Ms. Calculation Read online

  Wyatt’s face turned to stone. In fact, that stoic look was the one he always had when it came to her family—and she hated it. It was almost as though they embarrassed him, or was it that he pitied her because of them? Either way, it made her want to talk about anything else.

  “If you like,” he said, “you’re welcome to come to my place and get cleaned up. I have a T-shirt or two that might fit you.”

  His offer came as a shock. Did he really mean to invite her over? She tried not to read too much into his invitation. No doubt he was just trying to be nice and she’d just heard what she wanted to when she picked up the hint of something more in his voice.

  Wait. Did she want him to come on to her?

  She chuckled. Of course she did. Who didn’t want to be thought of as beautiful?

  She’d been lonely for so long. Her relationships in recent years had been nothing more than surface-level attractions—nights spent fulfilling her need to be touched and to feel another body against hers. It would have felt good to have him want her, to have him think of her as something more than the girl who’d once broken his heart.

  When she’d ended their relationship, she’d felt justified in her decision. Life had been pulling them in different directions. He wanted to leave and go to NYU to escape the sucking maw of ranch life while she was restricted by her mother’s disapproval. After her father’s death, her mother hated the Fitzgeralds because of their association with what Gwen had come to realize was really the end of her mother’s life. He had to go and she had to stay—it wasn’t a gap that could be bridged.

  Yet when life hadn’t turned out to be as glamorous as Wyatt had planned in the big city, he had returned home. At the time, Gwen had thought about seeking him out to see if the old feelings were still there, but at the last minute she had thought better of it. Some kinds of pain you could never heal or apologize enough for—especially when her actions had caused her just as much agony.

  She looked into his soft brown eyes and he smiled. Or maybe she had been wrong. Maybe it was her fear of being rejected for the hurt she had caused that was really holding her back. Maybe he had grown past the pain she had inflicted when they’d been young and, in her case, stupid.

  “So?” he asked, pulling her from her thoughts. “If you don’t want to come back to my place to clean up, I totally understand. I was just thinking... Well, I was hoping to get in touch with the crime lab to see if they found anything, and then maybe work on the library lead. Thought it could save us both some time and a few trips, but it’s completely up to you.”

  He was rambling.

  The realization made her chest ache. Seeing him like that made some of the feelings she thought she’d buried rise to the surface.

  He had always been a good man, and nothing if not a gentleman. Of course his offer had come from a place of sincerity and not some player’s attempt at getting her to land in his bed.

  “All right,” she said with a nod. “I’ll follow you back.”

  He moved to speak, but stopped and instead dipped his head and motioned for her to follow him home.

  She pressed down on the pickup’s gas pedal and made it rumble with life. Though she should have been thinking of nothing but Bianca and their investigation, as she pushed the truck forward, all she could think of was how glad she was to find Wyatt back in her life.

  Chapter Six

  Some of the snow had started to melt and dirt patches were showing through as Gwen and Wyatt drove down the winding, bumpy road that led to his trailer at Dunrovin. She could see his place in the distance, a single wreath on the door—a single man’s attempt at Christmas cheer.

  She was looking forward to going inside and seeing what his life had become, but at the same time she was nervous. If one thing led to another, she didn’t know how she would react. Or what it would be like if nothing happened. She wasn’t sure which order of possible events disappointed her more.

  She ran her finger over her lips, imagining his kiss. He had been a good kisser in high school. She could only imagine what he would be like now, ten years and what was probably dozens of women later. The thought of him with another woman made her skin prickle with jealousy. She tried to ignore the sensation. It was crazy to feel that way about him and what he chose to do. She had no claim on him.

  He pulled to a stop in front of his trailer. The little tan box wasn’t anything like the house she had imagined he would end up in—or rather, when she’d been imagining back in high school, the house they would have ended up living in together. In her mind’s eye, she had once pegged them for living the American dream: two kids, a dog and a white picket fence.

  She chuckled as she got out of the truck. How naive she had once been. Life wasn’t some dream. She had been stupid to think it could be. Life was simply a constant battle between wants and needs. And here in Montana, in a world where winter and Mother Nature seemed to constantly reign, needs were all that mattered.

  “What are you laughing about?” he asked, waiting for her by the front of the truck.

  She hadn’t even realized she had been laughing at the thought, and his calling her out caught her off guard. “What?”

  “You were laughing at something.”

  “Oh,” she said, closing the door. “It was nothing.”

  “Huh,” he said, sounding slightly disappointed that she refused to let him in on the joke. “I’ll grab you a towel and some clean clothes. Maybe I have something that won’t hang on you too much.”

  She followed him up the rickety wooden steps and into the trailer. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the place was a bit of a shock. Everything was in order. When he took her coat, she noticed that even the coat closet was organized: on one side were all his black work jackets and from there everything was arranged by color. She walked into his living room. The room was simple: a flat screen on the wall above an electric stove and a leather couch at the room’s heart.

