Are you making fun of my book?”

“No.” He grinned before breaking out in a deep, throaty chuckle.

His laugher filled my chest with happiness. I rolled my eyes and teased him. “It’s supposed to be good. I promise. And you like Stephen King. I thought it sounded Stephen King-ish.”

“Okay, I’m sure it is Stephen
King-ish
.”

And then my heart melted a little, seeing him struggle to contain his laughter again. But he couldn’t. His chest moved up and down as he laughed at my present. I wanted to see Wyatt this way—all the time, every day—full of these kinds of emotions instead of the ones that ripped him apart.

I leaned over, placing a chaste kiss against his mouth. He caught my bottom lip between his, making it last a little longer.

“Thank you,” he whispered. And I didn’t know if his gratitude was about the ridiculous book, the food, or the fact that I gave a crap about him.

“I don’t know about you, but I like my cheese melted and it’s getting cold.” I pulled away and picked up the silver-wrapped hamburger. I opened the corner and looked inside. “That one is yours.”

He seemed puzzled when I handed it over to him. “So what do you think I like on my burgers?”

“You seemed like a pickle-only guy. With mustard. I know—a gamble, right?”

He held my gaze for a moment. “Good call. How did you figure out the mustard?”

“All those nasty hot dogs. You had to be a mustard guy.”

He laughed again. “That’s funny. So what’s on yours?”

“Guess,” I teased.

“Lettuce and tomato since you are concerned about my nutrition.”

“Keep going.”

“Pickles. With mayo?”

“So close. Ketchup. Keep going?” I held up the stacked burger so he could get a better look at it.

“What? How could there be something else?”

“Well, I kind of cheated this time.” I gave him a flirty smile. “I got a jalapeno, mushroom, and cheese burger. The Sizzling Summer Special.”

“That’s gross.”

“Says the guy who lives on processed pig organs.”

He rolled his eyes. I took a bite of my burger, chewing on the gooey, stacked mess. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Wyatt take his first bite. His face drifted off into a slow trance of pleasure. I smiled to myself. I would have to do this more often. Just force it on Wyatt, knowing I would be met with resistance followed by this kind of payoff: forgotten happiness.

We finished off the burger and fought over the last tator tot. I gave it to him, while he wanted me to have it. I won, of course. And I got to see him enjoy the serendipitous moment of eating the last crunchy fried potato covered in ketchup.

After dinner, I followed him outside to the kennel. It was getting close to dark. Wyatt hadn’t fed the dogs yet since I’d interrupted his late-afternoon schedule. I helped fill the bowls with food and water, pausing occasionally to scratch the irresistible faces.

When Wyatt had told me about Ricky Bobby, I expected to feel a rush of sadness, but I didn’t. He was such a crazy character, and I knew a family of three boys could wear down all that energy. After all, adoption was the goal of the rescue. Find a place better than where they had come from. Find a place better than being stuck in here.

“Hey, do you need to leave?” I heard his voice behind me. Wyatt slipped his hands around my waist, pulling my back tight against his chest. I’m not sure if I would ever leave him if given a choice.

“I can stay a few more hours.”

He let out a deep breath that I knew was a sigh of relief. Wyatt continued to hold on like he was afraid to let go. Our difficult reality would always be just on the edge, surrounding each visit. I knew this was our future—at least for a couple more years. I just hoped Wyatt continued to get better and not worse.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He released the gripping hold on my body and walked out the side door. He quickly returned, carrying a familiar book, but not the one about the aliens.

“I figured you would’ve finished
Call of the Wild
several weeks ago.”

His grin faltered. “I couldn’t bring myself to finish it without you.”

“Oh.” We stared at each other for a moment, lost in the thoughts of those weeks after he’d thrown me out of his trailer. I knew that time had played a toll on Wyatt, pushing him down even further into the darkness. “Well, I’m pretty sure you promised to read to me that night too—when you felt better. So you better get your game face on. I expect earth-shattering spectacular.”

“Okay.” He seemed to relax again, hearing the teasing side come back between us.

“How does this work in here? Where do you normally sit?”

“Different places. Lately I’ve been next to Cye’s pen.”

“Okay. Well, I’m getting Charlie out. I think he needs a good cuddling.”

Making my way down the aisle, I heard Wyatt getting situated on the other end. I watched him for a moment as he spread a blanket across the cement. He messed with the edges, trying to make it perfect. He moved over to the wall panel by the door. The lights dimmed as he flicked off most of them in the room, sending us into a shadowy darkness with the exception of the spot where he planned to read.

I lifted Charlie up from the ground, cradling him in my arms. I made my way slowly down to Cye’s pen. Wyatt helped me get settled down between his legs. Leaning back, I rested my head against his chest. I felt his lips brush the back of my neck as he planted a kiss. And then another, letting his lips linger. I smelled of dogs and sweat, but I’m sure he didn’t care.

