Chapter 2
Wyatt
Everleigh James is sans bra.
The fucking thought shouldn’t be on repeat as I fish my dog Thor’s leash from the backseat of my patrol truck. Not if I want my half hard cock to calm the fuck down when I return to corral Birdie. And not if I want the way I feel about her to remain hidden.
I’ve been in love with Everleigh for months now, but I’ll be damned if I let that secret out in the open.
Ever since I pulled her over for a burnt-out taillight last summer and found her sobbing behind the steering wheel, she’s been closed off to just about everything under surface level—including romantic entanglements. Whatever happened in Oklahoma, it’s shaken her to the fucking core.
I’ve spent a year trying to get to the bottom of it to no avail.
But it wouldn’t matter if she’s interested in dating, because she likely wouldn’t be interested in dating me—her best friend’s older brother who she fondly refers to as a thorn in her ass.
I won’t risk losing her as a friend by making some sappy confession she might reject.
Nothing is more important than keeping her close, and I refuse to put that friendship in jeopardy.
Never mind that I take a cold shower nearly every damn day—something I could use now as I can’t seem to stop picturing her pebbled nipples poking through her soft pink tank top with its deep neckline.
God what I wouldn’t give to take those hardened peaks into my mouth, one at a time.
To run my tongue slowly along her sensitive flesh.
Fuck, fully hard.
Focus on something else—anything else.
I think of the softball game later this week.
We’re down a woman we’ll need on the roster in order not to forfeit.
I don’t remember a text in the group chat confirming we found someone to fill in yet.
I think of the Hanks brothers feuding over their property line again.
I’ll have to run out there later to see if they’ve worked out their differences or if they’re still passive aggressively fighting.
I think of Thor, my Great Dane, throwing up the stack of pancakes he stole whole while my back was turned, which is why I left him at home.
Cleaning up upchucked pancakes in the back of my patrol truck is not something I care to do today.
And then there’s Birdie, the runaway alpaca.
There’s been an APB out on Birdie since she was spotted in town nearly an hour ago. How the hell she made it back to Emerald Creek is anyone’s guess. But I’m not surprised she ended up at Walter Smalley’s old house. It was once her home, too.
Now that I’m out of the danger zone below the belt, I return to the garage only to discover that Everleigh and Birdie are missing.
The door to the kitchen is wide open and I poke my head inside, amused by the heartwarming sight before me. The alpaca nuzzles Everleigh’s palm, humming happily. If I had to guess, Birdie’s working her way into a hug, or she’s attempting to invite herself all the way inside. Possibly both.
“Hey, no matter how irresistibly cute you are, you can’t come in any farther. Stormy will shit on my pillow for this.” She glances back at the unpacked boxes. “Well, she’d have to find it first. But trust me, she holds grudges.”
Everleigh’s deep blue gaze lifts to mine, and fuck if time doesn’t freeze. She flashes me a smile that nearly undoes me.
“I don’t think she’s going to go willingly,” she says, laughing when Birdie nuzzles her neck. At least the alpaca is hiding those hard nipples from my sightline. Good Birdie.
“I have an idea,” I say, remembering the bag of alfalfa pellets I saw in the garage yesterday while I helped move her things in.
I search for where I saw it last, spotting the sack in the corner.
Next to it, a soft pink case catches my eye, one the color of Everleigh’s shirt.
I recognize the camera case from a few weeks ago.
It sat unopened on her couch, alongside a spread of printed photos.
“Ev, you know your camera’s out here?”
“Just leave it,” she says dismissively. “And hurry because Birdie’s getting pretty insistent about coming inside.”
Something about the pink case left out in the garage bugs me. I’d bet my truck that it has something to do with the reason she’s all closed off. I want to know what happened so fucking bad it keeps me up some nights. But pressing her has only proven to shut her down.
“Wyatt?”
“Coming.” I refocus, reaching for the tin cup inside the bag of pellets and filling it half full of treats. With any luck, they’ll tempt Birdie out of Everleigh’s house and into the back seat of my patrol truck.
I shake the tin cup, and Birdie’s ears perk up instantly.
“You like treats, huh?” Everleigh asks with a laugh as Birdie shuffles backward.
