Chapter 27 #2
I make my way across the ranch, heading toward the barn. As soon as I step inside, warm air tinged with the scents of hay and manure flares in my nostrils. My brothers' mocking laughs rumble in my ears.
My irritation sparks. Wyatt can handle them, but it's not fair that he takes all their wrath on his own. And knowing my brothers, they'll try to make him pay for his lifetime of sins that don't even have anything to do with me.
I turn the corner to see Wyatt holding a pitchfork. He scoops horse shit into a wheelbarrow. His dark hair's damp with sweat, sticking out in spikes past the brim of his cowboy hat. His worn T-shirt, covered in dirt and God knows what else, sticks to his torso.
Jagger leans against a stall door with his arms crossed, scowling. Mason, Sebastian, and Alexander have similar stances.
Jagger drawls, "Well, look at that. Bull-riding bad boy's got a new specialty in grade A manure."
Mason adds, "Got some under the snow in the corral that needs to be picked up after this."
Wyatt doesn't react to their taunts. He keeps working, jaw set tight, eyes locked on the pile he's shoveling.
Unlike Wyatt, anger explodes from me. I shout, "Enough!"
My four brothers freeze. Even the horses' restless shuffling goes silent.
I storm forward, planting myself between Wyatt and my brothers.
Wyatt looks at me, ordering, "Go back inside the house, Willow."
I place my hands on my hips. I clear my throat and demand, "Stop being dicks. This is the new reality. Wyatt and I are together. We're adults, so deal with it."
"You weren't an adult when he took advantage of you," Jagger snarls.
"This again? You've got to be kidding me!" I exclaim.
"You were fifteen!" Jagger roars.
"You're such a hypocrite! You lost your virginity to Camile Henderson when you were thirteen!" I point out.
His eyes widen in shock.
My other brothers snicker.
"Yeah. Don't think I didn't know like the rest of the school! So don't you dare act like Wyatt forced me to do anything I didn't want to do."
"Willow—" Wyatt starts, but I cut him off.
"No! Let's get this over with once and for all.
" I point at my other brothers. "Do you have anything you want to get off your chest?
Because I don't have to discuss my personal life with any of you.
But this is your one chance to say whatever you want.
After you're done having your temper tantrum, this is over.
You're going to accept that Wyatt and I are together, and things are resuming as normal. "
"Normal isn't you with him," Jagger seethes.
"Get over yourself!" I hurl, crossing my arms and glowering at him.
Silence falls over us. A horse neighs, breaking the tension for a moment, then it resumes.
I turn to Wyatt and point to a pile of manure. "You missed a spot."
The corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked grin. He replies, "Guess I need to get that." He scoops the pitchfork under the pile and tosses it in the wheelbarrow.
I grab another pitchfork and step next to him.
"What are you doing, sugar?" he asks.
"Showing you I've still got skills," I tease.
Jagger groans. "Yuck."
"What's yuck?" I snap.
He wrinkles his nose. "You two flirting."
"Get over it," I order, then I toss the pitchfork aside, step in front of Wyatt, and throw my arms around his shoulders, saying, "I think you forgot my kiss."
A choked laugh breaks from his chest. His grin expands.
"I'm out," Sebastian mutters. He moves toward the door.
"Fun's over. Me too," Alexander adds, following him.
I rise on my tiptoes, pressing my fingertips behind Wyatt's neck, and kiss him like we're alone.
"Gross," Mason grumbles.
I ignore him.
"Okay. Enough," Jagger spouts.
I continue to kiss Wyatt as he tries to pull away, then I retreat. A tad out of breath, I spin to face Jagger. In a firm tone, I assert, "Don't be stupid and let this ruin your friendship. Wyatt's not the only one to blame. And I won't have you disrespecting my man."
Jagger wrinkles his nose.
Mason pushes off the stall door. He grabs the pitchfork. "Jesus, Willow. You don't need to be so dramatic, but you made your point. Just stop kissing him in front of me."
I don't move.
He turns toward Jagger. "Are you planning to stand around, or are we getting this barn done before the next ice age?"
Jagger shakes his head, muttering curses I can barely hear, then grabs a shovel and moves to the next stall.
The four of us fall into a rhythm. The barn echoes with the sounds of metal scraping on wood, the dull thump of manure hitting the wheelbarrow, and the occasional neigh of a restless horse.
It reminds me of the time when Wyatt and I had barn duty after he pretended to lose to Ava while skipping stones.
I catch Wyatt glancing at me every time we pass each other in the narrow aisle. His dark eyes soften, a flicker of heat smoldering under the exhaustion of working on little sleep. He brushes my hip once when we maneuver around the same wheelbarrow, and it sends a jolt through me that I can't hide.
"Damn it," Jagger mutters, slamming his pitchfork into a pile with a little too much force, causing straw to fly everywhere.
I arch an eyebrow. "Problem, big brother?"
He glares at me, cheeks red, then at Wyatt. "You really think this is going to work? You two?"
Wyatt straightens, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, eyes locked on Jagger. "It's not even a question. I told you before, and I'll tell you again. I love her."
A hushed standoff ensues, the two men staring one another down.
I grip my pitchfork so hard, my knuckles crack. My pulse rises again.
Wyatt adds, voice hard as granite, "I'm not losing again what I stupidly lost once before. So either get over it or keep throwing your shit with the horses'."
Mason lets out a low whistle.
Jagger's jaw tics. Then he shakes his head and scoffs. "Fine. But if you fuck this up, I'll break every bone in your body."
Wyatt grows serious. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Jagger jabs his pitchfork into another pile.
We work through the stalls in tense, stubborn silence that eventually fades into something familiar. My brothers start to banter again, insulting each other about who smells worse or who's more incompetent with a pitchfork. Slowly, they include Wyatt in the conversation.
I wipe sweat from my forehead with my sleeve, catching my breath. Wyatt leans on his shovel, watching me with dark eyes that flicker with pride and relief. He teases, "Nice form. Have you ever thought about joining the rodeo shit-shoveling team?"
A warmth curls inside me. I roll my eyes, but a grin tugs at my lips. "Says the man who's missed his target twice already."
Mason groans. "Oh God. Here we go again. More flirting."
I smirk at him, feeling the happiest I've felt in years.
Jagger clears his throat. "You two done making eyes at each other? We've got two more stalls."
Wyatt and I exchange a quick look, a shared heat that no one can mistake. Then we get back to work.
For the next hour, we move like a team. The barn starts to resemble something livable again, with manure cleared and fresh straw spread. By the time we finish, the breakfast bell rings.
Wyatt leans his pitchfork against the wall, wiping sweat from his brow. "Well, sugar. Think we earned some food?"
I laugh, breathless, my heart thumping in a way that has nothing to do with the physical labor.
Jagger groans. "It's so weird hearing you call her 'sugar.'"
"Sorry," Wyatt offers Jagger with a shrug and a grin.
Jagger shakes his head and leaves the barn, but he doesn't have the same angry air he did earlier.
Wyatt leads me out of the barn, where morning sun slices through the chilly air.
The bell rings again, and the kids all yell, "Breakfast!"
When Mason and Jagger are far ahead of us, Wyatt steps closer, murmuring, "Thanks for saving my ass in there."
I meet his gaze under the shadow of his brim, teasing, "Don't make me regret it, Wyatt Houston."
"Never again, sugar," he vows.
And for the first time in years, I believe him.