9. Banana Pancakes
9
BANANA PANCAKES
DAKOTA
“ Y ou’re the… ah, shi—darn!”
There’s a loud clang and something tumbles to the floor. I rush around the corner of the kitchen to find Wyatt with his hair tied back at the nape of his neck, holding a screaming baby in one arm while running his other thumb under the kitchen sink. His white T-shirt and sweats are covered in what looks like pancake batter.
He’s a right mess.
Luna is licking up something on the floor like my personal three-legged cleaning lady. I give her a good scratch as I walk by, unnoticed by Patterson.
We’ve developed a nice routine over the past week. I wake up before the rooster crows, sneak out of the barn to plow, mow, and water the flower fields, and then I head to the arena to practice anytime we’ve got animal stock in town.
I’m keeping busy, and I’m not about to let Patterson throw my dreams off track. I’ve got to put on at least another ten pounds of muscle if I want a shot at making it in the big leagues. My thighs better be thique by the end of the summer.
“Come on, baby,” Wyatt murmurs, sucking his thumb. “Daddy just burned himself, but he’s okay. See? Don’t cry. Please? I’m trying to make you breakfast. Your favorite. Banana pancakes. You like pancakes, right? Can you say pancakes?”
Vienna screams. Damn, that girl really does have a set of lungs on her.
The acrid smell of burning fills the kitchen as Wyatt frantically tries to turn off the stove, juggle a sizzling pan, and make coffee all while balancing a tiny human. It’s actually kind of impressive watching this one-man-daddy show. But it must be tough doing all this alone.
“Need some help?” I offer.
Wyatt jumps, hitting his head on the vintage light dangling over the stove. His eyes drop to my bare legs, lingering for a moment, but it’s not a sexy look. At least, I don’t think it is… It’s more like his gaze fell to my legs and now he’s too tired to look away.
“Hey, morning. It’s fine,” he mumbles, shaking his head like he’s jerking himself out of a trance. “I just burned myself on the pan, but I’ll be good.”
I don’t understand how he manages to say everything so casually. This man could be in the middle of a hurricane, and as long as he had an umbrella, he’d be grinning.
He bounces his daughter in his arms, clearly trying to soothe her wails, and that’s when I notice the dark circles under his eyes. Those weren’t there three years ago, but he wasn’t a father when he left.
I have no idea what happened to Vienna’s mom, and I don’t really want to think about Wyatt’s romantic partners because that makes me feel all kinds of uncomfortable, but no one should have to do all this alone. It seems exhausting. There’s already a mountain of clothes in the laundry room, and it’s only been one week.
I point a thumb over my shoulder. “There’s some antibiotic ointment in the bathroom. Give me Vienna and go take care of that burn. I’ve got her.”
He blinks. Stares. Blinks again, almost like he’s shocked I’d even offer, which stings. I might be pissed at him for his lackluster communication skills, but I’m not going to be blatantly rude to him.
“It’s fine,” he says. “You don’t have to do that.”
“That wasn’t a question, Patterson,” I say. “Go take care of that hand.”
Wyatt’s always been a giver, giving everything to everyone, so much so that he forgets about his own needs. He needs a push when it comes to taking care of himself, and I can give him that kick in the ass.
He hesitates. “You’d really do that for me?”
“Yeah, but I’d do that for anyone. Don’t go feeling special or anything.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, but I actually wouldn’t offer to do this for just anyone. I’m doing this for him . “You know I’ve always loved kids.”
“Yeah, you always did love giving all my younger cousins piggyback rides growing up,” he says.
I shrug. “Kids are a good time. They’re direct, tell it like it is, and they don’t bullshit you.”
Of course, they can be a handful, but I always wondered what it would be like to have a big, boisterous family since it was only me and my dad growing up.
When I was young, my mother divorced him for a travel vlogger, @TreytheTrekker, but I don’t blame her. She was never one for the small-town life, and I’m glad she’s living it up in her forties.
She’s always been a free spirit, which is why she travels the world with @TreytheTrekker’s backpack. But my mom never misses our Sunday phone calls no matter where she is in the world, and I love her for that.
Wyatt’s throat bobs. “Thanks for offering, but Vi’s in a mood this morning. I think she’s got a molar coming in or something. You don’t have to hold her. She’ll just scream louder, and your ears will be ringing all day.”
I roll my eyes, holding out my arms. “If I can wrangle a bull, I can wrangle a toddler. Give her to me and go take care of your hand. I want to help. We should probably get better acquainted anyway if you’re going to be here for the next two months.”
Wyatt seems to have a moment of indecision. He looks down at the burning pancakes, then back up at me, and then does that three more times until he turns off the stove.
“You sure?” he raises his voice over Vienna’s snotty screams.
I wiggle my fingers in a give-her-to-me motion. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll take care of your girl while you take care of that burn.”
“Okay…” He nods to himself. “Okay, thanks. She likes looking at ceiling fans too, so if she doesn’t calm down, just stick her under a fan. She’ll go right into this hypnotic baby trance.”
“We’ll be fine, Patterson. Go. We’ve got plenty of fans here.”
He hands her over, and when our arms brush, I jerk my fists away as fast as possible. His face falls, but he walks down the hall to the bathroom, right after giving Luna a little nuzzle.
