Chey looked at him, surprised. “With?”
“I have some experience with alternative transportation,” he said with a grin. “Trust me. You drive, I’ll rescue.”
Chey looked at Tory, then back to Wyatt, then shrugged. “Okay. Thanks.”
Tory stepped back. “I’ll hang here, start unpacking things into the loft. Call me if you need anything.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Cooler, picnic basket, blanket . . . life raft.”
“Funny,” Chey said, then headed toward the gravel lot and a big red, dual-wheeled pickup truck. It was parked off to the side of the stone and wood house just past the stables. Her house, Wyatt assumed. “Thanks,” she told him again. “I appreciate the assist.”
“Anytime,” he said, and climbed into the passenger seat, wondering just what in the hell he thought he was doing. Not leaving Cheyenne McCafferty in my rearview mirror again, that’s what. Not yet, anyway.
Chapter Three
Chey drove down the dirt and gravel lane back to one of several access points to Firefly Lake. The lake was located higher up in the hills above Blue Hollow Falls and was more accessible on foot than by vehicle. This was the road in most commonly used, so she could only hope Vivi had taken the same route. She pulled into the long, narrow parking area and sighed in relief when she saw Vivi’s fully restored, cherry-red, ’56 Chevy Bel Air. It was the only car in the lot. She hadn’t seen anyone else on the way in, either.
“That is a beauty of a car,” Wyatt said. The first words he’d spoken since they’d left the farm twenty minutes earlier.
“Don’t tell Vivi unless you want an excruciating history of the vehicle from assembly line onward.”
“Oh, then that’s the first thing I’ll ask her. She can tell me all about it while I drive her home.” She caught Wyatt’s fast grin from the corner of her eye, which was where she was keeping him. In her periphery.
Yeah. And how’s that working out for you? Not great, she admitted. She’d bought the big dual-wheeled truck to haul horse trailers and had happily paid extra for the roomy, extended cab. After years living in an RV with three other people, she liked her space.
The cab of her truck had felt the opposite of spacious from the moment Wyatt had climbed in and pulled on his seat belt. Strapped it right across his ridiculously broad chest. Which she really, really tried not to notice, but damn. The term “rawboned” had been created to describe the teenager Wyatt Reed had been. If not for the long, ropy muscles he’d developed working with the steers and bulls he and his father trained and handled for the rodeo, he’d have been skinny to the point of bony.
Yeah, well, he ain’t bony now, Chey thought as she continued on toward the back of the lot and the narrower road that led down to the boat ramp.
The water wasn’t visible from the parking area due to the dense pines that crowded this side of the lake. It was a surprisingly large body of water to be up in this high valley pocket. Mountain peaks fully encircled the area, and as a backdrop to the tall pines and water, made for a breathtaking view. In addition to the hikers and boaters, it was a popular spot for photographers, painters, and night-sky watchers, too.
“Spectacular setting,” Wyatt said. “Is the lake spring fed? Small streams? Pretty good elevation for a decent-sized lake.”
“Partly,” Chey said, keeping her gaze straight ahead as she steered around some large potholes and deep ruts that had resulted from the harsh winter. “But it’s too big for just that. There are a few smaller streams, but its main source is Firefly Creek.” It was easier talking to him about the view than delving back into their past, so she added, “Firefly runs down from the higher elevations, feeds the lake, then snakes through a few hundred acres of wilderness area and nature park that surrounds the lake, before heading down and eventually joining in with Big Stone Creek.”
She rolled to a stop at the head of the boat ramp road and frowned. The big yellow bars were closed across it, chained and padlocked. “The two creeks combine to create the heavy flow that rushes over the big tumble of boulders next to the silk mill. That creates the waterfall that gives the town its name. From there Big Stone runs all the way down to the Hawksbill River in the valley below.” She said the last part by rote, like a guide reciting the history of the place to a tourist. “How the heck did she get a boat down there?” Chey said, giving voice to her actual thoughts.
“Guess the ramp stays closed till summer, too, then?”
“I guess,” she said, putting the truck into park. Other than Vivi’s car, the lot behind them was completely empty. They hadn’t passed anyone coming in, either. “I haven’t been out here since late last fall. Not sure when they close up the dock. I was on the horse trails, and they go in around the lake from a different direction.” She turned off the engine and pocketed the keys. She had one hand on the door handle.
“Cheyenne,” he said, in that way a person did when they wanted to say something important, and her hand froze.
He’d been the only one to call her by her full name when they were growing up. She’d always thought it sounded like she was in trouble for something, so she’d never liked it. Except when he said it. But the way he spoke her name sounded so different now. He was so different now, she supposed that was to be expected. It shouldn’t make her feel sad. She’d changed, too. She supposed that’s what happened when you grew up. Now if she could just find a way to not also feel all the very grown-up things that deep voice of his was doing to her, not to mention the sexy-as-all-get-out grin, and those big ol’ arms and chest and . . . whew. Yeah, she’d really appreciate it if he’d dial all that back. Like he could. She glanced at him. “We should go find Vivi.”
“It’s weird,” he said, his serious expression at odds with the casual way he’d spoken.
She dipped her chin for a brief moment, knowing she should just get out of the truck, go find Vivi. Leave Wyatt and whatever he was about to say behind. “What’s weird?” she asked, knowing she’d never truly left him behind. What made her think she could do it when he was seated not two feet away from her?
“This,” he said, and she looked over at him.
She let her raised brow be her reply, then instantly regretted it when he flashed that brash, yet somehow so down-to-earth grin. Where in the hell had he gotten that from, anyway? What happened to that sweet, quiet smile of his? It hadn’t been so much shy as it had been . . . pure. And definitely not packing . . . all of that. She supposed world travel had taken the quiet and pure right out of him. So why do you want to lean closer? Why are you gripping the door handle like if you let go, you might just grab him and see where that takes you? “We need to go find Vivi,” she said again, frown firmly in place, entirely self-directed, but if it got him to drop that grin, so much the better.
She opened the door and he reached his hand out.
“Don’t,” she said, and shifted out of reach, hating that there was a thread of something that sounded a whole lot like panic in her voice. Knowing he’d heard it, too. She didn’t panic. Not ever. Nerves of steel, that was Cheyenne McCafferty’s claim to fame. She didn’t need anything or anyone reminding her that losing her brother had also taken her edge. “I’m—sorry,” she added. “I just—” She broke off, sighed. She might have sworn under her breath as well. She wanted to tell him not to even dare think about smiling about that, either.