There isn’t enough room in the narrow hallway for her to turn around, but the animal backs herself into the garage as though unloading from a horse trailer.
Once all four hooves are on cement, she turns to face me expectantly.
I drop a few pellets into my palm and hold it out to Birdie in offering.
“Take the leash,” I tell Everleigh, trying like hell not to look at her. Not only is her shirt practically see-through, but she’s also wearing tight shorts so skimpy they might be panties. “Try to get it around her neck. Loop the clip through the handle.”
Everleigh reaches around Birdie’s neck, leaning forward and revealing a generous amount of cleavage that threatens to be my fucking undoing.
Chopping the pile of wood I’ve put off for weeks now.
All that fucking paperwork for Edith Greer backing up into a no parking sign.
The newspaper interview with Suzie this afternoon about the new four-way stop.
“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you Birdie?” Everleigh coos, stroking the animal’s furry neck. It’s fucking stupid to be jealous of such a cute creature, but I’d give just about anything to have Everleigh stroke my neck—and other body parts.
Knock it the fuck off, Knight.
Birdie hums at Everleigh in approval before nudging my hand for more pellets. The dirty unicorn horn pokes me in the shoulder until I relent.
“Hand me the leash,” I say.
“I can lead her out,” Everleigh insists.
“You’re not strutting outside in your underwear, James.”
“I’m not showing anything,” she argues.
“I can handle Birdie.”
“Worried the little old ladies of Emerald Creek will think you were here for a bootie call, Sheriff?” Everleigh teases, purposely fluttering her eyelashes at me.
It’s just playful banter—something that’s always come naturally to us.
But every once in a while, like right now, it feels like maybe it could be a little bit more.
As though the idea of inviting me inside has crossed her mind too.
I don’t dare fucking entertain that thought much less hope for it, though.
Everleigh James has never given me any reason to think she’d be interested in more.
In fact, I’ve never been friend-zoned for so hard by another woman as I have with her.
So, I shove the fleeting fantasy deep down with all the rest and feed Birdie more pellets.
I need to focus on getting the alpaca loaded up and Everleigh back inside where no one else can see her half-naked body.
“Fine,” Everleigh finally relents, placing the leash in my open palm. Her fingertips brush my skin, sending instant jolts of electricity straight up my arm. “But I’m only caving to save your precious reputation. Wouldn’t want a scandal so close to your reelection now, would we?”
Her teasing will be the fucking death of me. I want to tell her how big a scandal the two of us could really make in this town. But I swallow the urge as I have so many times before and instead focus on the task at hand.
“She’s in good hands, Ev,” I promise, leading Birdie away with another handful of pellets. Thankfully the alpaca doesn’t seem to mind being parted from her new friend and comes with me easily enough.
“Where are you taking her?” Everleigh calls from the garage as I open the back door of my truck and toss in a few alfalfa pellets on the hard seat.
I’m not equipped to haul her in the bed of my truck.
I won’t risk Birdie getting hurt during an escape attempt before we get to Stone Ranch.
Considering she managed to find her way back to Emerald Creek on her own, the alpaca is obviously resourceful.
Birdie hops in, as though she’s always ridden in the back seat. Hell, knowing Walter, maybe she has.
“Go back inside,” I call back to Everleigh, exasperated as hell with the stubborn woman.
She could give a man a heart attack if he caught an unsuspecting glimpse of her in that state.
She’s not just sexy in her pink pajama set, she’s heart-stoppingly beautiful.
Something I suspect she doesn’t seem to know about herself.
Fuck, if only things were different, I’d tell her every day.
“Is she going to be okay?” Everleigh calls back to me.
Ignoring her question in hopes she’ll give up and go back inside before the approaching car gets too close, I pull my phone from my back pocket.
With arms folded over her chest, she stubbornly stares at me for several long seconds before finally throwing her hands up and marching back inside.
Just in time for Todd Bowler to drive down Ponderosa Lane.
I send my former history teacher a wave and silently thank the fucking gods he didn’t catch a glimpse of Everleigh in her near naked state of undress.
He might’ve crashed into a mailbox if he did.
It’s not rational to feel that the only person who should see her that way is me.
She doesn’t belong to me.
She could.
I shake the too-frequent thought away, searching for my sister’s number and hitting the call button, hoping she answers.