4. Wyatt
WYATT
With a grunt of annoyance, I press the button on the alarm clock beside my bed, lighting up the clock face.
It’s nearly three in the morning. I’ve been tossing and turning for hours, obsessing over Isabelle.
I can’t stop thinking about those thick curves, her pretty face, the way her amber eyes sparkled when I called her Pixie…
Fuck.
She’s intoxicating, and knowing she’s curled up in bed on the other side of the hall is driving me crazy. I could have driven home, slept in my cabin for the night, but I didn’t want to leave her. Hell, I don’t think I’d be able to sleep either way. The thought of her is too damn tempting.
Giving up, I roll out of bed and pull on my shirt and boxers.
My throat is dry. I could use a glass of water, so I pad into the hallway, stopping to look at the door to Isabelle’s bedroom.
Before I can get any crazy ideas, I force myself to keep walking, heading into the darkened kitchen.
I flick the light on, catching sight of a bottle of whiskey on top of the fridge, dark and smoky, the color of maple syrup.
Hell no.
Tearing my eyes away, I grab a glass of water instead, before taking a seat on the couch in the living room.
I turn on the lamp, the orange glow bathing Ralph’s armchair in light, and I toast it with my glass before taking a gulp of water.
The couch is soft, and I close my eyes, tipping my head back.
Maybe the change of place will help me sleep.
But just as I’m finally about to drift off, I hear the low creak of a door opening in the hall.
I open my eyes in time to see Isabelle moving quietly into the living room.
My heart jolts. She hasn’t spotted me yet, and I rake my eyes over her.
She’s wearing a cute pair of pajamas, her curves filling out the blue cotton, and I have to stifle a groan when I see her nipples pushing against the fabric.
Her hair is a little mussed, like she’s been tossing and turning, and I swear she looks even more adorable than she did earlier.
“Oh!” she gasps when she finally spots me. “I didn’t see you there.”
Her voice is a soft whisper, making the hairs on my arms prick up.
“Can’t sleep?” I ask her.
She shakes her head and disappears into the kitchen, coming back a few moments later with a glass of water. Then she takes a seat on the couch beside me, leaving a bigger gap than I would like. She looks pensive, her gaze far off like she’s lost in thought.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes flicker to mine, like liquid gold in the lamplight. “It’s just a little weird being back in Cherry Hollow, even if I don’t remember it. Just knowing this is where my dad found me all those years ago…”
I nod. I still remember it vividly, even if Isabelle doesn’t.
It was twenty-two years ago, and I’d already left the fire department by that point.
I was hunkered down in my cabin, drowning my sorrows and avoiding the world when I got Ralph’s call.
He told me a baby had been left at the fire station, a little girl, only a few hours old and mewling on the doorstep.
Holden was the one who found her that morning.
There was no note, no sign of where the baby had come from, just a few blankets wrapped around her tiny body.
Nobody ever came forward, and in the end, Holden and his mom adopted her.
They called her Isabelle and moved away once the adoption process was finalized.
Then Holden’s mom died a few months later.
I learned about it from Ralph’s phone calls, but I never met Isabelle or saw Holden again after I left the department, and the memory stabs me with regret.
He probably could have used a friend during all that—orphaned in his early twenties and raising someone else’s kid all by himself.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Isabelle, swallowing down my guilt with another sip of water. “Must be hard, not knowing who your parents were. I can see why being here would stir that up for you.”
She shifts in her seat. “I struggled with it a lot growing up,” she admits, her voice low.
“I tried not to let Dad see that it bothered me. But eventually, I came to terms with it, and now I’m just grateful it was him who found me.
He’s my dad in every way that matters, but I guess I still wonder about them now and then…
my biological parents…” She says it like a confession, pressing her lips together guiltily.
“I would wonder about it too. Anybody would. Doesn’t mean you don’t love your dad.”
She nods, going quiet for a moment like she’s trying to choose her next words carefully. Then she leans toward me slightly and asks, “What really happened between you two, Wyatt? It sounds like you were really close once. Why did you stop talking?”
My pulse jumps when she says my name in that pretty little voice. But this isn’t a topic I want to talk about. The past is the past—that’s the way I like to keep it.
