Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Emily
Damn, I had no idea they wanted to use that land.
I’m hardly surprised, though. I’ve lost count of how many shady projects and aggressive land takeovers they tried to rope me into back at the firm.
But it still sends a shiver of cold fury down my spine. My heart breaks for Kassie and the fact that it impacts her home. Especially since she’s trying to rebuild her life, much like I am.
What makes me want to explode even more is the fact that I’ve picked up Wyatt’s kid, offered to work on a proposal to save his family’s legacy, and Wyatt can still barely look me in the eye.
This confusing-as-hell fortress he’s built around himself is slowly wearing my patience thin.
There have been so many glimmers of moments where I think I’m getting somewhere with him, for him to turn around days later and pretend I’m a fucking employee again.
“Can I go play my Nintendo before dinner?” Alex asks as I pull the truck into park outside the main house.
I crane my neck, checking to see if Wyatt is back. The dusty Ford is parked around the side, which confirms that he is. “Uh, maybe go ask your dad. He’s inside.”
“Okay!” Alex perks up, scurrying across the gravel and up the steps ahead of me.
I follow him, carrying the backpack he left behind, and remind myself to teach that boy to carry his own damn stuff.
Pushing through the kitchen door, I’m hit with the mouthwatering smell of fresh herbs and roasting meat.
Mary is basting a roast on the open oven door, looking domestic and fierce in a pair of pink floral oven gloves.
“Mary, that smells incredible!” I practically swoon.
Mary gives me a wink that says my name is on that first plate.
Speaking of swooning, at the sink, Wyatt is scrubbing his hands with a nail brush.
They’re rugged and stained with the dark Montana dirt he’s been working in all day.
I try to look away, but I can’t help noticing the way the veins stand out on his forearms as he works the brush.
It’s a stupid observation that only makes me more annoyed with myself. And him.
He gives me a brief tip of his chin. “Hey.”
Oh, goodie, asshole mode has been activated.
“Oh, Emily, before I forget,” Mary chimes in, straightening up. “A letter arrived for you today.”
I pause, my keys halfway to the hook. “A letter?”
Nobody knows this is my address. Nobody even knows I’ve left Oregon…oh.
The realization dawns on me with the weight of a lead balloon.
Wyatt stops scrubbing. He looks up, his eyes tracking me as I walk toward the island. Mary has propped the envelope up against the fruit bowl, and I can just about make out the monogrammed stamp as I approach it. Just as I guessed, the return address reads Merrigan Legal PLC.
The executors of my dad’s estate.
The sale must be final. His house, our family home for the past twenty-three years, is officially gone.
My face falls. I can feel the sudden, agonizing sting in the back of my throat as my eyes begin to burn.
“Everything okay?” Wyatt asks. His voice has shifted, the hardness is gone, replaced by a tentative concern that almost breaks me right then and there.
If I meet his eyes, the water will fall, and I refuse to fall apart in front of him. Not when he’s been holding me at arm’s length for days.
“Yeah. Fine,” I reply, my voice is almost strangled. I can’t quite hide the sniffle as I grab the envelope.
I stuff the letter into the back pocket of my jeans and turn, walking out of the kitchen without another word. I don’t need to look back to know his eyes are burning a hole in my back, tracking my exit with suspicion.
My feet are heavy on the floorboards as I push through the glass door of the office Owen has been letting me use. I don’t turn on the lights. I don’t need them. I stumble over to the large mahogany desk and sit down, the leather office chair creaking under the force of my movement.
I stare at the envelope until my name on the front starts to blur.
My hands are quivering with a slight, uncontrollable tremor I can’t seem to stop.
I didn’t think it would hit me this hard.
I thought I’d grieved the house months ago, but seeing the buff-colored paper makes it real in a way that feels like a punch to the gut.
I turn the envelope over and tear through the seal. My eyes trip over the words. Exchange of keys. Contracts. Final foreclosure. New owners.
My lip shakes, and a single, hot tear escapes, splashing onto the legal document. I wipe it away quickly with the back of my hand, but another follows. It feels so damn final.
Being here over the past couple of months…it’s been the tonic I needed. Alex, the ranch, the blueprints, even Wyatt and his mood swings, it all took my mind off the fact that the life I’d built for thirty years had been dismantled by men in suits.
I’m slumped back in the chair, staring at the letter until my lashes feel heavy and wet, when a shadow fills the doorway.
Wyatt. God, I really don’t need this right now.
He knocks softly against the wood, but his posture is stiff, his shoulders broad enough to block out the light from the hall. “Are—uh—are you okay?” His voice is uncertain, lacking that usual ranch boss edge.
My eyes flick up to him. God, he’s beautiful. So beautiful it almost hurts to look at him. Even in the dim light of the room, he radiates a raw masculinity. The sleeves of his chambray shirt are rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle and a dusting of dark hair.
My gaze traces the line of his jaw that's shadowed with a few days’ worth of stubble, but it’s his eyes that undo me. They’re that deep, molten brown that makes my knees weak, and right now, he's looking at me like I’m something breakable.
It’s a devastating contrast to the sheer, hulking power of his frame. Those large calloused hands look like they could tear the world apart, yet he’s standing there looking like he’s afraid a single wrong word might shatter me.
“Yeah.” I sigh, tearing my eyes away from him to lean my head back against the leather. “It’s just…the letter from the lawyer about Dad’s house. The sale is final.”
