28. Our Girl
28
OUR GIRL
DAKOTA
“ W here’s a thermometer when you need one?” Wyatt grunts, shoving aside one of the million keychains in the junk drawer, trying to keep the frustration from his voice. “And why are there so many damn keys in here? We don’t even have that many doors in the barn.”
He starts to slam a kitchen drawer shut, but he seems to remember the sleeping, flushed baby in his arms, and slowly closes the handle with a defeated sigh. Vienna’s forehead is so hot, she’s not even crying, and it breaks my heart when she sniffles, nuzzling into his scratchy neck.
Our eyes connect from across the kitchen, and I give him a look that hopefully he reads as What can I do?
And he gives me one back that could either be nothing, or maybe, you’re already helping.
He’s been a worried mess since we got back to the barn, and it’s so at odds with his typical laid-back mood, that I’ve been forced to dial into my calm demeanor.
We were always like a see-saw—when one person went down, the other person went up. He needs calm, so I dial into the side of my nature, even if it doesn’t come as naturally.
When his moms texted him, he flipped the switch from sexy cowboy to concerned daddy in a second, so I forced my body to cool down after that flaming kiss.
He seems like he’s too concerned about his daughter to think about the kiss, but not me, I’m still overthinking it, and watching him fawn over his little girl reminds me that he isn’t like the other men I kick out of my bed.
He’s more, a lot more, and that terrifies me a bit.
I can’t remain emotionally detached with Wyatt. If I sleep with him, it’s going to mean something. I need to think this through because this could end up ruining everything, which will probably happen anyway, so maybe I should just go for it.
I’m not a lucky person, so I don’t believe in happy endings. I believe in working your ass off to get what you want because no one owes me a damn thing in this life.
But as I gaze at him rubbing circles on Vi’s back, I can’t help but hope for that futile happy ending. I feel it then, the yearning for a family. Vi’s not even mine, and I’m already starting to feel this new protective urge over her because she’s Wyatt’s. I go all in when it comes to my people.
I might not know the first thing about being a parent, but I don’t want to add more stress to this situation, so on the way home, I was looking up best things to do if a child has a fever, reading them off to Wyatt, because I feel like solutions are better than questions in these scenarios.
“She’s going to be fine, sweetheart. Her forehead doesn’t even feel all that hot,” his mom, Stella, says, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He leans into her touch in that same seeking-comfort way I lean into my dad’s. “We debated even calling you because all kids get sick, but she wanted her daddy.”
“Yeah,” his other mom, Jessie, adds, nodding her navy Guardians cap. “Kids get fevers. It happens all the time. There’s no need to worry.”
“Of course I’m going to worry,” he counters, dampening a cool washcloth to put on Vienna’s forehead. “She’s my daughter, and she’s sick. I can’t not worry when things like this happen.”
Stella kisses his stubbled jaw. If Vi’s the spitting image of Wyatt, he’s the male version of his mom. “There’s only so much you can do, sweetheart. Kids get sick. You had a million fevers as a kid, and you’re still alive.”
Jessie sprays some Lysol lemon cleaner, wiping up the already clean granite counter. She’s always been a neat freak. “Give her a lukewarm bath, and you both get some rest.”
They both pull him into a hug, and the four of them form a tight circle. It’s so intimate, so raw, that it feels like I’m intruding on a private moment. Wyatt’s always been a hugger, and so are his parents, so they stay wrapped around each other long enough that I debate leaving.
That’s the kind of family I want one day—the come-to-us-for-anything type. The kind where you spend ten days straight together on vacation in a cramped rental, annoying the hell out of each other, and by the time you leave, you’re ready to never speak to them again. But then you say your goodbyes at the airport, wake up the next morning in your own bed, and find you miss all that loud fighting because your tiny apartment feels empty without them.
“Get some sleep. You too, Kodie,” Stella agrees, nodding as she finally pulls back. “We’re going to head back to the main house, but holler if you need us.”
They give me a firm hug before walking out the front door, and now, it’s just us in the barn, and the ticking rooster clock on the wall.
Wyatt opens cabinet after cabinet, peering into the contents.
“Are you sure we don’t have a thermometer?” he huffs, blowing a strand loose from the bun at his neck. “I want to check her temperature.”
