Chapter 30
Thirty
Tessa
Wyatt hadn’t touched me in the night. Not when I hovered too close. Not when the tension crackled so tight it made my teeth ache. Not even when I finally rolled away and pretended I didn’t care.
Outside, the ranch was already awake. I could hear a truck door slam. Boots on gravel. The wind ticked the loose clapboard on the porch. Life carried on like it always did. Like nothing in my life tilted on its axis the night before.
Colin had been here.
Wyatt had stayed.
And still, he left space between us that might as well have been a canyon.
I pushed out of bed and dressed quickly. Jeans, a faded long-sleeve, and my boots. I did not give myself time to think about how humiliating it felt to want someone who decided restraint was more powerful than hunger.
When I stepped into the kitchen, Wyatt was already there. Coffee poured. Jaw tight. Shoulders rigid. Every inch of him locked back into control like nothing happened at all.
“I’m taking you to my house until we figure out what that fucker wants.”
My spine stiffened. “I’m not running from home.”
“You will for a couple days.”
“I’m not a child, Wyatt.”
“No,” he said flatly. “You’re a woman an unstable man thinks he owns.” His gaze lifted, sharp now. Protective steel running right beside the cold. “You don’t stay alone out here until I’m sure he’s done circling.”
“Circling. Like I’m livestock.”
“You’re not livestock. You’re a target.”
The truth of it sat ugly and undeniable between us.
I hated that he was right.
“Pack a bag, Maddy’s already waiting to show you around.” The sting eased just a fraction at that. Maddy. Some part of the tight knot in my chest loosened at the thought of her.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I know. You’re getting one anyway.”
I almost laughed at the phrasing. At the irony of Wyatt Hargrove volunteering himself as my guard while actively pretending we had not almost torn each other apart the night before.
I went back to the bedroom and threw clothes into a bag with more force than necessary.
When I came back out, he took it from me without comment. Our fingers brushed. The contact sparked hard and immediately. He did not pull away, but the control was still there. Tight. Unrelenting.
The drive to his place was silent.
His truck ate up the gravel road with steady confidence. The land rolled wide and green around us, barley fields stretching toward the foothills in the distance. His land. My land. The invisible battle line ran right through the windshield.
His house sat on a low rise overlooking the brewery buildings and the long sweep of fields beyond. It was solid and plain and utterly Wyatt. Stone. Wood. Big windows that let the light in, whether you wanted it or not.
Maddy was on the front step when we pulled up, boots on, backpack at her feet, earbuds hanging around her neck. She spotted the truck and her face lit up in a grin that went straight through my chest.
“Dad.”
She ran down the steps and launched herself at him. He caught her easily, arms wrapping tight, his entire posture changing in an instant. The edge drained out of him when he held her. This was the man beneath the armour.
I stood awkwardly to the side, suddenly aware of how strange my presence must look.
Maddy’s gaze flicked to me. Her eyes sharpened with recognition.
“I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve got so much for us to do.
Yeah, I know you have to work, but there’s still lots of days when you’re not at work.
And we can gang up on Dad.” Maddy talked a mile a minute, and I wasn’t sure I caught everything.
Wyatt muttered something under his breath as he took my bag inside.
The ease of her presence melted something in me. The fear retreated a step. I followed them in, feeling for the first time since last night that I could breathe without flinching.
The house smelled like coffee and clean wood and something faintly citrus. Maddy immediately launched into a story about a horse at the barn where she rides in Calgary.
The day flew by, and I settled in as well as I could. Clouds built over the horizon, and the wind picked up. The air smelled like turned earth, and it was a sure sign a storm was coming.
The first crack of thunder rumbled across the prairie when I was halfway to the barn, and I picked up my pace, my boots splashing through puddles that hadn't been there ten minutes ago.
The horses would be fine. They weathered storms worse than this. But something in me needed to check anyway, needed to make sure the barn doors were secure, and the stalls were dry, and everyone was settled.
I pulled open the barn door and stepped inside, shaking water from my hair.
"Jesus," I muttered, looking down at my soaked shirt.
"You too, huh?"
I jumped, my hand flying to my chest as I spun around.