“It was a long time ago,” I say simply. “I was having a rough time at the fire department, so I quit. After that, we just lost touch.”
I run a hand over my beard, a nervous habit I’ve never been able to shake, and I see Isabelle’s eyes flicker to my forearm. She must notice my scarred skin, twisted and ugly, impossible to miss. I quickly lower my arm again.
“Did you ever rejoin the fire department after my dad moved away?” she asks, returning her gaze to my face.
“No. Left all that behind a long time ago. I stick to the woods these days. Chop wood. Do some handy work around town. Way more peaceful than fighting fires.”
“I can imagine.” Isabelle smiles softly. “I still can’t figure out why my dad would choose to leave this place. It’s beautiful up here.”
“Fresh start, I guess. Somewhere new.”
It’s something I’ve wondered before, but I figure Holden wanted to raise his daughter somewhere she’d have more opportunities. Cherry Hollow is pretty as hell, but it’s quiet, slow-paced, and isolated by the surrounding mountains.
“I guess.” Isabelle is quiet for a moment, lost in thought.
From the corner of my eye, I watch her, memorizing the slope of her nose, the sparse freckles on her cheeks.
Her lips are slightly parted, plump and soft, and as she runs a hand through her short hair, I catch her scent again, peachy-sweet.
Fuck, she’s so perfect.
“So, that’s really all there is to it?” Isabelle asks, pulling me from my reverie. “Dad moved away, and that’s the only reason you lost touch?”
I sigh, almost smiling despite myself. “You don’t give up, do you, Pixie?”
The smile she flashes me makes my heart stutter. “Sorry, I know I’m being nosy. It’s just…my dad doesn’t really have any friends in Denver. He’s never been close to anybody there. I guess I’m just curious why he left his best friend behind and didn’t stay in contact.”
“It wasn’t your dad’s fault,” I tell her. “I left the fire department. Shut everyone out of my life.” I keep the details vague, hoping Isabelle won’t press for more. “Your dad tried to help me, but I wouldn’t let him. Then his priorities changed.”
Isabelle bites her lip. “You mean because of me?”
“Of course. He couldn’t waste time dealing with my bullshit when he had a baby to care for.
Ralph told me you were everything to Holden after he found you.
All he cared about was adopting you and giving you a good home, and he was damn right to focus on that.
I was the one who behaved like an ass—not your dad. ”
I grimace, taking another sip of water. Talking about Holden is an uncomfortable reminder that the gorgeous woman sitting beside me is his daughter.
It’s a fact I keep trying to ignore, but right now, it’s impossible.
I can almost feel Holden’s eyes drilling accusingly into me, and I shoot a glance toward the doorway, half expecting him to be standing there.
“I see,” Isabelle says thoughtfully. “Well, I hope you guys can move past it. I’m sure Dad won’t hold a grudge for what happened back then.”
I fight back a scoff. If there’s one thing I know about Holden Mitchell, it’s that he’s a master at holding grudges. But hell, I deserve it. I never apologized for pushing him away back then, and it feels way too late now. Twenty-two years…might as well be twenty-two centuries.
Not to mention the fact I can’t stop obsessing over his daughter.
Something tells me that would count against me in the friendship department.
“Well, I should probably get back to bed,” Isabelle says, stretching. “Thanks for talking to me about all this.”
She beams at me, her pretty face lighting up the room a thousand times brighter than any lamp.
I want to kiss her. The urge hits me like an avalanche, my gaze flitting to those pouty lips.
They’re so damn pretty, blush-pink and begging to be kissed.
The air stills, the cabin holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next.
Isabelle’s eyes meet mine and I swallow hard, my cock throbbing, every muscle tightening with need.
No…
Holden’s daughter…
The unwelcome thought is like a bucket of ice water being thrown over my head, and I reluctantly lean back in my seat, looking away from Isabelle.
“Sleep well,” I tell her, my voice gruffer than I mean it to be, frustration making me tense.
“Thanks, Wyatt.”
She gets up off the couch and heads for the door. Before she disappears through it, she turns back to me and says, “Goodnight.”
“Night, Pixie.”
She smiles that beautiful smile and then heads for her bedroom, leaving me alone in the living room feeling wider awake than ever.