I yank open one of the kitchen drawers, scanning the clutter. I’m not sure how to help, but I’ll do what I can. “The only thing we’ve got is a meat thermometer, and sticking it up her bum would be messy and sharp, so that’s not gonna work.”
Wyatt’s lips twitch like he wants to smile, but ultimately, they stay rooted in a worried twist. He walks around the kitchen counter, bringing his daughter to me. “How hot does she feel to you? Think it’s over a hundred?”
I swipe a hand over her forehead, warmth emanating from her flushed skin. I feel so bad for her, and I hate that there’s nothing I can do. The sweet little devil leans into my palm, a mess of flushed gold, and my heart constricts.
“Yeah, she’s warm, but she doesn’t feel too hot.” I realize that’s an unhelpful statement after I say it, so I add, “Want me to see if we've got some aspirin?”
“No!” Wyatt shouts, making me jump a bit.
“Okay, whoa,” I say, holding up my hands. “I didn’t realize you felt that strongly about aspirin.”
He shakes his head, bouncing Vi gently, who must not be feeling good because she didn’t even get fussy at that noise. “Sorry. It’s not that. It’s just that you can’t give kids aspirin. It’s one of the things that can kill them, apparently, like everything else in this world, according to the internet.”
My mouth gapes. “Aspirin kills children? They should put a warning label on the bottle.”
“That’s what I said,” he chuckles, but his laughter dies a quick death.
“Okay, got it. No aspirin. I can search for some infant’s Tylenol if you want?”
“No, it’s fine. I already checked all the cabinets.” He mutters a curse. “I can’t believe I forgot to get infant’s Tylenol. It’s like I always run out of things when I need it. I’m such a shitty dad.”
“Hey, listen to me.” I grab his cheeks. “There’s not a chance in hell I’m letting you think that for a second. You’re not a shitty dad. You’re a great dad who forgot to write down one item on his grocery list. Don’t beat yourself up over this.”
That crease between his brows smoothes, but he still watches his daughter with concerned eyes.
He carefully brushes her damp hair from her fevered brow. “I don’t know. Should I take her to the doctor? Wait, never mind. They aren’t open. Maybe we need to go to the emergency room?”
I find his arm with my hand, trying to offer some comfort even though comforting people isn’t my strong suit. But I want to be that person for him. “Let’s listen to your parents and put her to bed. She needs rest, and if she’s still burning up in the morning, we’ll take her to a doctor.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he whispers, pulling her closer, lips lingering on her sweaty forehead. “I just hate feeling helpless when it comes to her. Sometimes, I don’t know if I can do this.”
I brush Vi’s warm back, rubbing circles to give her more comfort. “Do what?”
“Be everything she needs.”
His voice sounds tattered, and I want to make it shiny again, so I place my hand on his cheek. “You don’t need to be everything she needs. You just need to be there when she needs you.”
He pinches his eyes closed, and then murmurs a soft, “Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I say, stroking my thumb on his stubble.
“You’re here when I need you. That’s enough.”
He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s a Cancer, so he always goes quiet when he’s exceptionally stressed, but we don’t need words to communicate. We’ve got our own language full of deconstructed touches and looks that we’ve been speaking for years.
The way he’s gazing at me combined with the way I’m holding him feels like more , and I need to think about this before I dive into anything with him. Being with him also means being with his little girl, and I need to make sure I’m ready for that. Yeah, I’ve always wanted to be a mom, but it’s still a massive commitment.
I pull back, letting my hand drop, but I still want to do something to help. “Want me to go over to my dad’s and see if he has a thermometer?”
Wyatt perks up, but then his shoulders slump. “No. You’ve been drinking, so I don’t want you driving.”
“I can walk, and it’s less than a half mile from the barn.” I head to the red front door. “You cuddle up with our girl. I’ll be right back.”
He works his jaw, and the muscles tighten as he seems to wrestle with his decision. I tug on my boots, not giving him an option. Wyatt will put everyone else before himself, so I know he doesn’t want me walking alone almost as much as he wants to know his daughter’s temperature.
He needs someone to make the decision for him, so I say, “I’m going. I know this property like the back of my hand, so I’ll be right back, and I don’t want to hear any complaints.”
“Dakota, I don’t—”
“No complaints!” I shut the door on the very complaint I don’t want to hear, and it’s only when I’m outside that I realize what I said.
Our girl.