“And that would be?” Wes motions with a cupped hand that bounces through the air like a rock skipping the water’s surface.
“My underwear.”
Jo, Dakota, and Andrea gasp. Wes’s eyebrows scrunch together, and I know he’s already trying to work out who the hell took them. Derrick’s head shakes, and he shares acan you believe that?look with Andrea.
Wes adjusts the way he’s sitting in his chair, threads an arm over Dakota’s shoulders, and asks Wyatt, “Do I want to know how you retrieved those?” He sounds proud, which isn’t surprising. Protecting people is a cornerstone of Wes’s personality.
Wyatt leans back in his chair. I can’t see it, but I’d imagine the front two chair legs are off the ground. “Probably not.” Wyatt looks at Tenley. “Let’s just say that from now on, you shouldn’t have any reason to hide out on the ranch. Nobody in Sierra Grande is going to fuck with you.”
“Thank you,” Tenley says quietly to Wyatt. She melts back into her seat, the box placed in front of her like it could be the next course. She sips her wine. Leaning over, I capture Tenley’s hand under the table. Her fingers flutter at my touch. She is warm, her skin buttery soft.
My fingertip traces the top of her hand. Topples off her thumb as it passes by. Glides across the spot where it landed. Her thigh. Her muscles constrict. She turns to me.
“Do friends do this, Warner?” The question rides on the low side of a whisper, and if I weren’t watching her lips move, I may not have heard it at all.
“Some do sometimes, others not at all.”
Her lips press together as she holds in a laugh. “You’re confusing.”
My finger circles her knee. “I know.”
Her head tips, and the light from the flickering candle dances in her eyes. “What do you want, Warner?” I like the way she says it. Quiet and strong, she’s holding me to my words. Making me answer for the way I’m touching her.
My response comes from deep within, rumbling against my chest, my lips and tongue shaping around each letter. “You.”
Tenley holds my gaze. Says nothing. Across the table, Jo laughs. Glasses are lifted and set down. Tines of forks scrape across plates.
Tenley breaks first. She looks away, rejoining the conversation as if she were never absent. They are talking about Andrea and Derrick’s weekly front yard happy hour, how the concept has grown and made people feel closer to their neighbors. The words float around me like fog. I’m having a hard time concentrating, until Andrea speaks to Wyatt.
“Wyatt, I want to know something.” Her voice is heavy from more than enough wine. She leans her forearms on the table and looks at him.
Wyatt lifts his eyebrows and his chin at the same time, waiting.
“A little bird told me your truck was seen leaving Sara Schultz’s house early in the morning last week.” Andrea makes a pointed face. “And that her husband was out of town.”
Derrick sighs irritably and puts his hand on Andrea’s shoulder, pulling her back to upright. He says something in her ear and she frowns.
The reactions around the table are varied. Wyatt’s face has turned to stone, his cheekbones taut, waiting for someone to speak out against his behavior. Wes pinches the bridge of his nose. Jo looks away, to a wall bare of anything interesting, and Dakota keeps her eyes on Wyatt, her gaze soft and curious. Of all people, Dakota is the most open to understanding other people’s choices.
Tenley looks up at me.Awkward,she mouths. I nod.
Taking Tenley’s hand, I stand up and pull her up with me. “On that note, we’re going to take off.” I clap both my brothers on the back and stop at Dakota. “Thank you for tonight.” Tenley leans down, wraps Dakota in a hug, and says something in her ear. I take a few hundred dollars from my wallet and drop them into the purse hanging from Dakota’s chair. She’d never accept the money outright.
We walk away, and behind me I hear Andrea apologizing to Wyatt, who I’m certain doesn’t want to hear it.
I open the truck door for Tenley and wait for her to climb in. She pauses in the seat, the seat belt stretched midair in her hands, and says, “And here I was thinking a small town couldn’t possibly hold as much drama as LA.”
“Believe me, Tenley,” My fingers tighten around the door as I move to close it. “This place holds plenty.”
19
Warner
Tenley’sentire frame is relaxed. I don’t think she’s asleep, but it’s hard to tell in the dark cab of my truck.
The sky is navy blue, and the moonlight slices through the pines and into my windshield at haphazard angles. I pull up to Wyatt’s, cut the engine, and take a few long seconds to look at her. Her hair frames her face, and her dress has ridden up her thighs. Her eyes are closed, so maybe she is asleep.
I shift in my seat, open my door, and the movement stirs her. She glances around the cab of the truck, mildly confused, then realizes where she is.
