“Ye of little faith,” was all he said, sending a brief flash of that new smile of his and a wink her way. He expertly coiled the rope and slung it over one shoulder, then motioned for her to lead the way and followed behind her.
What’s with the winking? The Wyatt Reed she’d known didn’t do things like that. His quietly keen observations about people and the world around them, along with the surprising discovery of his dry sense of humor, were the qualities that had initially drawn her in. That he was also thoughtful, respectful, and kind to animals had decimated her last resistance to his quiet but repeated and determined attempts to start a conversation with her. Like Tory, only nothing at all like Tory, he’d found his way in, and he’d stuck. He’d become her best and closest friend. She’d only trusted her brother more than Wyatt.
This guy, with his smooth wink and flashy grins, was nothing like the boy she remembered. She supposed that getting away from Zachariah, from the physical and emotional blows, the undermining of every last thing Wyatt had ever said or done, would have given anyone a new lease on life. Wyatt appeared to have taken that new lease and run with it. Hard.
The minute Chey stepped from the wooded trail to the first overlook, Vivi started waving. Waving with her lemon-colored, tassel-edged parasol. “Oh boy,” Chey muttered, even as she lifted a hand to give a short wave in response, so Vivi would know they saw her. Like we could miss her.
Chey could hear Vivi shouting something to them, but she was too far away to be able to make out anything of what the older woman was trying to convey. The breeze off the lake snatched most of the words away. Other than she really is up a lake without a paddle. A smile twitched the corners of Chey’s mouth. Any other time, once she’d established that Vivi was fine and unhurt, she’d have found the humor in pretty much every part of this. If she could just get the rest of herself to calm the heck down, stop reacting to every little thing Wyatt said or did—like breathing—she might have shared that comment with him.
“The docks are down the path that way,” Chey said instead, pointing to a tree-lined path that obscured the view of the water. “The dock on this side is fairly short. The nature center staff uses it to tie up the few paddleboats they rent out on weekends in the summer. The canoes and johnboats are pulled up on the banks at night, but they’d all still be in storage now, I guess.” Which begged the question of just where Vivi had gotten the boat. “You’ll be at water level, but frankly, you won’t be any closer to Vivi down there since she’s all the way at this end of the lake, so I’m not sure how you—”
She broke off as Wyatt was already loping down the path toward the dock.
“Okay then,” Chey said, starting off down the path as well. “You do you.” She refused to run after him. Until she heard the loud splash. Then she picked up speed. The path had curved back into the trees enough that, with the new spring foliage, she’d already lost her view of Vivi. “Please just stay in the dang boat,” Chey muttered.
She could only imagine Vivi’s reaction to seeing who’d come to her rescue. Chey didn’t even want to think about what would be involved in explaining who Wyatt was and why he was there in the first place. Vivi knew Chey as well as anyone on earth ever had. The fearsome foursome were closer than most families, tighter than sisters, despite the generational gaps in their ages. They’d shared every last thing with each other as they’d worked their way through the most difficult time they’d each ever experienced. Almost everything. Chey hadn’t told them about Wyatt. Well, Hannah knew now, but that was only because Chey had been trying to keep her from making the biggest mistake of her life.
Hannah, Avery, and Vivienne were her family now and more important to Chey than she’d ever allowed anyone to become who wasn’t related to her by blood. Not even Tory. Anyone except for Wyatt Reed. She tried not to think about where that had gotten her. She was older now, wiser, and the three women whom she trusted with her love were the same three women Chey trusted with her very soul. They wouldn’t just ride off into the proverbial sunset with her shattered heart lying on the ground in pieces. Whose heart again, Chey? Yours? Or his?
Ignoring that question, she picked up speed, running by the time she hit the first dock, then had to do a quick two-step around Wyatt’s boots, and his shirt, to keep from tripping over them and landing in the lake herself. Once she’d steadied herself, she looked out across the lake and saw he was already halfway to the boat.
“When did you learn to swim?” she wondered out loud. Chey, Tory, and Wyatt had a broader than average set of skills from their unique life, but swimming was not one of them. Not for Wyatt at any rate. Indeed, Chey knew for a fact he hadn’t known how to swim. Not when they were kids, at any rate. They’d been thirteen and fourteen the summer they’d found a rope swing over a lake outside a town where the rodeo caravan had parked for a weeklong stay. It had been a sticky hot August in Oklahoma and that cool, serene surface had beckoned them like the promise of nirvana.
She and Tory hadn’t wasted a second making good use of that knotted length of heavy rope. Wyatt had hung back, making lame excuses about having forgotten he had something to do. Cody had been the one who’d finally gotten Wyatt to confide that he couldn’t swim. Cody had offered to teach him, but Wyatt had opted out. Chey always suspected it had something to do with his father, though even so, she couldn’t imagine what he had against swimming.
“Clearly that’s changed.” She was unable to look away as she watched him cleave through the choppy, windswept surface with the grace and speed of an Olympic swimmer. The rope was still looped over his head and shoulder, held against his chest and back by the force of the speed with which he was cutting across the lake. The water had to be pretty damn cold. They’d had some warm days, but the nights were still brisk.
Chey tried and failed not to notice his arms. As a teenager, Wyatt had sported lean, ropy muscles at best. Now they were sleek, and full and cut, like a man who used his body—all parts of it—to get through his day-to-day existence. And don’t get her started on his shoulders. Or his back. Jesus, Wyatt. What in the hell have you been doing?
He pulled up next to the boat and treaded water, tossing his wet hair back as he gestured with one hand, apparently giving directions to Vivi. Even from the dock, Chey could see Vivi’s delight in the sudden change in her circumstances. Chey found herself smiling, despite her annoyance. She didn’t even know why she was annoyed. Wyatt had gone the extra mile and then some for a woman he didn’t even know.
She watched as he made quick work of tying the loose end of the rope through the loop on the front end of the small flat boat. He hung the rest of the rope over the prow, then took off across the lake behind the boat. Chey frowned, confused, until she saw him lift a paddle from where it had floated away. He headed back to the boat, stowed it flat over the two bench seats, then took off again in a different direction, presumably after the other one.
Wyatt motioned Vivi to scoot to the center of the bench and stowed the second oar across the benches on that side, all without getting Vivi’s somewhat insane—to Chey’s eyes—outfit even the least bit damp. What on earth was Vivi doing out there, and in that getup?