We sit there for several minutes, our breaths in sync, the occasional neighs from the horses breaking up the silence.
He suddenly drawls, "Why are you still here, Willow?"
I reply in a soft tone, "I don't know."
He raises a brow at me. "You don't know?"
Heat fills my cheeks, and the funny feeling I had a few moments ago returns. I bite my lip and shrug. "I guess I just don't want you to be alone right now."
Something flickers in his expression, but then he gruffly states, "I may be bloody, but I'm not a wimp, Willow."
"I didn't say you were."
His look intensifies, and every nerve in my body braces for something. What, I don't know, but I hold my breath.
The meal bell rings, and Paisley shouts, "Dinner!"
Wyatt winces, rising off the bale, and puts on his cowboy hat. Without turning around, he mumbles, "Dinnertime," and leaves me in the barn, full of uncomfortable feelings and unanswered questions.
6
Wyatt – Age 18
One Week Later
Sun bakes into the barn's rafters, causing the early summer heat wave to ripple off the hay in smokelike curls.
I can't handle this furnace anymore.
I peel my T-shirt over my head, bunch it up, and swipe it over my neck and torso to absorb my sweat.
It's pointless. The shirt is already soaked, so I toss it to the ground. I dump another few hay bales down the chute, climb the ladder, and turn.
Willow barrels into me with no warning. Her hands smack my chest, and her blues snap up to mine like I just caught her red-handed.
"Whoa— Willow?" My hands grip her arms before she topples backward. "You all right?"
Her lips part, and a flush crawls into her cheeks. "Um..."
My brow furrows. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," she blurts. Her gaze drifts to my chest, then the loft, and back to my chest. She mumbles, "I'm great. Totally great."
"You sure?" I question, peering at her closer. Willow's been acting strange the last week, but I blame myself for our awkwardness.
"Yep," she insists.
I slowly release her.
She takes a giant step back. Then her gaze covers the same circuit as before.
"Why are you acting like a mouse who just got caught in a trap?" I tease.
Her cheeks redden further. "I'm not."
"You are," I taunt.
She shakes her head. "I'm not."
