Chapter 6
Wyatt
“You’re home early,” Flynn says from my living room couch.
His feet are stretched out on the reclining footrest. Thor’s massive body swallows the rest of the couch, his giant head resting across the blanket spread over my brother’s lap.
The lug looks up at me, acknowledging my presence, but he doesn’t move. He loves his Uncle Flynn.
It’s such a strange sight to see my brother acting so…normal. During the few times he’s actually in town in any given year, he’s usually out on it. Sitting still is not really his thing.
“Got an early morning.” My gaze flicks to the TV.
The classic movie Twister plays on the screen, making me instantly think of Everleigh.
Not The Cow’s Moo whose interior design was inspired by the movie.
Not the giant crush I had on Helen Hunt as a teenager.
But Everleigh backing out of her closet looking for some earring—which is bullshit because she doesn’t wear earrings—and popping that ass against me as she rolled back up to standing in some unintentional yoga move.
“Too early to watch the rest of the movie with your favorite brother?” Flynn asks, nodding at the TV.
“You’re my only brother.”
“Which is why I’ll always be your favorite,” he says, flashing me a purposely cheesy grin that takes me back to our childhood.
My bones fucking ache with fatigue, but I know sleep will be nearly impossible with that image of Everleigh’s ass playing on repeat.
Fuck, I could see the lace edges of her panties through the thin fabric of her leggings.
Her cherry blossom scent still lingers on my shirt from her leaning back against me, tilting her head as though she wanted me to kiss her neck.
The sooner I get my ass in the shower, the sooner I can find some relief.
Even if it’s only temporary. But I need to ask Flynn a favor first, so my throbbing cock will have to suffer a little longer.
“Give me a minute.”
“There’s spaghetti in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Flynn calls after me as I head toward the hall closet to put away my gun belt and Stetson.
“Who taught you how to cook?” I rib him.
“You, you jackass,” Flynn fires right back.
Considering our parents were either working or avoiding each other by the time Flynn turned eleven, I took over most of the chores concerning my siblings. I vaguely remember my little brother begging me to teach him how to cook macaroni and cheese, as though I was hogging all the knowledge.
But like most things, his interest in cooking waned within weeks.
“I already ate,” I say, returning to the living room and dropping into the recliner. “Macy brought pizza over to Everleigh’s.”
Flynn nods, his focus on the movie as he absently strokes Thor’s neck.
We watch the familiar drive-in movie theater scene in silence. I must’ve watched this movie a hundred times over the years, mostly on account of Helen Hunt. Now, it feels more like research. As though the movie itself might hold some clue about the past Everleigh refuses to talk about.
I’ve waited months for her to let her guard down. But ever since that night a year ago when I pulled her over for a burned-out taillight and found her sobbing behind the steering wheel, she clams up any time I come too close to uncovering the truth.
The memory of Everleigh James so broken still keeps me up at night.
She was a wreck when I found her and adamantly opposed to waking her grandma up in the middle of the night.
“I can’t let her see me like this,” she’d pleaded.
So, I invited her to stay with me. I held her while she cried, not asking questions despite the dozens I had.
I tucked her into my bed, but before I could make it to the door, she begged me to stay with her.
I held her in my arms until she fell asleep.
Fuck, it’s possible I fell in love with her then.
When morning came, the vulnerability from the night before was gone, and in its place was a wall made of solid steel. She begged me not to say anything to Jean or Macy or anyone.
So, I never told a soul.
I made a silent vow to keep an eye on her. To be there whenever she needed anything, and over time, we became friends. Good friends. Best friends.
I’ve been assuming some asshole broke her heart. I’ve spent more hours than I care to admit trying to figure out who he is so I can do something about it. What? Hell, I don’t know. Hard to protect Everleigh from behind jail bars. I figure I’ll cross that bridge if or when I get there.
I stare at the TV as the drive-in movie theater is ripped to shreds. Something about it feels important.
Until a few weeks ago, I didn’t have any clues about Everleigh’s past. She never talks about her crew or old boyfriends or anyone who knows her from her old life. When I carried her into her apartment after a night out with my sister, I spotted the photographs spread across her coffee table.
From what my sister’s told me, Everleigh was part of a storm chasing crew based out of Oklahoma.
According to the group’s old Facebook posts, she was their photographer.
She not only captured footage—still and video alike—of the storms, but of the aftermath.
Many of them are still posted on that page.
That’s what was spread across her coffee table that night—destruction.
“Did you know that Montana only gets two tornados a year on average?” Flynn asks, tugging me from my thoughts.
“If we get any.”
