Chapter 45
Wyatt
“So you guys are together, together then?” Boone asks through the video call we’re on.
He’s got his phone sitting on the pony wall in his horse Maple’s stall while he mucks it out.
Boone was such a big fan of maple syrup when she was born and Dad gave her to him, that he named her after it.
She nips playfully at the back of his jacket while he works.
I’m not sure if she’s going for his back or the unruly curls poking out from under his baseball hat, but every once in a while, he bats her out of his way, and she just takes it as ammunition to try and rile him up even more.
“Together, together,” I confirm, kicking out my legs in front of me while I sit on the front bumper of the fire truck. It’s quiet in the bay with everyone having lunch in the kitchen.
Part of me still can’t believe it. I was always positive it would happen, that we’d get back to this point, but now that we’re here, I feel like I’m floating on cloud nine. Nothing can bring me down.
It was hard leaving her in bed this morning.
Completely naked, hair fanned out over the pillow, sleepily looking for my body heat when I slid out from beneath the covers five minutes before the alarm went off.
The way my cock begged me to get back in bed and start playing was nearly overpowering, but I managed to get myself into the shower instead. An ice-cold shower.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” Boone calls over his shoulder.
“Meet who?” a new voice grumbles from behind the phone. A voice I know all too well.
My brother whirls around, seeing something out of frame, then looks at the phone, eyes wide. “Noth—”
My stomach bottoms out when my dad’s face comes into view. Fuck. I wasn’t anticipating having a conversation with him today.
Salt and pepper scruff marks his face, but that’s one of our only differences. The same curls sit atop his head, though his are covered with a cowboy hat, and his eyes are the same as mine as they stare at me from the other side of the screen.
“Well, if it isn’t the son who deserted his family,” he grunts. “When are you giving up that bullshit behind you to come home and do what you’re supposed to be doin’?”
That bullshit behind me is the fire truck.
And when I think of home now, the ranch isn’t it.
It’s where I grew up, where I became a man, and where most of my family still is.
But home is with the men and women in this firehouse.
It’s with Ruby when I’m working in the backyard or fixing something she’s purposefully broken.
Most importantly, home is anywhere Bryn is.
I recall the way she came inside the day she spoke to her mom. The contentment in her eyes, even if there was a bit of heartbreak that seeped in when her mom didn’t join us. She stood strong and fierce without being unkind.
Maybe it’s time I led by example with Boone there to bear witness.
“I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing,” I reply, letting my tone stay even and calm.
“Bullshit. You should be working the ranch.”
“No.” The word is firm, not laced with anger like I’d have in the past. It has my dad’s eyes narrowing a fraction, something in him noticing the difference. “I’m a Dalton first and foremost, yes, but I’m a firefighter, Dad. Not a rancher. That doesn’t erase who I am or where I came from.”
His jaw ticks, teeth grinding together, but he doesn’t say anything. Because I’m not getting upset or because he doesn’t know what to say, I’m not sure, but his silence fuels me.
“I’m gonna plan a trip home,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can fully think them through. But they feel right, even though I never thought I’d set foot in Montana again. “I’m gonna bring someone with me that I want you all to meet.”
“A girl,” my dad scoffs.
“Yeah, a girl. An important one.” There’s a smile on my lips when I think of her, despite the scowl my dad stares at me with.
“We got girls here in Montana, you know.”
My smile slips. Refusing to rise to any bait, I keep the neutral tone.
“I’m going to give you one warning and that’s all you get.
If you say one bad thing about her or are rude to her in any way, I will take you out back and beat your ass the way you beat all of us.
And not one person will be able to stop me.
Not Beau, not Boone, not Gage. You’ll be the gentleman you taught us to be when we were younger. Are we clear?”
The wheels turn. Anger simmers beneath his thoughts. I can see it churning there, not liking being spoken to like this. But something stops him from lashing out, and a second later, he shows his cards.
“It’ll make your mother happy.”
The one person he still has a soft spot for. The one he’d do anything for.
We seem to understand each other on that level.
“What’s her name?” he asks, something softening in him to make him resemble the man he used to be. “So I can tell your mom.”
“Bryn,” I say, softening a bit, too.
“This is such bullshit,” Liam bursts out the second I walk back into the kitchen.
Everyone is gathered around the table, plates and dishes already cleaned up.
Clearly, I’ve walked into something that isn’t going over well.
Liam is glaring at Nate; Luke has an arm around Hailey, who looks upset; Quinn’s arms are crossed firmly over her chest; and Brody shakes his head at the lieutenant.
“What did I miss?” I ask tentatively, eyes bouncing between everyone, though mostly Liam and Nate.
“The fuckin’ assholes at head office want to split us all up,” Liam says, his chair flying as he pushes away from the table.
Nate gives him more patience than I might have. “Only until the arsonist is caught. They decided it’s not a good idea to keep us all together if this guy is targeting us.”
“Except he’s targeting Wyatt,” Brody clarifies.
The patience is thinner for Brody when Nate looks at him, the slightest curl of his lip present until I blink and it’s gone. “We don’t know that for certain. He did light my fucking bar on fire, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Which has since been cleaned up and fixed, but Nate has a point.
“Because Wyatt was there,” Brody counters. “Whatever is going on, it’s tied to Wyatt.”
Nate’s hand slams down on the table and he jumps to his feet. It seems to take us all by surprise, except for Brody, who sits there and stares at the man now glaring at him.
“Are you the fucking arsonist? No? Give me some goddamn proof then, Brody. Show me how you’ve come to that conclusion. Make me believe it without doubt, like you.”
Brody’s jaw works, but he doesn’t back down. “Instinct. Try listening to it.”
Nate runs a hand roughly through his hair. “I can’t take your instincts to head office and tell them based on a hunch by my firefighter, this guy is only truly going after one of my other firefighters. They’ll think I’ve gone fucking mad.”
I’m starting to wonder if he has anyway. This is as stressed as I’ve seen him, though it’s been simmering beneath the surface for a while. I saw it the last time these two got into it.
“Why don’t we all take a breather?” Hailey suggests, ever the voice of reason. “It doesn’t matter who is being targeted—if this is what they want to happen, this is what’s going to happen.”
“Except if this guy is targeting Wyatt and we throw him into a new crew, the risk factor for him and the other crew goes up.” Liam scrubs his hands over his face, seeming to pick up on Brody’s line of thought.
“The other crew won’t be familiar with Wyatt, or with the fires this asshole is setting. We know both.”
“You guys are all trained,” Hailey argues. “It doesn’t matter what shift you’re on, you can all do the job.”
A breath billows out of Nate at the head of the table. “It’s not the same bond, Hails.”
Uneasiness churns through my gut. Hell, I’d take the phone call with my dad again over this.
I know shifts can change, and you can get thrown on different crews at any time—people come and go, get promoted, leave, whatever—but these six have become a fixture in my life, and I don’t want to lose that.
Not right now when things are vulnerable for all of us.
“Is there anything we can do to change their minds?” I ask.
“Sure,” Luke pipes up. “Catch the guy responsible.”
When the tones go a second later, announcing a structure fire, Quinn pops up from her chair. “Maybe that’s your chance.”
“91923 Berkley Avenue,” the voice over the speakers announces. “Structure fire.”
The address rings a bell. I know it. Why do I know it?
“Hey,” Brody says as we head to the truck. “Hey, that’s the strip mall off Lincoln.”
My gaze collides with his. The massage clinic.
“Bryn.”
Then I’m running. We’re all running.