Wyatt feeds kindling into the fire for a few more minutes before placing a few larger logs in. Satisfied, he finally rolls back on his knees and assesses his handiwork.
He looks softer in the firelight. Still strong and gruff, of course, but this is a different side of him, too. A side I caught a glimpse of the other day, too. Caring and nurturing.
He straightens and glances back. “You want something to warm you up?”
I swallow hard and nod. “Please.”
Without another word, he disappears into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two cut crystal glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He pours a little in each and hands me one.
“I don’t usually drink much,” I admit.
“Just take a few sips,” he says. “Go easy.”
I do as he says. The first taste burns when it hits my lips. Smokey, yet sweet. And strong. I cough. My eyes are watering as I choke it down.
Wyatt laughs. It’s a quiet, low sound that at once I decide is my new favorite thing.
“It’s so strong,” I say when I trust myself to speak again.
“That’s kind of the point.”
He joins me on the couch and soon we fall into comfortable silence. Outside, the storm hasn’t let up, but in the living room of the old ranch house, it’s cozy and warm. I take another sip of the whiskey and can feel myself relax a little.
It’s been an exciting night. The birth of an animal always is. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the adrenaline that flows through my body every time a new life comes into the world. My body isstill buzzing from it, but now, I can’t help but think I’m buzzing for another reason, too.
We’re close. His leg is almost touching the quilt I have wrapped around me, his glass of whiskey casually resting on his thigh between sips.
“So,” I say after a bit, mostly to keep myself from staring at him too long. But also, because I’m filled with a sudden desire to know more about this grouchy cowboy with a surprising tender side. “Why come back to Rock Creek after all this time? From what I understand, it’s been quite a while.”
He takes his time before answering, breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly before he finally says, “You didn’t learn that information from the gossips in town?”
“I’ve heard some things,” I admit. “But I’m not much for gossip. I’d rather hear it from you.”
He turns toward me, one brow twitching up as if he’s trying to decide how much to say.
He takes another sip of his whiskey before leaning back against the couch. “This place is home,” he says carefully. “At least it used to be a long time ago.”
I stay quiet, certain he’s not done.
“Growing up, Rock Creek Ranch was a very different place. Full of life and adventure. My brothers and I had the best childhood here. Mama was…” his voice catches, but only momentarily. “She loved her horses. Sometimes we used to tease her that she loved them more than us,” he adds with a soft chuckle. “But that was never true. She took a lot of pride in them, though. And with good reason. Her horses were known as some of the best in the west. She built her breeding program from the ground up. It was widely respected, and she had a wait list that was years long for her fillies. It was pretty incredible.”
When he doesn’t add more, I ask, “What happened?”
Wyatt lifts his glass to his lips, takes a long drink and simply says, “She died.”
I knew that already, but to hear it from his lips so matter-of-factly stops me.
“She got sick,” he continues. “Cancer probably, although she didn’t go to the doctor until it was too late.”
“Oh.”
“She used to say it wouldn’t have mattered. But we’ll never know.”
I slip my hand from under the quilt and set it on his leg. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. That’s awful.”
If he notices my hand, he doesn’t mention it. But he doesn’t pull away either.
“What’s really awful is the way this place has fallen apart since then. My father changed overnight. He turned into a horrible, violent man. I tried to protect my brothers from it. They were just boys. We all were. It was as if when she died, part of him died, too.”
