3. Ancient History
3
ANCIENT HISTORY
WYATT
“ I want to see her. Where is she?” I demand, frantically searching the makeshift medical area at the small-town rodeo.
The so-called area is really just a small corner off to the side of the cattle stalls, cluttered with a few chairs and a table with basic first-aid supplies. We’re at a small-circuit rodeo, so they do what they can, but it’s nothing fancy.
This isn’t the big leagues.
“Who ya lookin’ for, bud?” some bronco rider asks, wincing as he gets patched up.
I don’t bother looking at him. I just continue searching for her. “Dakota Cutler.”
“You mean Kodie? No one calls her Dakota.”
“I do.”
It’s been years since I said it, so her rusty name scrapes through my throat. Watching her face off with a bull in the arena, I was seconds away from jumping in there myself, ready to distract the animal.
That would’ve been a dumbass move, considering I don’t know the first thing about riding a bull, unless it’s a mechanical one, and I’ve had a few buttery nipple shots to dull thoughts of a certain woman.
I try not to be a worrier because worrying makes me miss out on the present, but the panic was unbearable, and I’d been this close.
Then I thought of my little girl, my Vi, and my daughter always comes first now, so I stayed put in the stands because she needs me. Dakota can handle herself.
She always has.
But that’d been close.
Too damn close, so I sprinted straight back to the medical area after she finished her ride.
“Thanks for patchin’ me up, sugar,” someone says behind me.
I stiffen, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment at the sound of her raspy voice. The number of times she told me to Climb higher! or Don’t drop me, Wyatt! bullet through me.
A paramedic who looks more like a male model is leading a scratched-up Dakota to one of the rickety chairs. She’s got dust on her nose and sweaty brown hair plastered to her forehead, and she’s never looked fiercer. I scan her for injuries. No blood. My shoulders sink with relief.
But I can’t stop staring.
Here I am with a pea stain on my T-shirt, and this woman’s only gotten more beautiful over the past three years.
The paramedic guides her to a plastic chair with her back to me, so she doesn’t notice me. Not yet. He quickly gets to work, carefully pouring antiseptic on her wounds.
“Kodie Cutler,” the paramedic says, eyeing a scrape on her arm. “Damn, girl, close call. You sure look real good out there, though.”
I don’t want to hear that from his mouth.
“Oh yeah?” she says. “You were watching me ride?”
“Yeah,” he says, putting the largest Band-Aid I’ve seen over a scratch. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you, but it seems like you were having a little trouble out there, girl.”
Dammit. That’s my line—the eyes part, not the trouble part. He’s wrong. She can do anything.
“Aw, thanks,” she murmurs in her flirtiest voice, batting those long lashes. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
I’d recognize her sultry voice anywhere since I had to listen to her flirt with every goddamn boy growing up while I followed around like a lovesick puppy.
“Maybe I can take you out later,” she adds.
I grimace.
He runs his tongue along his cheek. “Now, how can I say no to that? You might not be able to hang onto that bull for eight seconds, but I’m a hell of a lot easier to ride.”
I swear if she goes home with him after that pick-up line, we’re going to need to have a serious talk about standards.
She hunches forward like those words hurt more than her scratches, but she musters up a fake smirk. I know it’s fake because I know her.
“I’m sure you are,” she drawls.
That’s it—I can’t watch this anymore.
“Dakota’s got everything it takes to make it on those bulls.”
Her back goes rigid, and I think she winces a little. Her name falls from my lips like I’ve been murmuring it every day, and I need to say it again, so I do. Softer this time.
“Dakota, are you okay? I was watching out in the stands. Please look at me.”
I use the same pleading tone I always used anytime I’d beg her not to jump off the highest boulder into Inks Lake. She was always trying to one-up everyone—jump from the highest point, climb the highest tree. She never listened then, so I’m shocked when she listens now.
She slowly turns to face me, and her eyes narrow, soaking me in. I’m hoping she thinks I look different. Older. Let’s hope sexier. My shirt might have a pea stain, but it’s a little too tight, so you can see the outline of my abs. Yeah, that was intentional. She doesn’t seem to notice, no matter how much I want her to.
Her expression plummets straight into her infamous Cutler scowl. She was never one to grin all that often, which is why I used to do anything just to see her smile.
Those dimples did me in every time.
I’d let her win all our arm-wrestling matches, tickle her elbows, take her stargazing, make her flower bouquets… anything to see a flash of those dimples.
