5. Old Baggage
5
OLD BAGGAGE
DAKOTA
T here he is, standing in all his sunshine-boy glory. The NHL’s heartthrob—as Sports Illustrated dubbed Wyatt Patterson.
His eyes travel over my purple lace bra, and his face lights up like a stoplight, which is typical. He used to blush anytime a girl so much as smiled at him. That’s why we were always just friends. Wyatt’s too easy to walk all over, and I need a man who can handle me. Wyatt could never—this boy’s too damn nice.
He pushes back the loose strands of hair from his forehead. “Uh, hey.”
“Solid opener,” I deadpan, keeping my voice level to hold back my irritation.
All those old feelings come rushing back—the voicemails that never got returned, all the texts I sent that he left on read. My eyes burn, but I’m not going to lash out at him just because I’m pissed. Instead, I push down all those emotions and keep my thoughts to myself, taking in all his changes.
With his chiseled jawline, everlasting tan, and soulful green eyes, there’s no doubt he’s grown into an attractive man, but I’ve never been attracted to him .
I like my men a little more rugged, a little more scowly , and a little looser when it comes to their morals.
Luna bounds forward, attacking him with a slobbery kiss. Wyatt grunts and nearly falls back into one of the potted cacti. “Ms. Tuna, look at you! You’re still just as happy as ever. I’ve missed you, Toons.”
I wince at the memory.
He always called her that—Tuna. It all started because Luna loves swimming, so he started calling her Luna-Tuna because she swam more than a fish. That morphed into Tuna, then Toons, Luna-Tuna, Tuna Roll, and so on…
Are you even a dog lover if you don’t have a million nicknames for your pet?
Now, Luna actually answers to Tuna more than Luna. It’s kind of embarrassing when I have to shout, “Tuna, come here!” at the farmer’s market.
Luna-Tuna-Toons wags her tail, her whole booty shaking with the motion, and my dog’s a hell of a lot more excited to see Patterson than I am, but I am curious why he’s here.
He’s got a suitcase in one hand and his squirming baby girl in the other. I have to hold back a smile at the drool dribbling onto her pink cowgirl shirt.
Goodness, I want to squish her against my chest. She’s a right cutie, that one, but I always knew Wyatt would make cute babies. I want one of those one day, but it feels like I can’t be a mother and a bull rider. If I rode on the back of a bull pregnant, everyone would have a goddamn opinion about that .
Hurt mingled with annoyance prickles up my spine, but I do my best to hide every emotion from my voice. I don’t have time to deal with feelings.
“What the hell are you doing at my place, Patterson? Shouldn’t you be back with your moms at the main house?”
“Technically,” he says, bouncing his girl, “your place is my parents’ barn, so that’s why I’m here. ”
Ever since Wyatt’s grandparents passed, we’ve got a deal—I help manage their flower farm during the winter months along with a team of farmers, and his moms let me live in their renovated barndominium (barn + condominium; Patterson and I used to call it “The Barndo”) for free year-round.
I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms, which pushes up my breasts. “What do you want to talk about?”
He seems to notice, and his tan cheeks ignite as he looks at my topless state. “Are you busy? I can, uh, come back later if you’re busy.”
He’s so flustered.
Bless his heart.
I curl my lips into the standard smirk I give all men. “Oh, come on now. I know your parents raised you to be a Southern gentleman, but you don’t have to look away. You must’ve seen a woman topless by now since you’ve got that precious little girl on your hip.”
She really is a cutie-pie.
After a lengthy swallow, he gives a gentle smile down to his daughter that would melt my walls if they weren’t so thick. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”
The love overflowing from his words has my throat tightening. He’s going to be such an amazing dad.
It’s strange to see him in Daddy Mode , but he’s truly one of the good ones. One summer, he even worked for a kids’ traveling petting zoo, lugging around tiny iguanas, ducklings, and baby goats that he’d dress up in tiny cowboy hats and tinier bandanas.
A baby goat in a cowboy hat is something I didn’t know I needed in life.
Not to mention, he’s a two-stepping master, always makes sure a woman walks on the inside of a sidewalk, and he’s got this calming demeanor that’s like aloe vera for any argument. But every so often, he’ll whip out a hell of a joke that will leave you laughing so hard you pee a little.
Wyatt speaks about his daughter with so much reverence that it’s difficult to keep my scowl in place, but I manage. “What’re you two doing back here? I thought you were too busy being the hockey world’s golden boy for us small-towners.”
He lifts a brow as he bounces his daughter. “You kept tabs on me?”
I go rigid.
I’ve read every article written about him and watched every interview, but like hell am I admitting that. I stiffen at my slip-up, glancing at my chipped pink nails. The pink makes me feel girly in a man’s world.
“It’s hard not to. Everyone talks about the hockey world’s heartthrob in this town,” I say, adding finger quotes.
He clears his throat. “Yeah, I didn’t come up with that one, but I’m not here to talk about that. You left so fast after the rodeo that I didn’t get a chance to tell you…”
“Tell me what?”
He hitches his daughter up on his hip, looking a little sheepish as he glances down at the wooden porch. A knot of unease coils in my stomach. It’s then that I notice what’s behind him—the multiple suitcases, diaper bags, extra clothes.
The man’s brought enough suitcases to last all summer.
“That’s a hell of a lot of baggage you’ve got there,” I say warily.
Luna barks her happy bark.
“Yeah, I know.” He rocks back on his boots. “I wanted to talk to you about staying here at the barn this summer. Like old times.”