Chapter 16 #2
He had no good answer, none that would satisfy her, because they didn’t satisfy him, except that they had accomplished what they’d set out to do.
Their agreement had come to its natural conclusion.
Neither one of them had discussed what would happen after Odette and Aunt Estelle left.
He certainly had never considered that he would fall in love with her.
He liked her well enough, but love? He didn’t think that would happen.
He thought he’d steeled his heart to that emotion a long time ago.
Still, he could have asked her to stay, even though they weren’t married—not for real, at least. What he felt in his heart was different though.
In his heart, he felt married, which confounded him. “I’m heading out.”
Delilah dropped the wooden spoon into the sink, then wiped her hands on her apron. “Royce and I are leaving today to visit Preston,” she stated matter-of-factly, her eyes roaming over him.
He stiffened. Was everyone leaving him? First Sheridan and now his folks. And that stung, more than it should have. More than he was willing to admit.
“Have a safe trip.” He leaned forward and kissed his mother on the cheek even though she was upset with him.
And she was upset, even if she hadn’t raised her voice.
She didn’t need to. Her disappointment with him was clearly evident in the set of her mouth and the gleam in her eye.
He recognized that look. He’d seen it often enough growing up.
“Make it right, Wyatt. Go get that girl and make it right.” She caressed his cheek, her gaze imploring him then took a step back. “We’ll see you in a few weeks.”
He nodded, then left the house, letting the door slam behind him.
He stalked to the barn, angry with himself, and Sheridan, too, saddled Brigadier and rode out.
He headed toward the meandering stream that cut across his property, and the peace and quiet he’d found there on too many occasions to count, in no mood to talk to either Hank or Ken.
Or even Duke. Hell, he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone… except her.
He dismounted and tied Brigadier’s reins to a tree branch—the same one he and Sheridan had used in the past. He started walking along the stream bank, listening to the rippling water, hearing the birds sing in the trees and the wind whisper through the leaves.
This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come out here because, even here, there was no escaping her presence.
Everywhere he looked, he saw her, sitting proud on Goldie, her beautiful face alight with pleasure or walking along this very same stream bank, dipping her hand into the cool mountain spring water.
Not only couldn’t he escape her presence, but in his head, he could hear her voice, too. And the soft pressure of her lips on his.
He drew in his breath, the pain in his heart a physical thing.
Damn! His mother was right. He had been happy. Happier than he’d been in a long time, and what made his heart hurt right now, was the complete and total absence of joy. Sheridan brought that emotion to his life within a short time, and now, it was gone.
He let out a sigh, then climbed into Brigadier’s saddle, determined to find a place that could give him comfort as this spot no longer did.
He rode home, his mood dark, and strode into his empty, much too big house, the fragrance Sheridan wore assailing him as soon as he walked in the door.
Delilah and Royce were gone, but there was a note on the table, letting him know that there was a casserole in the icebox that he just needed to warm up.
He read the rest of the note, grunted at her words, and crumpled the paper into a ball, tossing it into the trash.
He didn’t need his mother’s words to tell him what a fool he’d been. He knew it as surely as he stood there, his hands clenching and unclenching.
Lucy! This was all her fault, the reason his heart hurt. He left the house, climbed into Brigadier’s saddle, and headed into town to confront the woman who started all this turmoil he was feeling. If it hadn’t been for Lucy, he never would have met Sheridan.
“Wyatt! So nice to see you!” Lucy answered the door, her smile wide and welcoming like it always was. “Come in. Come in. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
What am I doing here? The question rippled through his head as he placed his hat on the hatrack and followed her to the kitchen.
She poured coffee he didn’t really want and set it in front of him. “I heard a rumor,” she said as she sat across from him. “Is it true?”
“What?”
“That you and Sheridan pretended to be married.”
“Yes, it’s true. We did it to fool her grandmother and her aunt.” He smiled reluctantly. “It worked, too. They believed it.”
She tilted her head to the side. “And you believed it, too, didn’t you?”
Oh, this was so hard to admit. “Yes.” The word was dragged from the depths of his soul, followed by anger. At her. At himself. “Why did you do this to me, Lucy?”
“Do what? I never matched you with Sheridan. That was you, completely on your own.”
“No, you steered me in her direction that very first time when you suggested I visit Josie’s. You…you—” He stopped himself, coming to conclusions he should have come to before. He opened his mouth, but she interrupted him before he could speak.
“I may have made that suggestion, Wyatt, but the rest was all you.” She took a sip of her coffee, her gaze boring into his, and then she smiled.
“But I knew that if you met her, spent some time with her, you’d fall in love with her.
Like I told you, love doesn’t come in thunderbolts and lightning.
It creeps in when you least expect it. And it did, didn’t it? You love Sheridan.”
“This isn’t love, Lucy. This is pain.”
“Why? Why is there pain?”
He drew in a deep breath, but even that exacerbated the ache in his heart. He resisted the urge to rub his chest. “She went back to Josie’s after her folks left.”