Chapter 9
My heart skips a beat, then picks up at double the normal speed. Heat blooms in my cheeks, spreading like wildfire with no relief in sight.
Wyatt drags his dark gaze down me in a slow-burning, dangerous way. It's like he knows my secrets.
Anticipation bubbles in my chest to the point I can only take shallow breaths. I shift on my feet, grabbing the nearest post to steady myself.
He teases in his drawl, "Why don't you have some more faith in me, sugar?" He steps forward too quickly and then tries to hide his grimace.
I wince. "How's your injury?"
"You mean my ass?" He cocks an eyebrow, and his dimples pop out.
Another round of fire crawls up my neck and into my cheeks. I bite my lip and glance at his sweatpants.
He steps closer, then does a half spin, taunting, "I think you're looking at the wrong part of me."
Flames of embarrassment engulf me. I stutter, "I-I...um..."
He chuckles, then glances toward the front of the barn and lowers his voice. He asks, "Is anyone else here?"
I shake my head. "No."
His expression turns more mischievous. "Good. I finally have you all alone."
Butterflies torment my insides, their wings fighting to escape my belly. I nervously giggle.
He studies me another moment, then looks around the barn, questioning, "What chores are left?"
"I just have to finish brushing Vandal and Quicksilver," I relay.
"I got Quicksilver," he declares, then steps in front of the stall next to Vandal's and tries to hide another wince. He reaches for the brush and opens the gate, moving slower.
"I can do it. You're hurt," I point out.
He grunts. "I'm not dead."
"Still…" I offer.
"I'm fine," he claims as he strokes Quicksilver's mane.
I study him for a minute, then return to grooming Vandal.
The quiet between us builds with the rapid elevation of my pulse.
I finish brushing Vandal, pat him on the neck, then step out of the stall. I lock the gate and return the brush to the metal shelf. Then I grab an apple and hold it out, cooing, "Here you go."
Vandal chomps on it, and I lean against the stall, staring at Wyatt.
He moves the brush in long strokes and then steps to the other side of Quicksilver. He tries to hide his discomfort but can't.
I blurt out, "So practice didn't go well?"
He pauses for a second, his jaw clenching.
I quickly add, "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."
He resumes brushing Quicksilver and states, "It's okay."
Silence resurfaces.
He finishes, gingerly steps out of the stall, and locks the gate.
I grab an apple for Quicksilver and hold it out. He gobbles it like Vandal did.
Wyatt defeatedly mumbles, "I don't even know if I lasted an entire second."
Wyatt was so excited last night when he told us he moved up a level and was going to get a chance to ride Snarlhide. And I know enough about cowboys and their bruised egos. Wyatt's no different in that regard.
So I tilt my head, offering, "It's okay. You'll figure it out."
He looks away and grinds his molars.
I put my hand on his forearm and softly say, "Hey."
He slowly meets my gaze, and it tugs at my heart. It's the same expression he's had after encounters with his father. Shame, disappointment, and helplessness appears in his sharp features.
"Next time will be better," I offer.
He snaps out of it, nodding and puffing out his chest. "Darn right."
I beam. "Snarlhide will regret the day he set eyes on you."
Wyatt chuckles. "That's right, sugar."
My heart skips another beat.
He leans closer. His scent of sweat, dirt, and leather sinks into my skin, causing more chaos in my veins. He murmurs, "I'd say I'm sorry I got you reeled into doing barn chores all week, but then I wouldn't be able to have you all to myself right now."
All to himself.
A slow, fluttery warmth blooms in my chest. My smile explodes so big, it hurts. I don't think before I reply, "Now that you have me all to yourself, what will you do with me?"
Wyatt's surprise lights up his eyes, and his lips curve at the corners.
I'm mortified.
Did I just say that?
He takes his pointer finger, slowly slides it over my forehead and down my cheek, then pins a rogue wisp of hair behind my ear.
Tingles explode in the wake of his touch, and I gasp.
His challenging gaze turns lethal, filled with heat and possession and all the knowledge about things I've only fantasized about doing with him. He taunts, "That's a loaded question, Willow Cartwright."
My insides quiver, and I demand in a velvety rasp, "Tell me."
His lips twitch. His gaze roams over me again before landing on my mouth. He nonchalantly states, "Maybe instead of telling you, I should show you."
My mouth waters. Finding my courage, I step closer, and flirtatiously say, "Maybe you should."
Surprise and amusement are written all over his face.
I blurt out, "I'm not a child, Wyatt."
His expression sobers. He doesn't speak.
"I'm not," I insist.
"Trust me, sugar, I know you aren't," he replies in a haunted tone, continuing to stare at me.
