2. Wyatt
WYATT
I tap my foot against the hardwood floor, waiting impatiently for the sound of an engine. It’s quiet in the cabin. Too damn quiet. My gaze slides to the empty armchair in the corner, my throat tightening.
Goddammit. Can’t believe the old man’s gone.
Ralph was like a father to me when I first joined the Cherry Hollow Fire Department.
He knew I had a rough home life—a dead mom and an alcoholic dad.
He took me under his wing, looking out for me in his brusque, no-nonsense kind of way.
Hell, even after I quit the department and retreated to a cabin in the woods, Ralph never gave up on me.
He helped me through some really dark times, never asking a damn thing in return.
Ralph bought this cabin back when he retired in 2018.
It’s only about ten minutes from my own cabin, so we saw each other all the time, especially toward the end before he left for the hospice.
I did what I could for him: fixing stuff around the cabin, buying groceries, or just shooting the shit and talking about the old days.
I wanted to repay him for everything he did for me, but I didn’t even come close.
And now he’s left me this place.
Like he hadn’t already done enough.
It was a hell of a shock when Ralph’s lawyer called.
I knew he didn’t have many people in his life, especially once he got sick and stopped leaving the house, but I still didn’t expect him to leave me anything.
Especially not something split between me and Holden Mitchell, a man I haven’t seen for over twenty years.
Fuck, has it really been that long?
I’m getting old.
It’s weird, knowing I’m about to see Holden again. He was like a brother to me once, but the years of silence between us have hardened into something solid and immovable.
I run an agitated hand over my beard and stand up from my seat, pacing back and forth. Ralph’s armchair watches me from the corner, and I can almost see his stern face, bushy gray eyebrows scowling at me.
Pull yourself together, Wyatt, he’d say. Stand tall and face it.
That was his motto—his answer to all of life’s problems.
Stand tall and face it.
It’s enough to give me a swell of courage, and when the sound of an engine finally growls to a stop outside the cabin, I take a deep breath and head for the door. The knock doesn’t come for a little while, and when it does, I yank open the door like I’m ripping off a Band-Aid.
Holden.
He’s standing in the doorway, his wary expression mirroring my own as we take each other in.
“Wyatt.” He gives me an almost imperceptible nod of greeting.
“Holden.”
A beat of silence.
“You got old,” he says.
My lip quirks. Holden’s never been one to beat around the bush.
“So did you,” I tell him pointedly.
Strands of white pepper his hair, threading through his thick beard like chalk lines on asphalt.
Frown lines mark his face, and sleeve tattoos cover his arms—neither of which he had before.
We’re both pushing forty-five now, the same age Ralph was when he took us under his wing at the fire department.
Not rookies anymore.
Holden reaches out his hand, and we shake awkwardly.
“Was sorry to hear about Ralph,” he says. “He was a good man.”
“Yeah. We were still close.”
Holden nods, unsurprised. Then he looks back over his shoulder, beckoning to someone out of sight.
“Don’t think you’ve ever met my daughter.”
I’d almost forgotten he was bringing his kid. I hear the creak of the porch steps, and then a young woman appears behind Holden. The porch light illuminates her face, and my heart thuds as she meets my gaze.
Holy shit.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Her doe eyes are the color of warm amber, more gold than brown, framed by thick lashes as she blinks up at me.
She smiles, her pouty pink lips curving upward as we look at each other, and I swear I forget how to breathe.
My gaze drops to her body, thick and curvy, filling out her denim shorts and college T-shirt in a way that makes my throat go dry.
This angel is Wyatt’s daughter?
I do the math, my head spinning. She must be twenty-two by now, yet for some reason I was expecting her to be a kid.
But this goddess sure as hell isn’t a kid.
“Nice to meet you,” she says in a honey-sweet voice. “I’m Isabelle.”
She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. It’s light brown, cut in short, delicate layers that barely reach her ears. I think they call it a pixie cut. It suits her. Shows off her pretty face, her rounded jaw, the soft apples of her cheeks.
Fuck. Get it together.
I clear my throat, nodding at Isabelle. “I’m Wyatt. Glad you could make it.”
“Me too.”
She smiles again, driving everything else from my mind. Nothing else matters but that smile.
“Well?” Holden’s voice is a harsh grunt that snaps my attention back to him. “You gonna show us around?”
His eyes are narrowed, and something tells me I was staring at Isabelle for too long.
“Sure.” I avert my gaze from both of them, stepping back from the doorway. “Come on in.”
They do as I say. As Isabelle passes me, I catch her scent, like peaches and orange blossom, and I close the door behind her.
“Wow,” she breathes, flashing a smile at Holden. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Dad?”
Holden just grunts, circling the living room like he’s looking for flaws. Isabelle stays by me, and I’m hyperaware of the distance between us, the air thickening like molasses as I watch her take in the room.
She’s so damn beautiful.
I shouldn’t be thinking this way…shouldn’t be noticing the swell of her breasts, her gorgeously thick thighs, the smoothness of her bare skin.
She’s Holden’s daughter. Half my age. But I can’t control the way my body reacts to her.
My cock is swelling in my boxers, blood sizzling like lava through my veins as Isabelle catches my eye once more.
Our gaze holds for a beat too long, and her cheeks pinken before she turns away.
I do the same before Holden can catch me looking again.
This is dangerous ground. There are some lines you can’t cross, not ever. Holden was my best friend, my crewmate, and we risked our lives together. His daughter is off limits—no question about it…
But fuck, try telling that to my pounding heart.