Chapter 17
Sixteen
Wyatt
Quinn was silent as we settled Hook in the boarding stall.
She was quiet when we drove back to the hotel.
She was quiet when she swiped her key card.
And when I knocked on her door for our nightly episode of Once Upon a Time, she said, “Not tonight,” before shutting the door in my face.
I stood there, staring at the number plaque, wanting to barge in and pull her close to yank her out of whatever had taken her cheer away.
I’d only seen her like this once before, right when she got home from her first weekend.
And then she had done the same thing. Closed off.
This wasn’t her. The urge to break down the door was getting stronger and stronger. But the more I stood there, the more I realized I knew absolutely nothing about what was wrong other than the fact that it had to do with her mother. Therefore, I knew nothing about how to comfort her.
When my sister’s husband, Sylas, died almost six years ago, I knew exactly what to do.
Abi and I worked and thought on the same plane.
Her grief was mine, and simply being there for each other, just letting her cry on my shoulder until she fell asleep, listening to her break and beg for him to come back, that was what she needed.
I was enough for her in her darkest times.
But this was Quinn, and even though we had spent basically every second together the past five days, I had no idea who she really was and how to make her feel the joy that was taken from her.
I didn’t know if I was going to be enough for her.
So…I gave in to her desire to be alone and went to my own room and lay awake all night long, wishing tonight was the night I fell asleep over the covers.
When the sun rose, I went to meet her in her room.
She was packed and ready to go, but I could tell her eyes were heavy.
I had seen that with Abi multiple times when she would cry herself to sleep.
Did Quinn do that last night? My chest ached at the thought.
I grabbed her bags and piled them on the cart, making sure to work quick so she wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Then I loaded the truck and forced her into the passenger seat. She didn’t protest. She just buckled up and raised her knees to her chest, plopping her head on the headrest.
“Sleep well?” I asked, not entirely knowing what to say to her.
“Not really. Thank you for driving,” she responded, her head rolling to look over at me. She gave me a slight smile before turning back to the window.
“I drive, you relax.” I popped the truck into gear and stepped on the gas.
I drove the entire way to Boise, keeping conversation light as the landscapes passed us. She read. She slept. She relaxed. Focused on anything but the road in front of her. And in the silence, the silence that never felt awkward between us, questions began gathering in my mind.
What was her favorite color? Turquoise probably.
What was her favorite food? That one I didn’t know the answer to.
What was her favorite movie? If I had to guess, a fairy tale.
What was her favorite book? Peter Pan? With how much she loved Hook…had to be it.
What did she like to do in her spare time? Where did she grow up? What was her first rodeo experience like? I want to know all of these answers.
If she could be doing anything but barrel racing, what would it be? Another answer I couldn’t wait to find out.
When I first saw her, I knew there was something about her.
Even now, seeing her like this, I still wanted to know what it was and how I could find out.
I wanted to really, truly, get to know the woman who was next to me.
To find out what exactly makes her smile and tick, even to find out what makes her cry.
There had to be a way I could get all of those questions answered.
There had to be a way to break down whatever stood between us to make this not so impossible after all. This weekend only proved that.
And as we sat there—the silence growing as she turned the page of her book—I started to form another type of emotion. Fear. I was actually getting scared of the knot forming in my chest.
I had never ever felt this way about someone before.
I never saw myself settling down with anyone, not giving myself the option to grow close enough to want that with someone.
I saw my family, my sister, and brother each finding love and growing their lives, but the fact that I had no plans in that area didn’t bother me.
I knew what I wanted to do with my life, and a family just didn’t fit into it.
But Quinn…
I wanted her to fit.
When I first saw her, I knew there was more to her than the beautiful woman who caught my eye.
When I first saw her, I knew no one would ever compare to her.
Even when nothing I tried worked to get her attention, I still couldn’t stop thinking about her. She didn’t want to be chased, yet I didn’t want to chase anyone else. I didn’t want to be with anyone else.
Even in silence, she was all I wanted.
And that scared the shit out of me.
When we made it to Boise, we settled the horses and checked into the hotel, and once again, she asked to be alone.
I made some stupid comment about how I needed to find out what happened to the Huntsman, and when she rolled her eyes and gave me a slight smile—giving me hope she was still there—she promised we would pick it up again, and that she wouldn’t leave me hanging like that.
I opened my arms for a hug, and relief flooded me when she stepped in, her cheek resting against my chest. Her warmth spread over me, her chest shaking with each breath.
I hated seeing her this way, and once again, I just stood there, wishing I knew exactly what was going on through her mind.
We said goodnight, and I didn’t move until I heard her door click shut.
She came in fifth the next night.
And more silence crowded the truck as we drove home.
I pulled into the ranch late, the lights of the Nova Luna Stables still illuminated above the door as if Abi was expecting us.
I parked the truck far up, the back of the trailer near the door for easy access.
Quinn jumped from the cab and made her way to the back.
I jogged to beat her, grabbing hold of the lock.
“Go inside and stretch your legs. I got the horses.” I nodded towards the house. “Cash will want to see you anyway.”
