Page 8 of Her Loving Hero

Her eyes filled with tears. “When will this end? It’s been two months since something like this has happened.” She couldn’t turn her head and look at him. She just couldn’t.

“With everything Brant was saying today, and me telling you what I found at the back of the van, it’s no wonder it triggered something. You need to cut yourself some slack.”

After long minutes she turned rolled her neck and looked at him. “I’m a mess.”

“No, you’re not. I’m pretty sure they have some kind of official name for this. It’s a complicated term. Hold on. Let me think.”

Emily waited.

“Hmmmm. It’s not mess,” Wyatt’s expression was puzzled, but she knew he was going to be a smartass. “Maybe tangled,” he mused. “Nope, that’s not it. Maybe it’s a kerfuffle.”

Emily sniffed.

“No, that doesn’t sound right either.” Now his eyes were twinkling. “How about a hash-up. A goat-fuck?”

She gave s small smile.

Slowly he put one finger under her chin and his expression turned serious. “Why don’t we admit you’re still suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and that you’ve come a hell of a long way in a short amount of time, and skip this mess bullshit? How about that Emily Lynn Hoag? Huh?”

Darn it. He was right.

Emily watched as he hesitated to help her up.

“Oh, for goodness sakes, help me up,” she sighed. “I’m through with my panic attack.”

He still watched her carefully.

“Wyatt I’m fine.”

“Look, it’s part of the job. You just observe things, okay. You were a tutor for how long?”

“Almost two years.”

“Could you turn off being a teacher? Let me answer that for you. No, you couldn’t, because you’re a natural teacher. I see it with the kids at the center. Part of my job is observing, I don’t want to touch you until I know you’re totally comfortable.”

Bloody hell.

Emily pushed up into a sitting position and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she breathed into his throat. “Thank you for everything.”

* * *

She’d scaredthe living piss out of him.

Wyatt shut off the shower and climbed out doing a fast dry off so he could get back out to Emily. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but in her sweet-as-molasses, stubborn-as-hell-way she’d damn near frog marched him into his bedroom so he could shower. Wyatt grinned. He’d loved seeing her get her gumption back after those moments of terror out on the lawn.

He pulled on cargo shorts and a button up white short sleeved shirt and carried his socks and boots out to the living room, expecting to find her out on the deck.

Nope.

“You lied.” Her blonde hair swirled around her as she quickly turned back from his bookcase. “There isn’t a gaming system in sight.”

“It’s in my closet,” Wyatt said as he sat down on his couch to tug on his socks. He watched her as she pulled out one of his all-time favorite books.

“You like Robert Heinlein?” she asked. He could hear the excitement in her voice.

“I don’t like him. I grok him.”

She let out a laugh. “I said that same joke at the book shop, when we had science fiction night, but sadly only two of the twenty people got it.”