Chapter Eleven
Eleven
Quinn
The drive to Flagstaff was twelve hours without stopping every few hours to make sure the horses had hay and water, and suddenly, I was very thankful I had a co-pilot with me.
Four hours into the drive and Wyatt insisted we stop at the next gas station.
The second I shifted my truck into park, he hopped out of the cab, flopping his baseball cap on his head.
The truck was packed to the brim with all of our luggage—mainly mine.
Wyatt assured me he was a light packer. Me?
I had several hat boxes, outfits in garment bags, my own suitcase with toiletries and hair accessories, and several pairs of boots.
On top of everything I needed, I had all of Hook and Charming’s things in the tack.
Wyatt had a single duffel bag, one pair of boots, and one baseball cap.
When he opened the back seat of the cab, his eyes widened, and the exact words that came out of his mouth were, “You pack like Rhett,” before he shoved his bag in on top of the massive pile of my things.
I filled the tank, went into the building to use the facilities and grabbed a few snacks, and came back to Wyatt still in the trailer with the horses.
I checked on my boys, seeing them happy as can be in Wyatt’s care, and then returned behind the wheel.
Wyatt offered to drive but reluctantly gave in when I told him I was more comfortable behind the wheel.
We played music—country mainly, with the random Panic!
At the Disco and AC/DC song thrown in, and Wyatt surprised me even more when he began to sing along to Shania Twain.
The conversation was light, sometimes not at all, as the world passed us.
When we did talk, it was “I can’t believe you listen to Panic!
” from Wyatt, and “I can’t believe you knew every word to every Shania Twain song that played” from me.
Talking to Wyatt became easy when I wasn’t worried about him pulling the moves on me.
Our conversation began to flow, as if we were the type of friends who didn’t text each other good morning; we just picked back up where we left off.
And then when the silence took over, it wasn’t awkward; it was comfortable.
Even if his comment from the other night still sang in my head.
I do want to kiss you.
The way he said it made me think he wasn’t saying it to flirt, and the way he was looking at me made me think it was more than just a fling.
More than how he would look at the other girls.
I would have to remind myself of all the stupid things he had said to me in the past. I had to ignore that small little flutter in my core.
At the next stop, I let Wyatt take over the wheel, but the tunes stayed the same. I pulled a book out to read, and Wyatt still sang along to the music. When he finally asked me what I was reading, I showed him the cover—the latest Matt Haig.
“I’ll have to send that to Abi. Is it good?” he asked, returning his attention to the road.
“It’s wonderful. Cash mentioned that Abi likes to read. He said they are on bookshelf number two.” I chuckle, returning to the book.
“Mainly fantasy…romance…books.” Wyatt furrowed his brow.
“Does one have a dragon on it?” I groaned. I was up for a good fantasy novel, mainly fairytale retellings, but I wasn’t jumping on the dragon rider train quite yet. I’d wait for the buzz to die down.
He twisted his lips. “Not that I know of? But I don’t pay much attention.”
“Well,” I shifted in my seat, my eyes going right back to the words on the page, “maybe someday.”
“You guys should start a book club when we get back. Abi would be thrilled.”
We grew silent again, Wyatt lowering the music as I read, and at the next stop, he pulled both horses from the trailer to let them rest their legs.
They walked and stretched, each staying close to Wyatt as they moved.
Hook tugged on the lip of his baseball hat while Charming pulled at the leaves on the few trees that were around, but when their time was up, they both went back into the trailer without complaint, and then Wyatt drove the rest of the way to Flagstaff.
We arrived at the stables ahead of schedule, and we both took the horses to their stalls for the night, giving them the prince treatment for putting up with the long drive.
Once they were settled, we took the short journey to the hotel.
After checking in, Wyatt grabbed his bag, and I started to open the garment bags to find the right outfit for tomorrow, the right hat, the right boots, stopping only when Wyatt appeared from behind me.
He grabbed a luggage cart and began stacking all my things—and I mean all my things, leaving the back seat of my truck completely empty before he rolled it to the elevator for me.
I followed, not exactly sure what to say to him, catering to me.
So…once we were in the elevator, I settled for the simplest thing.
“Thanks.” I leaned against the elevator wall as the door closed.
Wyatt gave me a smile.
“You really only brought the one duffel?” I asked, raising my head, looking at all my bags in the cart on top of his single bag.
“Three jeans, seven t-shirts, seven button-downs, socks, underwear, toothbrush, and all that jazz, one pair of boots—”
“Hat?” I raised a brow.
“When have you seen me in a cowboy hat?”
“When you announce.”
“Well, yeah, it’s part of the uniform, but even working in the stables, I’m wearing this.” He pointed to his baseball cap. It had the Hartwell logo on it, and the sides were distressed, but in a way that you could tell he’s worn it for years, not purchased that way. “I’m not big on cowboy hats.”
“Why not? They look good on basically anyone.”
“True. I wear them when I have to, but since I’m here to help you—baseball cap.”
I shook my head at him. “We’ll fix that.”
The elevator door opened, and Wyatt waited until I was in the hall before he pushed the cart through.
Our rooms were a few doors down from each other, but he helped me unload the cart—forcing me to stay inside while he returned the cart to the lobby.
I didn’t protest as he pushed the cart out of the room.
It had been a long time since I had been taken care of like this; not even Cash was this generous when he traveled with me last year.
I watched him disappear back into the elevator before shutting the door and locking all the locks, then looked at every garment bag, every hat and boot box, and my suitcases, a smile spreading across my lips—all brought on by Wyatt Hartwell.
I knocked on Wyatt’s hotel room door shortly after eleven the next morning.
We had time before we had to go to the arena for registration, and the man needed a hat.
