"I'd be lying if I said I'm not uncomfortable about you racing to help her. Or why she calls you instead of her brother, or her dad." She has both, and they don't live that far away.
"I know." Wyatt looks contrite. "I'm sorry. I really just need you to trust me on this one."
"I'm choosing to."
"Thank you."
I smile my acceptance. Sleep is coming back, and quick.
"My dad asked me to run an errand with him in the morning, but I'll come by Wildflower after." He winks. "Put me to work."
"Only if you wear that tool belt." The words sound like they're swimming through fudge.
"I only wore that in the very beginning. Are you telling me you liked it way back then?"
"So?"
"You were someone else's girlfriend, remember?"
"Maybe I have a little outlaw in me too."
Wyatt laughs. "Go to sleep."
"Good night." I make a kissing sound.
"Love you, baby."
His words are a poor excuse compared to the feel of his arms wrapped around me, but they'll suffice for now. "Love you too."
I fall asleep before I say goodbye.
27
Wyatt
I can't rememberthe last time I found myself alone in a truck with my dad.
He asked me to go with him to the feed store, and even though we're on the outs, my dad isn't a person who does well with being told no.
So, here I am, bumping along in his truck and wondering why the hell he decided to go the back way.
We haven't had words since, well, probably as long as we've been alone in a truck together. We dance along the edges of an argument, tossing around passive-aggressive comments but neither of us engaging. Until a few nights ago, and only because he's worried about whatever drought is happening on the back end of our property. He wants me to care about the HCC enough to help Wes run it. I want to know why the hell I should.
Wes has cared about the ranch since the day he was born. The soil is in his blood. Warner served his time out of a sense of obligation, and a much lesser love of our land.
And me? I love our land. I think that's what my dad's missing out of all this. He fears I don't appreciate what's been handed down to me by way of last name. He doesn't understand that I can pick up a handful of her soil and feel the hooves of the horses that have pressed their weight upon her. My soul is attached to the HCC the way anyone else's is. Mine just doesn't wear the same costume, and therefore, to him, we're not performing in the same play.
Love out loud, and love internal, is still love. It's strength, no less fierce. It's voice, no less heard.
"How are things with Jo?"
I flinch at the suddenness of his question. Idle chatter is not something he normally partakes in.
"Things are good, Dad." I prop an elbow on the car door and scratch an itch near my temple. "Really good, actually."
Dad nods. "I like her, for what it's worth. She's quiet, but she has a backbone."
"She doesn't let anybody give her shit, that's for sure."