  There wasn’t a single forgotten sock or speck of dust. In fact, it was almost a little too clean—which made her wonder if he was the kind who was so concentrated on his house that he forgot to leave it. Perhaps he had gone from the boy who wanted to escape the confines and trappings of ranch life to a man who wanted nothing more than to bask in the comfort of the ranching lifestyle. It struck her how much he may have changed from the boy she had once known.

  He made his way through the dining room off the kitchen and into what must have been the master bedroom. She followed him to the door of the room but stopped, unsure of whether or not he wanted her to be in his domain. His bedroom was just as clean as the rest of the place, and his bed was made with a pink floral quilt that she had no doubt was handmade by his mother.

  “I like the quilt,” she said, leaning against the door frame as she motioned to the blanket.

  “Huh?” He looked surprised by her talking, or maybe it was that he was just as uncomfortable as she was. “Oh, that? It’s just a hand-me-down. My mother had it forever and then made herself a new one.” He chuckled. “It may be pink, but I’m enough of a man not to be afraid to rock it. Until now, no one ever really saw it anyways.”

  She could have sworn she saw the color rise in his cheeks when he mentioned his bedroom activities, or lack thereof.

  “It’s okay, I’m pretty sure I still have Star Wars sheets from when I was a kid. Heck, I still use my twin-size bed.” She laughed as she tried to make him feel better.

  His face lit up. “Oh, I remember that old thing. That bed was a bit creaky when we were together. I can’t believe you still have it.” He laughed, but then stopped abruptly as though he had realized exactly what they were talking about. “I mean, I would have thought you’d have gotten rid of it by now.”

  “Why get rid of a good thing?” As the words left her, she realized the other meaning they held and she wished she could r
eel them back in. Yet, there was no coming back from putting her foot that deeply into her mouth.

  “That’s... I didn’t mean...” she said, struggling to stop the light from going completely out of his eyes. She had liked seeing him smile, seeing him light up when they were talking about the past. She hated herself for what she had done to him, regardless of her reasons at the time—everything going on with her family, their loss and the hatred her mother carried toward him had seemed like things they would never be able to overcome if they wanted to make a life together. Even then, she had known that true love meant sometimes sacrificing the things she held dearest—even if that meant stopping the relationship so that neither of them would have to go through a lifetime of pain. He had deserved to have a life filled with happiness—and he still did.

  He waved her off. “It’s fine. I’m sure you were just talking about that old mattress.”

  She could hear the hurt in his tone.

  “I really was. I...I’m sorry about the past, Wyatt. About what happened. You know...when we were younger. I was stupid. I just thought the divide between our families was too big and I was trying to protect us both. Who knows, maybe I just watched too much Romeo and Juliet or something.”

  “You weren’t stupid,” he said, his voice quiet with what she assumed was discomfort at having this conversation. “You did what you thought you had to do. I get it. You don’t need to explain yourself to me. What happened, happened. There’s no going back.” There was a finality in the way he said the words, and it made the air thick between them.

  “You’re right. There’s no going back,” she said, trying to make it sound soft and repentant, and she hoped that he could hear the apology in her words. “But there is always moving forward.”

  “I’m truly sorry about Bianca,” he said.

  He was right to assume she had been talking about the investigation and her sister. Bianca should have been who she was talking about. Her sister’s death should have been consuming all her thoughts and actions. Yet, standing here by Wyatt’s bedroom and looking at his warm bed, her mind moved to the wants she had been repressing for so long.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. I do.” She stepped into his bedroom and moved close to him, so close she could feel the warmth radiating off his body. “But I wasn’t talking about Bianca.”

  He took in a long breath as he stared at her. She had no idea what he could possibly be thinking. All she could think about was how weightless she felt as she looked into his eyes and the way her chest clenched with want. She hadn’t been this nervous around a man in long time.

  She stepped closer, until she brushed against the thick brown polyester of his uniform shirt and her belly bumped against his utility belt. He was just a bit taller than she had remembered. She looked down at his pants, the action of looking at him feeling even naughtier when she thought about it, and heat rose in her cheeks.

  Instead of laughing at her embarrassment, he put his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs made those familiar circles she had thought she hated, but now she leaned into his touch, wanting more. It felt good to be touched by him...so good.

  She looked up. There was nothing but him. His eyes. The fine crow’s-feet that sat at their corners. The smooth skin of his freshly shaven face. His pink, full lips were damp. He must have just licked them.

  The thought made her body quiver to life. Her center grew heavy with want and the desire for his hands to move from her shoulders. For him to rub those little circles he liked so much in darker, more forbidden places.

  She wanted to speak, to tell him how badly she wanted him. Yet the words caught in her throat, and before she had the chance, he dropped his hands from her and turned away.

  No. He couldn’t.

  Was he rejecting her? Didn’t he want her? This?

  She moved to reach for him, but stopped. If he didn’t want her, it was his choice. He had every right to refuse her.