He opened the door with a smile. Dressed comfortably in a gray tee and jeans, his hair wet and messy, most likely from a shower, he looked refreshed even after the long day of travel we had just had.
“Here to ask me out to lunch, Compton?” His smile turned into a smirk as he leaned against the door frame, his arm stretching over his head.
I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Nope…right. Sorry.” He shifted and raised a finger as he chastised himself for flirting. “Habit. Hi, Quinn.”
“Get your shoes on, Hartwell.” I lowered my arms and spun on my heel. “We’re going to get you a hat.” I waved my hand in the air in a follow me gesture as I began to walk down the hall.
“I have a hat,” he called after me.
“Not the right kind of hat. Come on.”
I heard the door close, then open a few moments later.
I made it to the elevator and pressed the button down to the lobby, seeing Wyatt jog down the hall from the corner of my eye.
He had grabbed his baseball cap and put his boots on in a hurry, his jeans tucked and sticking out in all the wrong places.
He situated himself once the elevator was closed and didn’t question me as we walked to the truck and climbed in.
But once the doors were closed, he shifted in his seat.
“We’re going to get me a cowboy hat? I have plenty of those at home.” He protested.
“At home, not here. You’re going to rodeos, Wyatt. You gotta look the part. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb wearing that old thing.” I tapped the bill of his hat, forcing it down. “I don’t care that you’re not announcing. You need a damn hat.”
Wyatt took off his hat, ran his fingers through his damp hair, and placed the cap on backwards. “I can have Rhett overnight me one—”
“Nah. I’d rather get you a new one for this adventure.”
He chuckled, shaking his head as I left the hotel parking lot, going to the closest store I could find already programmed on my phone’s GPS.
“And here I was hoping for lunch, I get a new hat instead.”
“We can get lunch after,” I assured him. “Hat now, then food. We don’t have time for a custom hat, so I hope a Boot Barn will suffice.”
Wyatt let out a long, exasperated, over-exaggerated sigh. “If you really think I need a hat—”
“You’re wearing a hat that looks like you got it when you were five. Boot Barn will be like a crown after wearing that.”
“Don’t. Diss. My. Hat.” Wyatt snapped each word, the sarcastic tone floating through the air.
I couldn’t help my smile from slipping out, but didn’t remark.
The comfortable silence went on until I pulled into the parking lot of Boot Barn.
The country music blared through the speakers, but Wyatt went directly to the back wall, where the hats lined the shelves.
I jogged in front of him, my ponytail bouncing behind me as I made it to the hats first. I had to stop him from picking a plain brown one with no flair or attitude. Wyatt needed a hat that fit him.
“What’s your hat size?” I asked, grabbing a black hat with a silver bull skull on the band. “Seven?” I flipped the hat upside down before twisting to Wyatt. Catching his gaze, I plopped it on his head.
He looked handsome, I would admit that, but black didn’t fit him. He wasn’t broody enough. No one would look at him and say, ‘You must be the grumpy cowboy that all the girls pine after.’ That wasn’t him. I plucked it from his head and put it back on the shelf.
“What was wrong with that one?” he asked, watching my every move. “It was nice, and it fit.”
“You’re not a black cowboy hat kind of guy. White?” I picked up another hat, white with a black rim, and Wyatt just stood still as I again plopped the hat on his head.
Finding a mirror, he caught a glance of himself, raising an eyebrow. “Cash would choose this hat.” He traced the rim with his thumb and forefinger.
Rolling my eyes, I caught sight of a hat I knew would fit him, even if it were an eyesore. Black alligator leather with a turquoise pattern on the brim. Completely hideous, yet…perfect. I turned, facing Wyatt with enthusiasm, just in time to see him place the white one back on the shelf.
His jaw dropped as soon as he saw the hat I was holding. “Oh, fuck no,” he grumbled.
“Just try it on.”
“No.” He bit, his eyes wide as he took the hat from me, waving me off. “Go over there. I can pick my own damn hat.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Fine, fine.” I backed away from him, using my thumb to point behind my shoulder. “I’ll go over there,” I mimicked him.
I began to wander through the women’s clothing section, getting completely distracted by the earrings, all the while trying to keep my eye on Wyatt.
He tried on a few more black ones, some deep brown with jewels around the headband, another white one—but each one he picked up, he studied and put back down.
None seemed to capture his vibe. Either that, or he was being honest when he said he didn’t care for cowboy hats.
It wasn’t until he picked up a light brown Stetson with a turquoise emblem on the headband that he stopped and looked at himself from all angles in the mirror.
I could feel my lips twisting into a smirk as I watched him trace the brim, adjust it on his head, and raise and drop his chin, taking himself in.
Eventually, he hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets, cocked his hips, and posed.
Not wanting to miss this, I raised my phone and snapped a picture of him.
I could see his face in the mirror, the smirk he was giving himself, his blue eyes shining through.
It was his hat. If I could see it in a photo, he could see it in the mirror.
“What do you think?”
The sound of his voice made me flinch. Quickly locking my phone, I looked up at him. He was still wearing the hat, and up close it was even more perfect.
“That’s it.” I smiled up at him. “You found your hat.”
His smirk grew, his eyes shining even brighter now that he was in front of me. He removed it and replaced it with his baseball cap. “You almost had it with the alligator one.”
“That was a joke,” I admitted, “but glad you tried all your options. See?” I reached up and patted his shoulder, realizing for the first time how much taller he was than me. “Cowboy hats aren’t all that bad. Now you’ll fit in. You even have dirt on your jeans.”
Wyatt’s grin turned into a full ear-to-ear smile, complete with a laugh as we made our way to the register. He even bought my earrings.