He nods, his jaw working as he chews his lip. He takes a single step into the room, as if he doesn’t quite know how to handle a sadness that isn’t his own. “I’m sorry, Emily.”
“It’s okay.” I shrug. “Had to happen eventually. Just feels kinda final now. I’m officially homeless, I guess.”
A flash of fierceness I can’t quite read covers his features.
“You’re not…” He stops.
I can feel him battling with what he really wants to say. He doesn’t finish the sentence. Whatever it is stays locked behind his lips.
“Is there anything we can do?” he eventually asks, still keeping his distance.
Yeah. Walk over here. Wrap those big, dirt-stained arms around me and make me forget that my world just ended.
I want to tell him that I’m tired of being the clever, fun nanny for a moment. I want to be held.
Instead, I clear my throat and straighten my spine. “No, it’s okay. But I’m going to have to go back to Oregon for a few days. Pack the last of the stuff up and hand over the keys. You might have to do the school run while I’m gone.”
He nods appreciatively, looking down at his boots before his next words leave his lips. “You—uh. You need anyone to go with you?”
The unexpected offer hangs between us. For a second, I contemplate it because this feels like a mammoth task in front of me. But then I decide the lesser of two evils is packing up an entire house on my own and not a twenty-hour round trip stuck in a car, alone with Wyatt Miller.
“Oh, no. Thank you. I’ll be fine.”
He nods again. “Okay. Well…take the SUV. It’s a long trip, and the tires are better for the pass.”
I take a deep, unsteady inhale, his amberwood scent drifting toward me, brings me some kind of twisted comfort. “Okay. Thank you. I will.”
He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something else.
I see the pulse jump in his neck, the way his eyes drop to my mouth for a fraction of a second.
The tension is so loud it’s ringing in my ears.
In the end, he decides against it. He presses his lips together into a thin line and gives me one final nod before reaching for the door handle.
As the door shuts, my breath finally releases in a wet sob. There’s no doubt he hears it.
Fuck.
I need to get out of here. If I stay in this office, in this house, under his roof while he treats me like a stranger he’s afraid to touch, I’m going to break into a million pieces.
I don’t wait for the tears to dry. I don’t even wait for the sun to go down. The letter is a ticking clock in my back pocket, and every second I stay in this office, I feel the weight of a life that doesn’t belong to me anymore pressing down on my chest.
Before I can overthink it, my feet are pounding the stairs.
I push open the bedroom door, grab my overnight bag, and start shoving a few things I’ll need in there.
I grab whatever looks logically simple—a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a dress of some sort that I can throw on, and nightwear.
I look around the room with my palm to my head when I remember that a change of underwear should probably be my priority.
Over the frantic rustling of my bag and the sound of my racing brain, I hear the floorboards creak outside my open door. I don’t need to look up to know it’s him.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice laden with apprehension.
“Packing,” I clip, unable to risk seeing the look on his face right now. I grab a cardigan and jam it into my bag.
“Emily, it’s five o’clock on a Friday. It’s a ten-hour drive. The roads are going to be a nightmare in the dark.” He steps further into the room, his presence immediately making the air feel too thin. “Wait until morning. Sleep on it.”
“I can’t sleep on it, Wyatt.” My lip trembles as I jam the zipper shut and swing the bag over my shoulder.
I turn to face him, but my eyes are still stinging, and I can’t stop my voice from shaking.
“I just want to get it over with. The sooner I exchange those keys, the sooner the money gets released, and the sooner I can actually plan what I’m doing next. ”
His expression darkens in the doorway, becoming unreadable. “What are you doing next?”
My stomach twists. “I—I don’t know. I can’t think about the future with this hanging over my head. I just need this done.”
He stands in the doorway like a massive, immovable obstacle. For a second, I think he’s going to stop me. I think he’s going to reach out, grab my arm, and tell me that what's next is right here in front of me.
My heart pounds against my ribs, pleading for him to say it. Instead, his shoulders drop a fraction. He looks at my bag, then back at my face, his face hardening into that fucking familiar mask he puts on around me.
“Fine,” he finally says. He doesn't wait for me to argue. He turns and walks down the stairs with a heavy gait.
I let out a strangled gasp of frustration and grab the handles of my bag. I inhale deeply and grit my teeth as I follow him down the stairs and out the front door. I want to scream at him right now.
He opens the driver’s side door of the heavy SUV and stands back, waiting. As I climb in, I catch the warmth of him, the scent I will never be able to separate from him. He’s breathing heavily through his nostrils.
I can’t tell if it’s because he’s mad at me right now, but I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with his temperament. I throw my bag into the passenger seat, avoiding his gaze.
“How long do you think you’ll be gone for?” he asks. “So I can tell Alex.”
Okay, now I’m screaming inside. For Alex?! Is he fucking kidding me right now?
“I don’t know, Wyatt. Probably a day or two.”
I can’t tell if I’m angry at myself right now or him.
I’m about to turn the key in the ignition when his solid, veined hand comes down hard on the steering wheel. I’m forced to meet his eyes with a startle.
“Just call one of us when you get there, okay? So we know you’re safe.”
We? Who the fuck is we?
I’m holding my breath as I nod because I don’t trust the words that might come out. He reluctantly releases his hand, his eyes holding mine for a moment too long before he pushes the door closed.
I pull out of the gravel drive, the red taillights of the SUV bleeding into the darkness. In my rearview mirror, I see him standing in the middle of the road. He stays there until I’m out of sight.
When I can no longer see him, the tears finally fall.