Wyoming supposed he probably did. After all, he’d lost his parents, too.
She’d run out on him at the first sign of trouble. “I need to talk to him.” She wiped her face on her sleeve.
“Of course. How about you clean up first? I’ll get Elise’s things together and take you home.”
Home. More tears welled up, until Wyoming wondered how there could be any left. She had a home—and she’d almost tossed it away along with the man she loved more than anything.
“Cass,” Wye began.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Stop fidgeting, Sergeant,” the General snapped when Emerson tidied the same pile of paper for the third time.
He dropped the pages on the General’s desk and crossed the room, peeked out the window and crossed back.
“If you touch that stack of paper one more time, I’ll have you court-martialed!”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Sorry my ass. What’s got you so wound up? Where’s that girl—Wyoming? And what kind of name is that, anyway? Was Montana already taken?”
Emerson knew the General was trying to help, but his banter was grating on his nerves.
“I already told you she’s at the Evergreen Motel, sir.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Giving her space.”
“Women don’t want space. If they did, us men would be living on Mars by now. Look, Sergeant, when a woman loves you, and she pushes you away, it’s because she wants you to push back.”
“I… don’t think that’s right, General.” Emerson moved to a bookshelf and began to straighten the volumes. His ankle ached, and he wondered if he’d twisted it again stalking from Ward’s house to his truck after Wye drove off with Megan. He’d wanted desperately to charge after her when she’d raced out the door, but he knew that would only lead to a bigger fight. Wye was the kind of woman who held her anger in until she reached the breaking point, and she had definitely hit that point when she realized what Ward had done. He’d give her time and then do whatever it took to put her life back together. Meanwhile, he wouldn’t let himself think about a future without her in it.
“Not push—you know what I mean!” the General exploded. “She wants you to prove that you’re going to stand by her, even in the hard times. She’s having a hard time, right?”
“Yes.” Emerson wasn’t sure which made him angrier—the fact that Ward would abandon his child or that he’d assume Wye would pick up where he left off and parent Elise. If Ward hadn’t noticed, Wye didn’t have a home of her own—or an income outside of what he’d been paying her. That’s where he came in, Emerson figured. He was perfectly happy to support his wife-to-be, and Elise, too, but it galled him that Ward thought he could drop his responsibilities and someone would be there to pick them up.
No, more than that, Emerson decided. What bothered him was that Ward acted like there’d be no consequences to anyone else.
To Wye.
“So why the hell are you here when she’s there?” the General pushed.
“Because Wye needs time to sort out her feelings, sir.”
“That’s what you’re for,” the General told him. “You’re her sounding board. You’re her support. You’re there to provide answers or to just keep quiet if that’s what she needs.”
“Is that what you’ve done when people needed you, sir?”
It was a low blow, and the General surged to his feet, winced and braced himself on his desk. “Yes, I did—with my wife,” he growled. “I failed with my daughters. I’m making up for that now. You want to copy my successes or my fuck-ups, Sergeant?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Stop being sorry. Start doing something.”
“You’re right, sir.”
“I’m always right. Now, get.”
The General waved him out the door, and Emerson made for the kitchen to grab his coat, grateful to finally be taking action, but he came to a stop when the back door swung open and Cass burst inside, lugging a portable crib.
“Emerson.”
“Is Wyoming with—”
Wyoming stepped in next, Elise in her arms. It was clear she’d been crying. Her features were drawn, her face blotched red and white.
Emerson crossed the room and pulled them both into an embrace. “Glad to see you safe.”
“I’m sorry I stormed out of Ward’s place like that. You didn’t deserve me yelling at you.” Wye leaned against him, and Emerson’s heart swelled. He’d do anything to make life easier for this woman. Starting with not pressuring her to sort everything out tonight.
“How about I get Elise to bed?” Cass asked. “Brian? Can you carry the crib upstairs?” she asked when her husband entered the room to see what the fuss was about. “That way you two can talk,” she told Emerson and Wye.
“Thanks,” Wyoming said. When Cass and Brian had gone, taking Elise with them, she hugged her arms to her chest. “I’m really sorry. I just—”
Emerson touched her shoulder. “We can talk if you want to,” he said. “I’m happy to talk all night. Or I can take you upstairs, put you to bed, and we can start fresh in the morning. For the record, I still want to marry you.”
“Even if I’m a single mother?” She laughed sadly. “I can’t let Elise go into the foster system, Emerson, not when I’m capable of taking care of her.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. Wye, look at me.” When she lifted her chin to do so, he went on. “You and I both know how important it is for a child to have a loving, stable home. I’m going to be there for you—and Elise—always. I mean that.”
Wye’s eyes filled again. “I want so badly to believe you. I really do.”
He took her in his arms again and let her cry. He knew what she meant. Trusting someone—really trusting them—came hard after what each of them had been through.
“You know what I think? I think you, Elise and I need to take a day off. Let’s spend the day together tomorrow doing something normal.” He brightened. “I read in the paper about a snow sculpture exhibit in town. How about we go to that?”
“We can’t just leave—we’re getting married the day after tomorrow.”
His arms tightened around her. God, he hoped so.
“Everything is in hand, and I think this is one of those moments when we actually have to trust that our friends are our friends and are willing to help.”
Wye laughed, hiccupping a little. “I can almost see Cass quivering with anticipation. She loves to help.”
“We’ve got ten men and women—plus a General—just dying to step in,” he agreed. “Let’s let them finish the preparations and the three of us go to town.”
Wye’s mouth curved into a smile. “I don’t know.”
“I do. Come on, Wye, we need a day off. If, at the end of it, you decide you want to postpone the wedding—or call it off completely,” he added, pain shooting through him at the thought, “we’ll make that happen.”