Montana’s about the safest place a storm chaser could hide from their former life. What if it’s not someone she ran from, but something?
“I don’t think I want to see one,” Flynn says, shaking his head.
“Fires are destructive, but at least we have a fighting chance. Fire can be extinguished. But a tornado? All you can do is fucking take cover and hope you survive it. There’re no evacuation warning hours or days in advance.
Just a siren minutes before your fucking house might be lifted off its foundation. Could you imagine seeing an F5?”
“I’ll pass.”
Is that what Everleigh’s been running from? Did she encounter an EF4 or EF5 and it rattled her? Did she lose someone important to her? I make a mental note to research storms from that timeframe last summer for clues. After I sort out this whole thing with Walter Smalley, that is.
“Hey, you busy tomorrow?” I ask Flynn when the loud movie storm subsides and the living room grows quiet once more.
“You need me to watch Thor again?” he asks.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Thor’s never too much trouble, are you buddy?
” Flynn scrubs both hands over Thor’s giant face.
Flynn would have a pack of dogs if he had the ability to stay in one place.
But dogs and fighting forest fires all over the country don’t exactly go hand in hand.
So, my brother gets his fill with Thor whenever he’s in town.
The pup’s tail thumps against the couch as he looks up my brother with the most pathetic, adoring puppy dog eyes known to man.
“I might be gone most of the day,” I add.
“Helping Everleigh again?”
“Headed to Springdale, actually.”
“Springdale?”
“Apparently Walter Smalley’s in the nursing home there. I want to see for myself.”
“The alpaca guy?”
“Yeah.”
“You know those old folks like to sleep in, right? You leave too early, you’ll just be waiting around for Walter to wake up.”
“I have to head to Stone Ranch first.”
“You bringing the alpaca with you or something?”
Though the thought has crossed my mind, I haven’t decided if it’s worth the risk. If Walter’s grandson happens to be visiting at the same time, things might get a little complicated. I can’t risk Birdie’s safety until I have more information.
“Everleigh has to take some pictures for the ranch before we head out, and I need to chat with Ryder.”
“You’re sure spending a lot of time with Everleigh James. Something I should know?”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you’re going to get married, just plan it around fire season. I’d hate to miss the wedding.”
“You’d hate to miss a chance to get laid.”
Flynn smacks a hand to his chest. “You wound me, brother.”
I shake my head at his poor attempt at an English accent. “Have you been watching Bridgerton again?”
“Do you have any idea how quickly panties come off when I can quote one of those Bridgerton brothers?”
The word panties brings me right back to Everleigh’s perfect ass headed for my cock and the lace edge pattern straining against her leggings.
I’d give a kidney to know what color they were.
Red? That would suit her bold, unapologetic personality.
Or maybe pink? Despite her rough and tough side, she has a softer girly side too.
Or maybe they’re black, hinting at a wild she-wolf persona she only unleashes at night.
“I’m going to bed,” I say, pushing out of my recliner before my boner becomes any more obvious. My dog doesn’t budge, letting me know where his allegiance lies tonight. “I guess I know where you’re sleeping,” I say to my dog at the open doorway.
“He likes me better.”
“Just remember who cleaned up your pancake puke,” I say to Thor.
The pup just stares at me, refusing to so much as lift his head from Flynn’s lap.
Just as well he sleeps with Flynn so I have some much needed privacy. The second I close the bedroom door, I yank down my zipper and free my cock from my boxers. I press one hand against the wall as the other strokes my length.
Now that I’m finally alone, the dam holding back all wicked thoughts of Everleigh breaks.
I revisit the memory of her flirting with me in her kitchen yesterday, where she called me sexy.
I stroke a little faster, biting back a groan.
It’s so easy to picture her in those skimpy shorts that were definitely panties. Does she sleep in them?
I jerk harder.
I picture the way her baby blues turned a shade darker as we stood at the garage door less than an hour ago. She was definitely staring at my lips like she wanted to taste them. Was she wet with want as she stood there, gripping the door frame with both hands?
Pressure builds in my cock, a warning that I’m close.
It’s the image of those fucking nipples poking through a thin pink shirt that does me in.
Cum shoots from my cock, the sensation nearly knocking me on my ass. I clamp my lips shut, swallowing the groans as my knees threaten to buckle. It’s only my palm flat on the wall that keeps me upright.
I feel relief at last, although I know it’ll be short-lived. That’s how it’s been for almost a year now. Only when I someday drain this cock inside Everleigh’s sweet pussy to claim her for my own will I ever truly find relief. And maybe, not even then.