“Wyatt—” She shrugged. “I can do this.”
“I know you can, but I’m here for you, and you’ve had an extremely long few days. Go inside and then head home. I’ll take care of your boys. Okay?”
If I couldn’t find the way to talk to her, I could at least do this.
She kept my gaze for several moments before she exhaled as her shoulders dropped.
“Okay,” she sighed. “Thank you.”
I watched as she disappeared into the main house, and I stepped into the trailer, unhooking Hook and Charming before leading them into the stables and to their stalls.
I brushed them, gave them fresh hay and water, treated them both to a peppermint, and went through the motions of night check. The entire time, Quinn was on my mind.
The stable grew quiet, nothing but the light huffs and puffs of a few horses, and by the time I was done, her truck and trailer were gone—and my single bag, with my new hat sitting on top of it, was sitting outside the stable.
Locking up, I bent and picked up my bag, plopping my hat on my head on top of my baseball cap, and solemnly made my way to the bunk house.
It was cold and dark, and missing something. Someone.
“Jesus Christ, man,” I mumbled to myself, tossing my bag off to the side. “It’s been seven days.”
But in reality, it had been a lot longer than that.
And I wasn’t about to spend one more night without her.
An hour later, I knocked on her front door with the toe of my boot.
Quinn opened the door to her condo, her hair wet and braided, already comfortable in her pajamas.
I gave her a cheeky grin and held up the pizza box from June’s Pizzeria in town and a bottle of Moscato wine.
Quinn leaned against the door and placed her hand on her hip.
“What are you doing, Hartwell?”
Even though I could see how tired she was, the small smile she gave when she caught sight of me made me weak in the knees. I mimicked her grin.
“You left me hanging. I gotta find out what happens to the Huntsman.”
“Spoiler alert…,” she began. “He di—”
“Nope. La la la,” I sang loudly, using the fist that gripped the wine bottle to cover up one of my ears. “You can’t spoil it.”
“Do you know what time it is?” she asked, the sweet smile I loved so much growing on her lips.
I looked at my watch. “Just past midnight.”
“And you brought pizza and wine?”
“Hey…” I took a step, basically forcing her to the side to let me in. “We ate nothing but gas station snacks all day yesterday and only ate breakfast this morning. Plus, I’m not sure if you ever had pizza from June’s.” I stepped into the living room.
I had gotten her address from Cash, and already I was impressed with what she had done with the place.
It had that homey feel that any place but mine had to it.
An open concept blended the living room and kitchen, the separation marked by a gray sofa with throws and pillows facing a small TV next to the fireplace.
Photos of her horses hung on the walls, and scattered with them were photos of landscapes or paintings, none of her family or her.
The dim light made it look cozy, a place where I could picture her relaxing, and the scent of coconut wafted through the air. The smell of Quinn.
I set the pizza box down on the coffee table and followed Quinn as she moved to the kitchen, grabbing two plates and two glasses.
“I only have two of everything, so you’re washing your own plate,” she noted, plopping on the couch and looking up at me.
I chuckled and opened the bottle of wine, thankful I went for a screw top instead of a cork. “Har har, noted.”
Quinn pulled her legs to her chest, grabbing a throw that was hanging on the back of the sofa.
“Did you really come here to watch Once Upon a Time?” Her soft voice filled the space, and I met her gaze.
I swallowed. “Well, yes and no.” I picked up the glass and poured some wine for her, gingerly handing her the cup. Her fingers brushed mine for a second too long as she took it from me.
“What’s the no part?”
I met her gaze. “I didn’t like that you were upset. I didn’t want you to be alone.”
She pursed her lips and inhaled, her chest rising as she found the words. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she finally whispered.
“I’m not expecting that. I’m expecting to eat pizza, drink some sugary wine, and find out what happens to the damn Huntsman.” I pointed at the TV, taking a seat next to her. “Can we do that?”
She held my gaze, her eyes darting back and forth as she stared into me. Then a full smile formed, and she nodded.
“Yeah. We can do that.”
She leaned forward, grabbed the remote, and flipped open the box of pizza. “Oh yes,” she hummed. “Pineapple on pizza. Looks like you and I have something in common, Hartwell.”
Pineapple on pizza…favorite food? Check.
I leaned back into the couch, the theme of Once Upon a Time hitting like an old friend, when I noticed Quinn’s gaze on me. Her lips moved as she studied me, her eyes never faltering.
“What?” I finally asked, admittingly loving the way she was looking at me, but always desperately wanting to know what was floating through her mind.
“You know, about a year ago…I thought you were too full of yourself, too cocky…”
I narrowed my gaze. “Ouch.”
“I’m beginning to think I was wrong about you.” She sighed, lifting her slice of pizza. “You’re not so bad, Hartwell.”
“You’re not too bad yourself, Compton. Now shh.” I raised my finger to my lips, “I’m watching.”
She giggled and settled onto the couch, her legs stretching out in front of her, her toes coming awfully close to being shoved under my thigh. She was comfortable, she was smiling…she felt like mine.