Chapter 9
Taylor
I’d never have guessed that being holed up alone in the middle of the mountains could be anything but dead boring. Nobody to speak to and nothing to do. But somehow, watching Wyatt move through her days with purpose made it seem almost… attractive to me.
Which, I was coming to realize, was more than just the lifestyle.
It was her—the soft-natured, green-eyed blonde—who made it seem appealing.
The wind whipped wildly outside, shaking the walls of the cabin, and I pulled my blanket higher under my chin. Snuggled up on the couch in front of the fire I found myself in a sanctuary of warmth and calm.
It didn’t matter much what was happening outside.
The window panes rattled ominously, and Michael Keaton’s eyes flickered over to them as he gave a soft whine. Wyatt reached out and gave him a rub under his chin.
“It’s okay, boy. We’re okay.”
Her voice was like a soothing balm in the middle of the raging storm. It worked on him, as well as me.
I rested my head on the back of the couch, watching the strangest game of chess unfold in front of me. She was seated across from Michael Keaton at the coffee table, a beautiful board with limestone pieces set between them.
The world outside might have been bleak and desolate, but in here, the crackling fire created a backdrop for something far more comforting.
I shifted, pulling my knees up against my chest as I settled into my cocoon.
Wyatt had created an impossible home out here, in the nothingness, from the sturdy bookshelves, all hand-crafted, to the rustic wooden beams above.
The shadows from the fire danced about, adding to the homey feel.
Floorboards creaked occasionally, as if the cabin itself was sighing with content.
I felt it too. Despite essentially being stranded with no way of communicating with the outside world, I had a sense of calm and contentment that I hadn’t known in a long time.
As though the ever-present loneliness and longing that had spurred me onto that forsaken hiking trail was nothing but a bad dream.
But it wasn’t just the shelter from the tempest that eased my unsettled spirit, it was Wyatt herself. Her rugged, self-sufficient exterior held an intriguing allure, and the more time I spent with her the stronger the pull.
There was something more to this connection, and I was dying to find out what it was.
As guarded as Wyatt was with me—guarded and careful—I caught glimpses of that same curiosity. I had to find a way to breach the walls, and something about the game unfolding in front of me told me a good place to start would be the dog.
Michael Keaton’s tail wagged enthusiastically as Wyatt made another move. It was a peculiar sight, to say the least, one that left me a little bewildered. Of course, I’d seen dog moms before. But I’d never been this close to the phenomenon.
“All right, buddy.” Wyatt’s voice was light and playful. “Your move. Queen’s Gambit, perhaps?”
Michael Keaton responded with a soft woof, his paw nudging a pawn. Wyatt chuckled and made the move for him. It was a bizarre spectacle and I bit back my own laughter.
“Something funny?” Wyatt quirked a brow.
I hesitated, feeling the pressure. How I responded would undoubtedly impact her perception of me.
“I’ve just never had a pet, you know? I travel so much with work… I’m watching the two of you, and I guess I don’t get it.” I saw the slight flicker of a frown on her perfect eyebrows and quickly backpedaled. “It’s cute, though.”
Wyatt let it go, offering a small smile. “He’s a good boy. Keeps me company up here.”
“Did you get him when you moved out here, or…?”
She looked back at the board, making her move and then motioning for Michael Keaton to take his turn.
Something had closed off between us. I could feel it distinctly.
The shadow clouding her soft features confirmed that.
It was just a simple question: How long have you had your dog?
But I’d clearly stumbled across some invisible line and accidentally jeopardized the conversation.
Wyatt got up suddenly. I noticed the way she moved with a subtle stiffness. It was clear her body was feeling the effects of sleeping on the couch, but I didn’t say anything. She’d just stubbornly protest that she was fine.
“I need to check on the soup,” she said. “You don’t mind taking over for me, do you?”
I blinked at her, my surprise evident. “You, uh, you want me to play chess with your dog?”
She laughed softly as she pulled the coffee table closer to where I was sitting, so that I wouldn’t have to get onto the floor. Even with her discomfort, she was still thinking of me.
“Just move the pieces. He’ll handle the rest,” she said.