Wyatt stood near the tack room, looking just as wet as I felt. His shirt clung to his shoulders, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and he was holding a hammer like he'd been in the middle of something when the rain hit.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"Making sure everything's locked down tight before the real storm hits." He gestured toward the loft. "Had to secure that loose panel up there. Didn't want it ripping off in the wind."
"I was just coming to check on the horses."
"They're good. Fed and settled." He set down the hammer. "Are you planning on running back to the house?"
As if on cue, the sky opened up completely. Rain hammered against the barn roof like machine-gun fire, and through the open door I could see sheets of water coming down so thick I could barely make out the house.
"Guess not," I said.
Wyatt walked over and pulled the barn door shut, latching it against the wind. The sudden dimness made the space feel smaller, more intimate. The only light came from the single bulb hanging near the tack room and the occasional flash of lightning through the windows.
"Could be a while," Wyatt said, leaning back against the door. "The weather report said this system's moving slowly."
"Great." I wrapped my arms around myself. My wet shirt was starting to make me cold.
Wyatt's eyes tracked the movement, then quickly looked away. "There's a blanket in the tack room if you want it."
"I'm fine."
"You're shivering."
"I said I'm fine."
He held up his hands in surrender. "Okay."
We stood there in awkward silence, the rain pounding overhead, and I became acutely aware that we were alone. Just us and a storm that showed no signs of stopping.
"So," Wyatt said eventually. "What do you want to do while we wait this out?"
I looked around the barn. "Not a lot of options."
"We could talk."
"About what?"
"I don't know." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "The weather?"
I snorted. "Thrilling."
"You got a better idea?"
I didn't. At least not one I was willing to voice out loud. Because the ideas I was having involved significantly less talking and significantly more of what we'd done the last time we were alone together.
That kiss had been a mistake. A spectacular, toe-curling, can't-stop-thinking-about-it mistake that I replayed in my head every night since.
Wyatt was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read, and I had the uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone.
"Cards," he said abruptly.
I blinked. "What?"
"There's a deck of cards in the tack room. The guys keep them for when they’re stuck out here for foaling or a sick horse.” He was already moving toward the small room. “We could play cards."
"Sure," I said slowly.
I found the cards on the shelf, next to a bottle of whiskey that was probably older than I was. I grabbed both.
"What game?"
The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Strip poker."
I froze, the bottle halfway to the overturned crate I'd been planning to use as a table. "What?"
"You heard me." He was leaning against the doorframe now, arms crossed, looking far too smug. "Strip poker. Makes it more interesting."
"That's ridiculous,” I stopped, because calling it a bad idea would be stating the obvious. "We're not teenagers."
"No. We're two adults stuck in a barn during a storm with nothing else to do. And I'm bored."
"You want to play strip poker because you're bored."
"I want to play strip poker because watching you try to keep a poker face while you're thinking about our kiss will be the most entertainment I've had all week."
I stared at him, my heart hammering. This was a terrible idea. This was reckless and stupid and exactly the kind of thing that would complicate everything we'd been trying to keep simple.
"Fine," I heard myself say.
Wyatt's eyebrows rose. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I set the bottle down with more force than necessary. "But we're drinking too. If I'm doing this, I'm doing it with whiskey."
His grin was slow and devastating. "Deal."
“Are you ready to lay them down?” Wyatt asked, that damn smirk on his face had me shifting in my seat. But I wasn’t going to let him know that he had any effect on me.
I glanced at my cards. At least I had enough clothes on if he was going to beat me this round.
I set my hand face up on the table. “Pair of tens.”
He let out a low whistle through his teeth. “And to think, your poker face made me think you had me for a minute there.
He set his hand down, a pair of Jacks.
“What are you taking off first?” he asked, leaning back as he picked up our cards, shuffling them between his hands.
“You’re lucky my feet have been killing me all day,” I grumbled, kicking off my boots.
He didn’t say anything as he dealt out the cards.
Another weak deal, and there was no way I could bluff.
Especially after losing another three hands and taking off my jacket, socks, and hat.
“I think you’re cheating,” I grumbled, picking up the latest cards he dealt.
“I’d never cheat. Besides, if I wanted you naked, I don’t think it would take a game of cards to do it.”
I scoffed, waiting for his smirk or a laugh, but his eyes were heated as he looked at me across the table.