Vienna instantly starts thrashing in my arms, but it’s nothing compared to a bull. I start rubbing circles on her back, but that does absolutely shit-all for the wailing.
“Well, aren’t you a little devil? You’re cute but definitely a menace.” I wipe the snot from her button nose with her cowgirl T-shirt. “I think we’ll get along just fine, screaming and all. Seems like you’re a little spicy like me. Now, what is it? Do your teeth hurt?”
She screams louder, and now I feel bad for the little girl. Her teeth must really hurt, so I scan the kitchen for her teething ring. “It’s okay. Sometimes, I just want to scream at the world too. Let it out while you can, girl, ’cause when you’re all grown up, you’re gonna have to muster up a fake smile, and you’ll feel like you’re tacking on a cowboy emoji to hide all your hardest feelings.”
She keeps wailing, so I start singing the first song that comes to mind. She peers up at me with her wide green eyes, and it feels like I’m looking at Wyatt. After a moment of staring, her crying turns to little sniffs.
I perk up. Holy shit. I did it. I’m rarely, if ever, the person to calm people down, so this feels like a tiny accomplishment.
“There we go, and look, we didn’t even need a ceiling fan,” I coo as she settles. She might just be the most adorable kid I’ve seen. “You like eating banana pancakes while singing ‘Banana Pancakes’ too?”
All she does is blink up at me, and I find myself smiling for the first time in a long while.
Bull riding is a self-serving sport. I do it because I thrive off the adrenaline rush, and I never have to think about anyone but myself. I don’t need anyone, and no one needs me, but as I’m sucked in by her baby greens, I can’t help but be a little jealous that Wyatt’s got someone who relies on him.
No one relies on me.
She latches onto one of my brown curls, calming. “What?” I ask. “You like me talking to you? I’m Kodie. Can you say Kodie? Ko-die.”
“No,” she says in her high-pitched voice through another sniffle. “No. No. No.”
“Yeah, that’s my favorite word too, and a good one to know for when you’re older and have to tell off all those boys or girls.” I chuckle, swaying her in my arms.
She settles down as I continue to sway her, and then I turn around to find Wyatt leaning against the doorframe with a pink Barbie Band-Aid on his thumb, watching us with a small grin tugging at his lips.
I stiffen. “I didn’t realize you were done.”
He swallows visibly. “Yeah, I was just, uh, watching you two—” He cuts himself off, almost like he was caught doing something illegal. “You were singing our song. ”
“Oh. I guess I was.”
He runs a hand through his messy hair, blowing out a breath. A deep V forms between his brows. “How’d you get her to stop crying?”
“I just sang to her a little and talked like a normal human.”
His lips twitch. “She must like you. Most of the time it feels like she’s trying to burst my eardrum.”
“A girl can still love you and want to strangle you at the same time,” I mutter, bopping his daughter on the nose to avoid looking at him. There was a little too much truth in that comment, so I tack on, “I better head out. I have to head to the arena for my skills session with my dad since I’m gunning for the Pbr draft.”
He takes Vienna from me, and his biceps clench with the movement. He’s really filled out with all that hockey training. It’s like his forearm veins have veins.
I never really noticed his body before because it feels strange to look at him that way, so I glance at the clock on the wall. I’ve got twenty minutes before I have to be at the arena for my training session.
He cocks his head so his stubbled cheek is resting on Vienna’s. “You’re really gunning for the draft? What team?”
“The Austin Rattlers.”
Every small-circuit rodeo is a stepping stone to the big leagues. If I do well in one, it builds up my reputation. Then it grows the more I compete, and the more rodeo belt buckles I’ll get.
He blows a low whistle. “Damn.”
I can’t tell whether that’s surprise or doubt in his tone, but either way, it raises my hackles. “What?” I retort. “You don’t think I can do it?”
“No, that’s not it at all,” he murmurs. “I think you can do anything.”
My throat constricts at the sincerity in his voice. Ever since Boone claimed I’d never make it, I’ve been doubting everything about myself, wondering if I’m really tough enough for this sport.
Wyatt has no idea how much those words mean to me, and suddenly, this barn feels like it’s shrinking in on us. I can’t stand the feeling. I prefer wide open spaces bigger than the Texas sky, so I dig through my backpack for something to do.
I pick out the stuffed longhorn I got last week when I went grocery shopping. I was originally going to use it as a chew toy for Tuna-Toons, but maybe his daughter will like it more.
“Here,” I say, tossing out the stuffed animal. “I got this for Luna, but I think Vi might like it better, and it might help with the crying.”
I hand it over, and she smiles and grabs it with her baby hands, squealing, “Wah!”
“That means she likes it,” he says, watching the interaction with tipped-up lips. He picks up her tiny hand in a wave. “Can you say thank you, Vi?”
“No!” she shrieks. “Wah!”
I chuckle at her garbled thank you, but then my throat goes tight, thinking about when, if ever, I’ll get to have a family of my own.
Wyatt and his adorable baby girl just remind me of the family I so desperately want, but I can’t have yet because the sad, sad truth is that I’ll always be cleaved down the middle, forced to straddle my dreams and my family.
I hate that I can’t have it all.