  Reality and the disappointment that came with it poured in from all sides as he walked across the bedroom and, opening the linen closet, grabbed a towel.

  “Here,” he said, handing the towel to her.

  Her hands shook as she took it. She didn’t know what to say or how to cover her embarrassment and graciously accept the fact that he no longer wanted her in the same way she wanted him.

  “I...er... Thanks,” she said, but as soon as the words were out of her, she turned and nearly sprinted for the bathroom that was connected to the room.

  She closed the door behind her harder than she intended, and the harsh sound reverberated through the room, echoing the pain in her chest.

  She was such an idiot. Of course he didn’t want her like she wanted him. They’d only been speaking to each other for a day. Up until then, they had treated each other like they were invisible. What had happened in the past, and the feelings it had generated, couldn’t vanish overnight.

  Then again, she’d never forgotten him. More nights than she could count, he was the last person on her mind before she slipped away to sleep. And during long days on the ranch baling hay or moving the cattle, she would let her thoughts wander...always to him and the what-ifs. What if she hadn’t let him go? What if they had stayed together? Would they have stayed in Mystery, or would they have run away from this place? He’d run, but if she had gone with him, how different would their lives have been?

  She thought of the way he had just looked at her. His look hadn’t been indifferent, he hadn’t seemed put off by her or her move toward him, but it hadn’t been the look of a man who loved her either.

  She sighed.

  Not for the first time, she was letting her emotions run away with her. She couldn’t move this fast.

  She tried to stop chastising herself. She couldn’t regret the action she had taken. It was brave to follow her heart, even if it had been foolish. If she hadn’t tried, she wouldn’t have known his true feelings—or that he wasn’t interested.

  She flipped on the faucet in the shower and let the water run until steam poured from behind the glass. She was fine. It would be fine. It wasn’t like she had completely thrown herself at him. If she was careful, she could make it seem like nothing. She could bounce back from this. She had to. She had to face him again.

  They had work to do.

  With a renewed sense of spirit, she stepped into the shower. It was so hot that it made the skin of her back tingle and burn, but she didn’t turn down the heat. She wanted—no, needed—to feel the pain. The stinging needles reminded her that things could be so much worse. She was alive. Unlike Bianca.

  She put her hands on the tile of the shower wall. It was cold against her hot hands. In here, away from the prying eyes of the world, she let the tears come as the crazy mixture of emotions she’d been trying to hold back finally bubbled to the surface. Here, she didn’t have to hide.

  Heaving sobs rattled through her body and she sank to the warmed floor. The water swirled down the drain as it mixed with her tears.

  Screw being strong. Screw the world for what it had done to her sister—and screw it for continuing to break her down.

  She shouldn’t have felt sorry for herself, but she couldn’t help it. Every time she turned around, it was as if the world was throwing another curveball her way. Just as soon as she had dealt with one thing, it was always like there was another thing coming.

  She was just so dang tired.

  Leaning against the tile, she let her tears fall.

  “Gwen?” Wyatt called from behind the door. “Are you okay?”

  She wasn’t, but she wasn’t about to tell him. “Fine. I’m fine.” She turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in the oversize towel he’d given her.

  There was a long pause. “I, uh, got you some clean clothes. Do you want me to set them outside the door here?”

 
She opened the bathroom door, carefully holding her towel in place. “I’ll take them,” she said, as a drip of water slipped down her leg and pooled on the floor.

  Wyatt looked at her and his eyes widened. His gaze moved down her body to the puddle on his floor.

  “You’re dripping.” He moved toward her, so close that they were nearly touching. Instead of continuing past her, he stopped and their eyes met.

  Her breath hitched. Maybe she had gotten it wrong. Maybe he did want her. Maybe he’d been acting the gentleman by turning her away before.

  He leaned in and his lips met hers. He smelled like the compost pile and hay, but she didn’t care as he pulled her into his arms. She let go of her towel, letting it be held by their bodies as she wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair.

  His lips moved over hers, then she sucked and ran the tip of her tongue over his skin. He tasted like peppermint gum and sweat, just as he had when they were younger. Yet his kiss was not the same. It was the kiss of a man—a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

  He pushed her body against the wall and lifted her hands over her head. The radio on his utility belt pressed hard against her and, as he noticed her discomfort, he unclasped the belt and let it fall to the floor at their feet.

  He traced the line of her jaw, kissing the places where his fingers had touched. Each time his fingers slipped lower on her skin, down her neck and onto her collarbone. He licked and sucked the beads of water from her skin, and for a second she wondered if he could taste the salt from her tears.

  She pulled her hands down and took hold of the buttons on his uniform, stopping him from going any lower. She wanted him. His touch. His lips upon her skin. But she’d envisioned this moment so many times, so many nights when she’d been lying alone in her bed and thinking about what could have been, that she wanted to savor this moment and make it last.

  “You need a shower,” she said with a coy grin.