I glanced at Michael Keaton, who wagged his tail as if in anticipation. She left us there, and I felt silly and self-conscious under his unmoving gaze. Of all the strange situations I’d found myself in, playing chess with a dog definitely topped that list.
He snorted softly, his patience wearing thin, and nudged the board with his nose.
I leaned over, giving him a pat on the head. “Okay, boy, let’s figure this out. You see, I’m not really sure how this game goes. But don’t tell your mom, okay?”
His brown eyes blinked up at me with that adorable innocence dogs seem to possess in abundance. He was going to keep my secret, I could tell.
I laughed softly at myself, chastising my absurdity. Already talking to the dog like Wyatt did.
“Right, I suppose I can’t rely on you tutoring me through this. Guess I’ve really gone to the dogs now.”
Michael Keaton tilted his head as if trying to understand, but it was clear he wasn’t going to offer any guidance in the realm of chess. With a sigh, I resigned myself to the peculiar situation and moved a pawn forward one square. Because I’d seen him do it just moments ago.
I turned my gaze toward the kitchen where Wyatt stood by the stove, her hand gently massaging her shoulder. I wasn’t wrong about what I’d seen before, the way she struggled to get up off the floor.
Leaning closer to Michael Keaton, I whispered, “Your mom’s pretty stubborn, isn’t she?”
He whined softly, and I took that as an avid agreement.
“Well, let’s see if we can crack that nut, shall we?”
He gave a muted yap and tapped the board with his paw. There were obviously more important things on his mind.
“Your move, okay?” I said to him. “Go for it. But also, what do you say you help me come up with some ideas to get your mom to stop being so stubborn?”
His eyes met mine and he let out a soft, thoughtful bark. I chuckled at his apparent seriousness.
But then, reality hit me. I was having a conversation with a dog. I burst into laughter, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all.
“I can’t believe I’m asking a dog for advice,” I mumbled to myself, glancing at him. He just blinked again, with a mix of confusion and curiosity.
“You two having fun?” Wyatt called from the kitchen.
“A blast,” I said, and moved another pawn.
Wyatt returned from the kitchen, her expression warm as she announced the impending arrival of the chicken soup. She moved to sit on the floor but I patted the spot in front of me.
“Here, come sit,” I insisted, sliding my legs apart to make room for her. “I don’t want to hear anything. Just… let me help you with your shoulder.”
She hesitated for a moment, the uncertainty clear in her eyes.
But then, after glancing at Michael Keaton for approval, she settled on the soft carpet in front of me.
A surge of electricity shot up my legs the moment her shoulders made contact with them.
God, she smelled like the honey almond shampoo I’d seen in her shower.
My heart sped up by several million beats per minute when I laid my hands on her shoulders. The tension was evident, like her muscles carried the weight of the world just there. Her breathing hitched as I started to gently massage the area.
As my fingers worked their magic, kneading away the knots and stiffness, I could feel her slowly relaxing into my touch. Her head fell forward slightly, and the softest of sighs escaped her lips. A rush of desire for those very lips swept through me and I swallowed hard.
Michael Keaton ambled over to Wyatt and settled down beside her with his head in her lap. While I rubbed her, she petted him affectionately.
“That feel okay?” I asked, breaking the tender silence that had fallen over us.
There was a light sniffle and a stilted nod of Wyatt’s head.
My movements paused. Was she crying? Oh, shit. That was the opposite of what I was going for.
“It’s perfect.” Her voice was soft, and I couldn’t make out any obvious sign of tears.
Maybe it was just a sniff. A reaction to the dog, or whatever.
But then it occurred to me that this could easily be the first time she’d been touched so intimately in however long. I knew what being touch-starved could do to someone. I’d lived it.
I continued massaging her shoulders, working with slow, purposeful movements up and down her neck, and along her shoulder blades. If this was the first time she’d been touched in a while, I was determined to make it count.
“Maybe now you’ll agree to give up the couch?” I asked softly. “There’s enough room in your bed. If we snuggle up real close, I mean.”
Wyatt gave a soft chuckle, but she didn’t outright shoot me down. Which was a win in my book.