“You don’t have to explain, Wy,” Chey said. “Thank you for being there for her. I’ll make sure she knows that nothing has been ruined. I’m honestly glad she’s here.”
“You sound surprised,” Wyatt said, a smile surfacing once again.
Chey let out a short laugh. “I am, to be honest. I’m not a big people person.”
He shot her a mock look of shock and took the nudge to the ribs in stride. “Says the woman who is running a farm with three other women.”
“Point taken,” she allowed with a laugh. “That surprised me, too. Still does. But, you know, while our lives are far more deeply connected here than they ever were before, we also took great care to set this place up so we’d each have our own space and the ability to continue our other pursuits as well. Me with my horses, Hannah with her painting, Avery—though you haven’t seen it—with her lab setup. Vivi with her kitchen.” She lifted her hands and let them drop, her laughter wry. “Of course, we’re not here even a year or two and now Hannah is living with Will and his son, Jake. Avery spends most of her time out with Ben—who also happens to be my vet.” She shook her head. “It still all works, though. Maybe even better because we’re not under each other’s feet all the time. I don’t know. When you’re where you’re meant to be, life has a funny way of sorting itself out, I guess.”
Wyatt nodded, but didn’t say anything. He wanted nothing more than for life to sort this out. He was starting to think maybe he didn’t know where the hell he was supposed to be. Because he’d been everywhere, but standing right there, next to Chey, not even caring about the view, or where it was they were standing, he felt . . . settled. Like after running for so long, he could finally stop, and exhale.
“I’ll talk to Hannah,” Chey said. “So she doesn’t think you’re a two-timing snake destined to break my heart all over again,” she added dryly.
“Thanks,” he said, chuckling. “I think.”
She nudged him again, but gently this time. “I think she already knows,” Chey whispered. “Pretty sure they all do.”
He glanced down at her. “You okay with that?”
“That you’re not a two-timing snake?” She looked up at him and fluttered her lashes, which was so out-of-character it made him laugh.
He grinned. “Well, that, yes.” He turned more fully toward her, took both of her hands in his, and let them dangle at their sides. “And the fact that I’m not means they also know I’m a one-woman kind of guy.” He looked down into her eyes. “And it’s not the woman bunking in Hannah’s loft.”
“They do seem pretty okay with that, given they’ve all but invited you straight into my bed.” Her tone was teasing, but he saw the worry enter her eyes, the uncertainty, and it gave him more than a little twinge.
“And the owner of that bed? What does she think?”
“That I’m not ready to share it yet.” She searched his eyes. “Wyatt, I don’t mean that I don’t want—”
“I wasn’t asking about tonight,” he said. “I’m not ready for that, either.”
His admission got a surprised look from her and he chuckled. “Well, yes, we were both quite ready earlier today.” His expression sobered. “I’m not talking about sex, Chey. Clearly our bodies are past ready.”
“It’s our heads that have to get wrapped around it.”
And some other parts of us, too, he thought. He nodded. “I can’t have one without the other. Even if I wanted to. Not with you. It won’t just be one part of me getting involved.”
He saw her throat work. “If only it were as simple as letting our bodies dictate things.” She met his gaze. “It would be so easy if that was all we really needed.”
Her smile was wistful this time, and maybe a little sad, and he felt a tiny fissure start somewhere inside his heart. “Maybe it would be better if I just head on out then. Back to Wales. Before we do . . . anything more.” He didn’t say “back home” because it wasn’t truly one now, was it? He had nothing waiting for him there. No one keeping him there, calling him back. It was just an empty croft, on an exceptionally beautiful piece of land. Standing where he was right now, looking at Cheyenne, everything about his place in Wales felt empty.
The moment he’d suggested leaving, he felt her fingers instinctively tighten their hold on his, and for a moment, he felt profound relief.
“If you can help the town—” She broke off, shook her head. “I’m saying this the wrong way. What I mean is, if that’s something you still want to do, for whatever reason, don’t not do it on account of me, or . . . or this.”
Not what I wanted to hear her say. Not, “Please stay. Stay for me.”
Which, of course, he couldn’t do anyway. Not long term. She knew that. And hadn’t he just gotten done telling her that anything other than that wouldn’t be enough?
“I’m going to head into town,” he said, knowing it was the inevitable conclusion, so there was no point drawing the discussion out, causing either of them any more pain. They’d hurt each other enough. Those few wild kisses had already ignited their mutual desire like a freshly struck match. Chey was right. If they spent any time together, they were going to end up in bed, no matter what their heads and hearts thought they wanted. In bed, up against the nearest wall, in the flatbed of her big, dual-wheeled truck, looking up at that big Blue Hollow moon.
His body responded to all of those possibilities like . . . like it responded to all things that had to do with Cheyenne McCafferty.
They stood there for several long, silent moments, as the pool of moonlight grew around them.
He heard her take what sounded like a shuddering breath; then she looked up at him, and he was stunned by the sheen he saw glinting in her eyes. “Will you be back out?” she asked, and he could hear the thick edge of emotion being held in check. “Or is this good-bye?” she said, and her voice broke just a little, when she added, “Again.”
It was that little crack in her composure, the way she allowed him, unflinchingly, to see sides of her that he knew damn well she didn’t show to anyone else, trust to anyone else, that did in his resolve to do the hard thing, the better thing. The safe thing.
“Aw, Chey,” he said, and he wasn’t sure who reached for whom first.
They were both all in, from the moment their mouths met, the moment their breath mingled. Lips parted, tongues dueled, there was ferocity, and not a small amount of fear. Fear that it might be the last time. Desperation, need, and want was a potent mix, and he wasn’t immune to it, nor strong enough to fight it.
Her fingers were in his hair, gripping him, when she dragged her mouth from his. “I’ve changed my mind,” she said, her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “If you’re leaving anyway—and you have to, I know that—then I’m already going to have regrets.” She looked him straight in the eye. “I want a night with you. I want to know you, all of you. I want so much more than that, but if I’m going to have regrets anyway, I know one of them is going to be that we didn’t at least share all we could, when we could. That much, at least, I can quite selfishly do something about. So can you, if that’s what you want. We can do something about that together.”