But they’re nowhere to be seen now.
I hold my breath, waiting to see what she’ll do. A slap across the cheek, maybe? I’d deserve that for leaving the way I did.
“Who’s this?” the male-model paramedic asks, sizing me up.
She flicks her eyes over me like I’m nothing but a pile of horse shit, and that more than anything hurts the most. “Not sure. I think I might be looking at a ghost, considering I haven’t heard a peep from Wyatt Patterson in over three goddamn years. How’s it feel to be back from the dead, sugar? I hear it’s a bitch to be resurrected.”
I bite my cheek to stop my grin from spreading. She’s never been all that quick with a comeback, so she must’ve been thinking about what to say for a while. “How long have you been thinking about that one?”
She points a finger at me. “No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to pretend like you know me ’cause you don’t. Not anymore. You up and left me.”
My smile falls a second later. “I know. You’re right.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” she blurts. “No explanation? I left you voicemails every day for months. Voicemails, Patterson. Voicemails! ”
“I know,” I admit. “And I saved every single one of them.”
That stumps her for a second. Good. But she shakes her head and sucks in a trembling breath. “And you never thought to respond? What did I ever do to you to deserve that?”
I slump forward. Even though I left, I never stopped feeling guilty about that choice. I’ve always had the guiltiest conscience.
Dakota once made a homemade Twinkie cake for the Fourth of July that was so sickeningly sweet, I threw up the entire thing that night. But she spent four hours in the kitchen, so I couldn’t tell her it was awful. Every summer until I left, she continued to make that Twinkie cake for the Fourth of July, and I continued to eat a slice and vomit it up.
Christ, I had it so bad for her.
Still do.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out my apology, not caring that we’ve got an audience. “For leaving. For going quiet on you. My life got crazy busy after I had Vi, and I’m sorry.”
Parenthood sucked out all the old parts of my life and replaced them with something better, harder, but still better.
“Ah, yes. That’s right,” she drawls, rubbing her hands on her chaps. “My dad told me you had a daughter. An adorable baby girl, in fact. I thought you would have mentioned that considering you used to call and tell me what you had for breakfast, but I guess your Healthy Harvest Egg Casserole is more important news than your beautiful little girl, but hey,” she says, holding up her hands. “I’m not one to judge what’s important to someone.”
Despite her sarcasm, I get stuck on the fact that she called my baby girl beautiful. I wonder if Dakota’s been keeping tabs on me.
“Dakota,” I plead, latching onto her hard gaze. “I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be. I should’ve called, or texted, or something. I shouldn’t have cut you out of my life like that, but I’m back now, and I’m determined to make things right this summer.”
She blinks like she didn’t hear the words and then casually flicks her scratched-up wrist.
“Hey, don’t you worry about it. Becoming a parent is a huge life change, and that was a long time ago. It’s ancient history.” She turns to the paramedic. “Why don’t we head on out? It’s getting a little bit crowded here, don’t you think?”
That’s it?
Her nonchalance is almost worse than her anger, but she’s always been one to bury her heaviest emotions. She’d rather feel nothing, and I want her to feel everything when it comes to me.
“That’s all you’re going to say?” I ask, narrowing my gaze on those mesmerizing honey eyes.
I want her to yell, cry, fight me, spit on my boot, something, anything , but she doesn’t do any of that. Instead, she jumps off the chair and rushes up to my face, her lips less than an inch from me.
The heat of her breath mingles with mine, and I drop my eyes to her mouth, thinking how easy it’d be to kiss her, to finally taste her. But we’ve never kissed, and she’s not looking at my lips like I’m looking at hers.
I’m tempted to lick those lips, but she looks like she’s about to bite mine off.
Her eyes lock onto me with an intensity that sends a hot shiver down my spine, but then she gives my shoulder a hard pat.
“Ah, it’s all good, sugar. All’s forgiven,” she says in a husky murmur that sounds a lot like fuck off.
With a toss of her brown braid that hits me in the face, she loops her hand through the model paramedic’s and pulls him away, leaving me in the dust. I can’t stand watching her with him, but I deserve it for cutting her out of my life like that.
Damn, she’s going to hate when I show up to the barn later with all my luggage and beg her to let me stay with her.
“Like I said!” she calls out without a backward glance. “It’s ancient history!”
Ancient history, my ass. We’re getting our happy ending this summer.