2. Melody
Chapter Two
MELODY
I barely get to the bottom of the driveway before I take a curve too fast. The steering wheel vibrates under my sweaty palms as I try to regain control.
But it’s no use. The red pickup lurches into a ditch, the tires spinning against the muddy gravel. I drop my forehead against the steering wheel and groan.
I’ve never stolen anything in all of my twenty-two years of life. But here I am, on a ranch I’ve never seen before, in a truck I just stole. Panic rises in my throat as I think back to the text I got from my ex-fiancé, Bradley, moments ago back at the ranch gift shop.
This was supposed to be my wedding day. The happiest day of my life. Getting married in Jackson Hole was always my dream. But now I’m running from the man I was supposed to marry, with no plan and nowhere to turn.
Curling up on the bench seat, I bury my face in my arms and let the tears take over. After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity, I’m startled by a sudden knock on the driver’s side window.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I jerk upright to see a tall figure standing outside in the pouring rain.
Shit. It’s the cowboy from the gift shop.
Fear churns in my stomach as I take in his stormy expression. I’m sure he’s probably furious with me for stealing his truck. Swallowing hard, I reluctantly crank down the window.
“Wyatt, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight and I?—”
But he cuts me off. “Are you hurt?”
What? Why does he care if I’m okay after what I did?
“I’m fine. A-are you going to call the police?” I barely recognize my own small, wobbly voice.
Wyatt heaves a long sigh. “No. I’m not going to call the police.”
Relief crashes through me, followed swiftly by confusion. “But why not? I stole your truck.”
He snorts. “This thing’s a piece of shit. Been meaning to get a new one anyway.” Then his eyes soften. “Besides, seems to me you’re already dealing with more than your share of trouble today.”
I search his face, trying to understand. He’s frustrated for sure. But there’s something else in his expression too. Something almost... protective?
Thunder rumbles ominously overhead before fat raindrops begin pelting the windshield.
Wyatt eyes the darkening sky. “Come on, city girl,” he says and yanks open the driver’s side door. “We need to get you inside before this storm hits.”
Inside? Like inside his house?
As if sensing my inner turmoil, Wyatt gentles his tone. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. Let’s just get out of the rain.”
Why do I feel like I can believe this stranger when I so clearly misjudged the man I almost married today? Maybe it’s the genuine concern in Wyatt’s eyes, or the way he’s treated me with more kindness in these past few minutes than Bradley did in months.
Biting my lip, I nod slowly. “Okay.”
Relief flashes across Wyatt’s rugged features. But it quickly morphs into surprise when he takes in how I’m awkwardly positioned in the driver’s seat, my soggy wedding dress tangled around my legs.
“Sorry, I think my dress is caught in the—” My words end in a surprised squeak when Wyatt scoops me up into his arms and lifts me clean out of the seat as if I weigh nothing.
“Wyatt, what are you doing?” I splutter, instinctively grabbing onto his broad shoulders for balance.
He kicks the truck door shut with his boot. “It’ll be faster if I carry you. This storm’s about to let loose.”
Mortification swoops through me. Faster. Because of my weight slowing us down, no doubt. I think of all the times Bradley subtly reprimanded me for my size, all his little jabs and barbs. My cheeks burn with fresh shame.
“Please put me down.” I try to squirm out of his hold. “I’m too heavy. I can walk on my own.”
Wyatt just snorts and tightens his grip. “I’ve got you just fine.”
I’m stunned into silence. Bradley would have leaped at the chance to remind me of my weight. To make me feel small. But Wyatt...
Suddenly, I’m intensely aware of everywhere we’re pressed together.
The coiled strength in his arms around me. The heat of his solid chest against my side. I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my veins.
When was the last time a man held me like this, with such surety and ease? As if my curves are no burden at all? I can’t remember.
The rain picks up, pelting us as Wyatt quickens his pace toward the large farmhouse ahead. It’s a ranch-style house with a wraparound porch and red shutters framing large windows.
Wyatt mounts the porch steps and carries me across the threshold, bridal style. Then he sets me gently on my feet in the entryway and gives me a crooked smile. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
My eyes roam the space. I take in the rustic décor—exposed wooden beams, a stone fireplace, and cozy furniture that looks like it’s seen years of use. Framed photos line the mantel with snapshots of smiling faces and simple moments. It feels lived-in. Loved.
“Wow,” I say as I slip off my shoes. “This place is huge. Do you live here alone?”
Wyatt shakes his head. “Nah, I share it with my three brothers and my niece, Maisey. It’s a full house, but we make it work.”
I try to imagine living with my siblings, and I can’t. We’ve never been close, each of us too focused on our own lives.
“I don’t know if I could do that,” I admit. “Live with my family, I mean.”
Wyatt chuckles. “It has its moments, that’s for sure. But we’re a pretty close-knit bunch. Plus, the house is big enough that we all have our own space when we need it.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “You hungry? I was just about to make dinner.”
My stomach answers for me with an embarrassingly loud rumble, and I feel heat creep into my cheeks.
Wyatt grins. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, kitchen’s this way.”
He guides me down the hall with a gentle hand on the small of my back. I can feel the warmth of his touch through the thick layers of my waterlogged wedding dress.
As we walk, I catch more glimpses of Wyatt’s life in the pictures we pass. Wyatt as a boy, gap-toothed and freckled, his arm slung around a beaming blonde girl. Wyatt in a graduation cap and gown, his eyes crinkled with laughter. Wyatt on a horse, the mountains stretched out behind him.
I wonder about the people in the photographs. His family? Friends? I realize how little I know about this man who’s opened his home to me. The man who lifted me like I weighed nothing.
When we reach the kitchen, Wyatt gestures for me to take a seat at the weathered farmhouse table. I do, and suddenly I’m conscious of how I must look—makeup smeared, hair plastered to my head, wedding dress clinging to my body. A drowned rat masquerading as a bride.
If Wyatt is bothered by my disheveled state, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he moves around the kitchen with an easy grace, pulling ingredients from the fridge and whistling tunelessly under his breath. Desire pools in my belly as I take in the play of muscles beneath his T-shirt as he works.
I’ve never been with a man before. I’ve never even really been kissed. The chaste pecks Bradley and I shared don’t count.
But now, watching Wyatt, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be held in those strong arms. To feel his lips on mine and his hands on my skin. He seems like he would be gentle. Attentive. The kind of man who would take his time and make sure I was ready. I bet he would be the complete opposite of my ex.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the onslaught of memories. Bradley’s snide remarks and not-so-subtle digs about my weight. The way he looked at me sometimes, like I was a problem to be solved. A flaw to be corrected.
And yet, I was going to marry him. Bind myself to him for life just to please my parents. What does that say about me?
“Hey.” Wyatt’s low rumble snaps me from my spiraling thoughts. He slides a steaming bowl of chili topped with melted cheese and a side of cornbread to me. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”
I meet his gaze, startled by the warmth and understanding I find there. As if he can sense the shadows nipping at my heels.
As if he wants to chase them away.
I pick up my spoon and take a bite, the chili warming me from the inside out. “This is delicious,” I say, savoring the rich flavors. “Thank you.”
Wyatt smiles, a real smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “You’re welcome. It’s an old family recipe.”
We eat in silence, the only sound the clink of our spoons against the bowls. But it’s not an uncomfortable silence. It’s... companionable. Easy. Like we’ve done this a thousand times before.
When our bowls are empty, Wyatt leans back in his chair and fixes me with a steady gaze. “So, you wanna tell me what the hell is going on?”