Chapter 9 #2
Jeanine was telling me how Ray once fixed her fence for free. Todd was recounting a story from eight years ago that I wasn’t even here for. Marla reorganized my entire spice cabinet in under two minutes.
The house felt crowded with strangers, ghosts, pity, and grief that wasn’t theirs to share. I needed out.
Now.
I wove through the crowd, ignoring the “sweethearts” and “poor things” and “we’re all here for you” voices clinging to me like static. The back door was ten feet away. Ten feet to freedom.
I grabbed the doorknob, but it clicked before I could turn it.
The door swung inward, and Wyatt filled the frame.
Cowboy hat low. Shoulders squared. Eyes sharp.
But something in his face shifted when he saw the cluster of people behind me.
A tightening of the jaw. A narrowing of his gaze.
A silent What in the hell? I thought to myself as his gaze flicked down to me.
His eyes scanned my face, quick but thorough, taking in my pinched expression, my too-tight posture, the exhaustion hanging off me like a second skin.
For a beat, we just stood there in the doorway.
Close enough for the air between us to hum, close enough to feel the tension radiating off both our bodies.
Behind me, I could hear Jeanine gearing up for another condolence monologue. Wyatt’s eyes flicked toward the sound. His jaw flexed once. Then he stepped inside.
A large, warm palm wrapped around my elbow, gentle but firm, and he pulled me to his side with a movement so smooth it stole my breath.
I should have yanked away or slapped his hand off me. I should have done anything except I didn’t, I let him shift me to stand next to him.
And for the first time since the crowd arrived, I felt the faintest sense of air reaching my lungs.
The kitchen went quiet in stages, and voices petered out. People finally realized that something shifted.
Then Marla spoke, blinking rapidly. “Oh! Wyatt, dear, we didn’t realize you were—”
“We’re done here,” Wyatt said, his tone wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t loud. But it carried across the kitchen. He released my elbow and stepped forward slightly, shoulders set like he’d just taken control of a barn full of wayward cattle.
“Folks,” he said, nodding respectfully to the group, “I know you mean well. And Tess appreciates your concern.”
I blinked. He’d called me Tess, and he said it without hesitation, as if he belonged here.
My stomach did a weird, traitorous flip.
“But this isn’t helping her,” he continued. “This house is full. And she needs a little space.”
Todd cleared his throat. “We were just dropping food off.”
“And you did,” Wyatt said, calm but immovable. “Thank you, all of you. But it’s time to give her some breathing room.”
Jeanine’s lips pursed. “We didn’t mean to overwhelm her.” Everyone was talking as if I wasn’t even in the room.
“You didn’t,” Wyatt said. “But you all need to head out now.”
A murmur rippled through the group. Offended. Confused. Uncertain who he thought he was. My heart pounded in my chest. I was supposed to tell him to back off, tell him he didn’t get to speak for me.
But I didn’t.
The truth settled like a stone in my chest. I wanted them out. And I didn’t have the strength to do it alone.
Wyatt’s presence filled the room, not loud, not aggressive. Just steady. Anchored. Like the only solid thing in a storm.
Marla stepped closer, frowning. “Well, if she needs anything, we’re right up the road.”
Wyatt’s gaze flicked to me, asking without asking.
I nodded once.
He turned back to Marla. “She knows.”
That was enough.
Slowly, grumbling, fussing, patting my arm too many times, people began drifting out, gathering their purses, their jackets, their condolences.
Todd placed a hand on my shoulder. “Call if you need an extra set of hands. Your uncle was a good man. You think about what you need. Don’t let anyone rush you.” His eyes cut pointedly to Wyatt.
“I will,” I whispered, not trusting my voice to say more. Then he left, and Wyatt closed the door behind him. The house went still.
Wyatt exhaled. He glanced at the mountain of casseroles covering every surface. “They know how to feed a person.”
I stared at him, but he didn’t smile. Not really. But something warm flickered in the corner of his mouth.
I swallowed. My throat felt raw. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said quietly.
He shrugged lightly. “Seemed like you needed it.”
“I could’ve handled it.”
“No,” he said, gentle but honest. “You couldn’t.” He took a step closer, but not too close. Just near enough, I could feel the warmth coming off him. “Tess—” he began.
“Don’t,” I said, too quickly. “Don’t call me that.”
His jaw twitched. “Alright.”
Silence stretched between us. Not hostile. Not warm either. Just charged.
He gestured toward the table. “You should sit.”
“I’ve been sitting.”
“You should sit again.”
My chest clenched. “Stop telling me what to do.”
“Then sit because you want to. You’re about to fall over.”
I sank into the chair while Wyatt stayed standing. Solid. Unmoving. Hands braced against the back of the chair across from me, shoulders broad enough to block out half the kitchen light.
“You don’t have to be strong every second,” he said quietly.
My throat closed around the denial.
He watched me, not pitying, not pushing. Just watching. Like he was sorting through a dozen things he wanted to say but was waiting to see which ones wouldn’t break me.
“You should eat something,” he murmured.
I huffed. “You sound like Dani.”
“I’ve been compared to worse.” Wyatt shifted, leaning one hip against the counter. “They’ll come back,” he said. “The town. That’s what they do, they care. Too much sometimes.”
“I noticed.”
“But it’ll slow down. You’ll get your space.”
Outside, cattle bellowed in the distance. A raven cawed from the roof. The house creaked as it warmed under the rising sun.
“Thank you,” I said, barely audible.
He nodded once. “You’re welcome. I’ll check the fences.”
My voice trembled. “Do whatever you want.”
He tipped his hat in a small, subtle motion that landed like a punch in my chest. Then he stepped back outside, pulling the door shut behind him. And for the first time since setting foot back on Callahan land, I exhaled without shaking.