Chey laughed. “Oh, after rodeo life, I was perfectly happy to be around as few people as possible.”
“Exactly,” Vivi said. “It was a compromise, but it was an easy one to make.” She smiled. “Maybe when the time comes, your choices won’t feel so hard. Given you’ll be choosing happiness either way.”
Chey nodded and turned to scoop up her phone, then jumped with a squeal when Vivi snapped the towel against her rear end. “Hey now,” she said, but she was laughing as she turned. “Careful where you aim that thing.”
“Just whipping your behind a little. Now get on out there with Mr. Planet and stop worrying about this old woman.”
Chey’s expression sobered. “I came in here to help you and, as usual, you do all the helping.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that, cher. Sometimes talking things out for someone else’s benefit ends up being exactly the thing you needed to hear yourself.”
“Good,” Chey said, wishing she believed that. “If you want or need anything tomorrow, before, during, or after, you just give us a shout.” She grabbed her hat and walked to the side door that led to the veranda. “And don’t you forget that umbrella, you hear?”
She left with Vivi’s laughter following her out the door.
She met up with Wyatt as she crossed the yard, Vivi’s advice still echoing in her ears. You’ll be choosing happiness either way. Now she just had to figure out how to do that without getting her heart shattered in the process.
“How are the goats?” she asked with a smile.
“So very small,” he said. “I have to tell you their goat tender is one very impressive twelve-year-old.”
“She’ll be a teenager this fall. I don’t know if we’re ready. Bailey is a force to be reckoned with, for sure. Young dynamo and old soul, all wrapped into one. With Addie Pearl as her guardian and guide it’s anyone’s guess what kind of world and how many of them she will go on to conquer.”
Wyatt chuckled. “I didn’t know whether to be awestruck or terrified.”
“Get used to it,” Chey said with a laugh. “That feeling never goes away.”
He slipped his hand into hers as they walked toward her house. She liked that he just naturally did that, she liked feeling the warmth of his palm pressed to hers, the strength of his fingers woven through hers. Tiny little things that change the course of your river. She thought that this connection, so basic, simple, like one of Vivi’s hugs, was one of those little things. “Vivi was saying she could see Bailey doing what you do, blazing new trails, saving the world.”
“You’re giving me too much credit,” he said. “Bailey though? Most definitely. Superhero in the making. I just find things that need a little help and try to leave them better than I found them. It’s not different really from what’s happening here with the lake. No more important in the grand scheme of things, but vital to the people whose lives it will affect.” He grinned. “I just find my battles in some really off the wall places.”
They got to the front of the house and he took her by the hips and swung her up to the porch.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a manhandler?” she said.
He hopped up after her, then back-walked her until she was up against the door, all without touching her. He tipped the brim of her cowboy hat up and smiled down at her. “No, ma’am, I generally avoid handling men.”
“A woman handler then?” she said, her pulse already doing a two-step when he leaned his mouth closer to hers.
“You want me to keep my hands to myself—is that what you’re saying?”
She met his gaze, knowing she had a stupid, giddy smile on her face, and not giving a single damn about it. She shook her head.
“You want me to stop picking you up and carrying you off with me?” he asked, his lips drawing closer to hers, his voice a baritone rasp. “Just say the word.”
She was already quivering, just knowing where this was heading. She shook her head, her gaze dropping from his darkening eyes to his lips. That mouth of his had done some amazing things to her earlier that day. “Suddenly my knees are feeling a bit weak,” she said in barely more than a whisper.
“Is that so,” he said. “Well, seems only right then, me being the guy who saves things.” He scooped her up easily, and she didn’t think she’d ever tire of it.
“Hold on to me,” he said, and reached behind her to open the door. He kicked it shut behind him. “Leftover breakfast for dinner?” he murmured against the side of her neck as she threw her hat in the general direction of the kitchen table.
“It’s barely past two in the afternoon,” she said, tilting her head to the side, moaning softly and squirming against him as he kissed his way down her neck.
“I know.” He walked them to the bedroom. “I figure we should be coming up for air right about then.”
She didn’t tell him he was wrong. Didn’t tell him she had a million things to do that afternoon. Not a single one of them seemed remotely important to her at the moment. “You know, I wasn’t planning on paying Tory back for the low-down, dirty rotten trick she pulled on us by making her do all her chores and mine, too.” She squealed when Wyatt tossed her into the middle of the bed. “But I’m not saying I feel bad about it, either.”
“And here I was thinking about erecting a statue to honor her heroic deed in the middle of the town square.” He climbed on the bed and started unbuttoning her shirt. “Do you have a town square?”
“You say tomahto,” Chey said, then looked down at his hands as he parted her shirt, then back up at him.
He paused. “Oh, I’m sorry, is this what you meant by manhandling?” His fingers traced down the edges of her open shirt, trailing softly over her nipples.
She gasped and arched up into his touch.
He shifted his weight and moved down. “Maybe if I don’t use my hands?” He flicked a tongue over her nipple, making her moan.
“Turns out I’m okay with the handling,” she said breathlessly, then grabbed the front of his shirt and rolled him to his back. She smiled down at him and flicked open the first button. “My turn.”
* * *
Chey decided that reheated omelets and hash browns at midnight were the best things she’d ever tasted. She was curled up at one end of her deep leather couch and Wyatt was stretched out at the other end, with his boots propped on the overstuffed ottoman.
“Thanks for the help in the barn tonight,” she told him.
He lifted his mug of coffee in her direction. “My pleasure. I haven’t been around horses in any regular way in a good long while. I planned to get at least two for my farm, but I don’t spend enough time there to make it fair.”
“Any other livestock plans?” She was proud of herself for talking about his farm an ocean away, and the fact that he’d be going back to it, as if it was no big deal.
“If you’re asking whether I plan to raise any Welsh bulls, the answer is no,” he said with a wry laugh. “Although Bailey has me half talked into getting a few goats to clear my fields. Also turns out she raises and breeds a type of Welsh sheep. Herdwicks. I’ve been invited out to see them.”