I wait him out, my mind screaming for me to kiss him if he doesn't kiss me. Instead, in a cracked voice, I say, "I thought you liked me."
He scoffs. "You have no idea."
"Then what's the problem?" I ask, ready to crawl into the loft and never come down if he doesn't touch me soon.
He drags his knuckles over my jaw.
My breath hitches.
"If I kiss you, then I'm going to want more." His voice is like molasses slowly poured over gravel. It's thick and rough around the edges in all the right ways.
An ache so deep I don't know where it came from throbs between my thighs. Then he strips me bare with nothing but syllables.
"Hell, I already do want more, and I haven't even tasted your lips yet."
I swallow hard, square my shoulders, and lift my chin. I order, "Then kiss me."
He blinks a few times, like he's coming out of a deep sleep.
"Wyatt—"
He puts his fingers over my mouth.
My heart slams against my rib cage. My lips tremble against his warm skin. The scent of him flares hotter.
He closes the space between us, stating, "There's no going back once we cross the line."
My insides quiver harder, full of an electrical current buzzing more intensely every second.
"Do you understand what I'm saying?" he asks.
I nod. "Yes."
"I don't think you do," he claims, then brushes his fingers over my clavicle.
My heart tries to break free from my chest cavity. "I understand. I told you I won't tell anyone."
He stares at me.
"I promise," I tell him, knowing my father would kill me if he knew I was anything but friends with Wyatt.
So would my brothers. In many ways, the men in my family are hypocrites.
They have one set of rules for themselves and another for the females.
We're supposed to be good and innocent, while they get to raise hell.
But that's how it is, so I understand why we'd have to keep this between us.
At least for now, until I'm out of high school.
"That's not what I meant," Wyatt says.
"No? Then what did you mean?"
He licks his lips, then declares, "If you're mine, then you're mine, Willow."
A sense of giddiness overtakes me, but in a serious tone, I whisper, "I know."
"Do you?" He peers at me closer.
I stay quiet.
He continues, "It's going to drive me crazy hiding this from the others."
I nod. "I know. But it's okay. I'll be eighteen in a few years. Then we won't have to worry."
His smile taunts his cheeks. Surprised, he says, more to himself than me, "So you do understand."
I put my hand on his chest. Finding his heart beating as hard as mine is another surprise.
He covers my hand with his callused one.
Neither of us moves.
He takes his other hand and cups my cheek, tugging me closer to him. His hot breath merges with mine. He mumbles, "You're going to get me in trouble."
I softly laugh. "Maybe. But I'm worth it."
He grins. "I don't doubt that."
Another moment of heat expands around us.
"I want to be yours," I whisper.
His grin falls. He leans forward. His lips brush mine, and he warns, "Careful what you wish for, sugar."
"Willow!" Jagger bellows.
I jump back.
So does Wyatt. He cringes from pain.
My pulse skyrockets. I spin toward the barn door.
"Willow!" Jagger barks, then turns the corner.
"What?" I ask, unable to believe he just interrupted the most important moment of my life.
"Jesus, where's the fire?" Wyatt tosses out in an annoyed voice.
"Mom wants you to start your homework," Jagger relays in his big-brother tone, pointing at me.
"I already did it," I tell him.
"When?"
"When I got home. Not that you're my ruler and need to know," I snap.
"Then go tell Mom so she can stop freaking out about it," he orders.
"No. You go tell her," I fire back.
"Not my business," he claims.
"You sure made it your business when you came out here," I accuse, pissed he took away my kiss.
He grunts. "Didn't really have a choice."
"Whatever," I mutter.
He turns toward Wyatt. "Why are you still out here? I already did your half."
Wyatt grabs the brush. "Was just helping Willow finish up. Since it's my fault she's out here."
"Actually, it's her fault she can't skip rocks and made a bet she couldn't win," Jagger points out.
I put my hand on my hip. "Why do you have to be such an insufferable, boot-stompin' jackass?"
Jagger smirks. "Huge words. Did you spend some extra hours in vocabulary class this week?"
"Jealous since you can barely read?" I taunt.
"Please. I read just fine," he claims.
"Want me to get the phonics flashcards out again?" Jagger had the hardest time learning to read out of all of the siblings. Mom made him use flashcards longer than any of us, and he hated them.
Wyatt snickers.
"What are you laughing at? You had to do them too," Jagger reminds him.
"Not as long as you, bro," Wyatt says.
"Whose side are you on?" Jagger asks, his eyes turning to slits.
Wyatt holds his hands in the air. "I plead the fifth."
Jagger glances between us, as if we've done something wrong, and my stomach flips.