Wyatt put the book in front of us, turning to the page where I’d left off the night he’d gotten sick. His sexy, raspy voice carried throughout the building. He sounded better than I’d imagined—so articulate and full of passion. Wyatt held on to each word as his breath came in waves next to my cheek.

The rustling noises in the kennels settled down. Across the aisle, Lola crawled into her bed. Indy stretched out against the cement in his pen. I scratched Charlie behind those giant ears as he slept stretched across both of our thighs. The whole room seemed to breathe together in peace.

Wyatt paused and whispered faintly next to my ear, “Wait for it.”

From behind us, I heard a stirring. I wanted to turn around and see what was going on, but I knew it would disrupt the natural progression of whatever Wyatt had put in motion. He continued to speak, letting his voice become consumed with the story. I listened until I fell deep into my own trance and my eyes drifted closed. He was a gifted storyteller, speaking the words of Jack London, making them come alive in the darkness.

Wyatt took my hand and moved it slowly behind us. My fingers brushed the side of his T-shirt, and then I felt the soft hair of a dog.
Cye.

As the powerful story of a dog named Buck mesmerized a room full of animals, one in particular had found the strength to let go of his fears. Cye pressed himself against Wyatt’s back with the safety of the fence separating them.

My small hand fit through the metal wire. Cye remained still as I scratched his head. My fingers brushed over the dents in his skull. My breath held for a moment, embracing the magnitude of the moment. The poor dog, who had suffered at the hands of a vile and evil man with a hammer, had finally allowed me to touch him.

Tears beaded up in the corners of my eyes. The rehabilitation had moved at a snail’s pace. Not very many people possessed the patience to keep helping an animal like him. But in my book, it showed Wyatt’s inner heart.

While I’d never given up on Wyatt, he’d never given up on Cye.

I pulled my hand out, leaving the dog alone to his peaceful slumber. I settled back against Wyatt’s chest, feeling it move up and down as he spoke the words.

And I knew in that moment, I was in love with Wyatt Carter, in every way a girl could be in love with someone else: mind, body, heart, and soul.

O
VER THE NEXT SEVERAL WEEKS
, my life shifted into a pattern of school, work, and Wyatt. The therapist released me from his clutches, leaving me with just an elastic brace. I started my shifts again at the nursing home and my tea sessions with the girls.

Vera forced me to sit for an additional three hours on my first visit. I got updated on all the gossip about the evil grandson with the debutant wife and how Mr. Robson sneaked into Hazel’s room last week when he was supposed to attend movie night with JoAnna. It was like I’d missed a whole month of
Real Housewives of Shady Pines
.

Blaire and I were forced to come up with a car schedule since she’d decided driving was tolerable and she wasn’t going to die in the few blocks we lived from campus. Sometimes she dropped me off at work and sometimes we fought over me taking the car to Wyatt’s trailer “
again
” as she liked to add.

After all these years, I had to admit—I didn’t like sharing the car. Not one bit. But deep down, I was happy for Blaire because I loved her. And I wanted my sister to succeed in life, which required driving on her own. However, it was just another thing I had to schedule around my visits to Wyatt.

Despite the car situation, I saw him as much as possible. Each time, we discovered a little more about each other. Sometimes joking and laughing, and then sometimes, I still couldn’t get him to talk at all.

I don’t know what triggered those moments. Occasionally, I would find Wyatt in his trailer, zoned out with a wild spark in his eyes. And I would wrap my arms around his body as he clung to me in his gray silence. Those were the days that made it hard to leave him.

I pulled into the apartment complex, hauling a trunk full of our groceries, the items on the list from Mr. Hughes, and the food I bought to take out to Wyatt. It wasn’t the first time I’d purchased stuff for his trailer. He hated it. But I told him it was my food and his stubborn choice. He could choose to have some or just watch me eat it.

I popped the trunk but stayed sitting in my seat, thinking about him and the haunting eyes that had watched me leave this afternoon. Just when I thought Wyatt was getting better, he’d experienced a day like today. I wish he would tell me what set off those depressing moments that made me worry about his sanity. Instead, he swore everything was fine, making my heart ache for his tormented one.

Pushing open the driver’s side door, I went to the trunk and slipped a few bags over my wrists. It would take multiple trips with this much food.

“Let me help you.”

I froze out of instinct, hearing Kurt’s voice come up behind me. After he drove me to the hospital, I hadn’t seen much of him. He made an appearance when necessary. Even when I hand-delivered the rent check last week, he’d been polite. Maybe my stumble down the staircase had given him a good scare—enough to forget his curiosity in me.