"I don't know what you're talking about." Carson's voice wavers.
"You sure do," Wyatt says evenly, removing the cash needed to pay for our transaction. "But if me telling Maia is what's needed to jog your memory, then—"
"No, no," Carson hurries. He looks down at his hands. "I'll take care of it."
"Good. Thanks, bud." Wyatt grins affably and grabs our things from the counter. "No need for a bag."
I follow Wyatt to the door, which he holds open for me. I'm in a daze, trying to fit together the pieces of everything that just happened.
Automatically my hand dips into my purse for my sunglasses, but before my fingers find them I realize I don't need them. The sky has changed from sunny to cloudy while we were in the Merc, and in the distance, dark clouds gather.
Wyatt looks out. "Thunderstorm headed our way." He pulls his phone from his pocket and checks his weather app. "Yep," he says, confirming what was already obvious.
"You needed an app to tell you about the weather you can see with your own two eyes?" I tease.
He squints playfully. "You got jokes, Miss Shelton."
"I got jokes for days," I answer, doing a saucy headshake. Wyatt laughs. We come up to the little corner store that houses a surprisingly good selection of wine. "I'm going to duck in here and grab our champagne."
"I got it." Wyatt starts for the door, but I stop him with a hand on his arm.
"No, let me. You've been working for free. At least let me buy some bubbly."
"I haven't been working for free," Wyatt argues. He palms his chest, directly above his heart. "I'm repaying my debt to society."
I smile and shove him aside playfully. "I'll be right out."
Inside, I go straight for the champagne. Not prosecco, but the good stuff. The stuff that came from Champagne, France. I don't have a lot of money to spare, but I'm celebrating. I cleared a hurdle I didn't know was a hurdle until someone told me it was a hurdle. The thought makes my brain hurt, and so does thinking about all the hurdles I've yet to clear.
I select a bottle and move toward the register. Two women stand in front of me in line. I don't recognize them, but it's not like I know everyone in Sierra Grande, the way Wyatt claims to. It's a small town, but it's notthatsmall. Still, I get the feeling they aren't locals. Or at least, they haven't been for long. For one thing, they both wear designer flip-flops, an impractical choice of shoe. All the dust, paired with the heat and sweat, is going to make a paste between their toes, and anybody who's been here for a while knows this.
They turn around, smiling perfunctorily at me, both of them casting a glance behind me. I see the shimmer of recognition in one woman's eyes, and the lingering look on the other woman. I already know what has captured their interest. There's nothing behind me but bottles of wine, and out the front window stands Wyatt. I don't think it's the wine sending that flush across their cheeks.
"I told you my friend's mother-in-law has lived here her whole life, and she has some stories to tell about him."
I lean closer to hear them better.
"Spill," the friend instructs.
We all move forward one space in line, and neither woman thinks this should stop them from gossiping.
"She said he's been carrying on with his best friend's wife."
A gasp from the other woman. A second glance, right past me, and directly out the front window. No doubt Wyatt is standing there, completely unassuming, probably checking his weather app.
"Do you think he's interested in taking on any more bored housewives?" They laugh quietly, and the second one says, "Save a horse, ride a cowboy."
My eyes roll up to the ceiling. That comment was low-hanging fruit, and I would've bet a hundred bucks one of them was likely to make it before they paid.
They continue. "He'd be the perfect distraction. Barry is so busy with work, he wouldn't even notice. All I need is a cowboy like that to come in, get me off, and ride away on his horse after. I bet he wouldn't even mind. My friend's mother-in-law said he's from a big cattle family around here, but he's the black sheep. He doesn't do much except mooch off the family teat and use the last name to do what he pleases."
"Excuse me?" The women turn around. It takes two full seconds for me to realize it'smewho has spoken. My heart hammers against my breastbone. "The person you're so openly talking about is an actual person, and he doesn't exist to service you or be a source of entertainment."
The brunette smiles like I'm funny. "Are you his sister?"
"His boss, actually."
"Ri-ight." She turns back around, ending the exchange. The person in front of them has finished their transaction and they step up to pay.
