"Making sure everything's locked down tight before the real storm hits." He gestured toward the loft. "Had to secure that loose panel up there. Didn't want it ripping off in the wind."
"I was just coming to check on the horses."
"They're good. Fed and settled." He set down the hammer. "Are you planning on running back to the house?"
As if on cue, the sky opened up completely. Rain hammered against the barn roof like machine-gun fire, and through the open door I could see sheets of water coming down so thick I could barely make out the house.
"Guess not," I said.
Wyatt walked over and pulled the barn door shut, latching it against the wind. The sudden dimness made the space feelsmaller, more intimate. The only light came from the single bulb hanging near the tack room and the occasional flash of lightning through the windows.
"Could be a while," Wyatt said, leaning back against the door. "The weather report said this system's moving slowly."
"Great." I wrapped my arms around myself. My wet shirt was starting to make me cold.
Wyatt's eyes tracked the movement, then quickly looked away. "There's a blanket in the tack room if you want it."
"I'm fine."
"You're shivering."
"I said I'm fine."
He held up his hands in surrender. "Okay."
We stood there in awkward silence, the rain pounding overhead, and I became acutely aware that we were alone. Just us and a storm that showed no signs of stopping.
"So," Wyatt said eventually. "What do you want to do while we wait this out?"
I looked around the barn. "Not a lot of options."
"We could talk."
"About what?"
"I don't know." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "The weather?"
I snorted. "Thrilling."
"You got a better idea?"
I didn't. At least not one I was willing to voice out loud. Because the ideas I was having involved significantly less talking and significantly more of what we'd done the last time we were alone together.
That kiss had been a mistake. A spectacular, toe-curling, can't-stop-thinking-about-it mistake that I replayed in my head every night since.
Wyatt was watching me with an expression I couldn'tquite read, and I had the uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone.
"Cards," he said abruptly.
I blinked. "What?"
"There's a deck of cards in the tack room. The guys keep them for when they’re stuck out here for foaling or a sick horse.” He was already moving toward the small room. “We could play cards."
"Sure," I said slowly.
I found the cards on the shelf, next to a bottle of whiskey that was probably older than I was. I grabbed both.
"What game?"
