favorite game at recess had been wagon train.
Too bad her imagination was the only place any of them were perfect. For all of Wyatt’s physical attributes, when it came to how he treated women, Wyatt was no different than Craig. Oh sure, he might be far more smooth, but his basic noncommitment routine was much the same. Maybe worse—at least Craig had told Natalie to her face he was done. Wyatt’s kissing stunt had forced Starla to do the work.
The only reason Wyatt treated Natalie with respectful kid gloves was the knowledge that they would never be more than friends, never mind the glimpse of chemistry they’d shared.
“Miss Natalie,” seven-year-old Bonnie Buckhorn said, “I thought you were s’posed to tell us a ghost story?”
“Yeah.” Bonnie’s twin, Betsy, climbed onto Natalie’s lap. “And if you don’t tell the story, then when Uncle Cash jumps out in his costume, trying to scare us, then nobody’s gonna be scared.”
“Hush,” Natalie halfheartedly scolded. “That’s supposed to be a surprise for your friends.”
Betsy folded her chubby arms. “Then Daddy shouldn’t’ve been talking so loud with Grandma, because I know all about it.”
Laughing, Natalie gave the pint-size know-it-all a squeeze. Was it wrong to pray her child wasn’t quite as precocious?
By the time the story had ended and all of the kids save for Betsy were sufficiently spooked, Wyatt pulled the wagon alongside the old stone mill where a bonfire crackled. Dancing flames only added to the already ghoulish scene. Gnarled oak limbs cast monster shadows held at bay with plenty of marshmallows, chocolate and laughter.
Natalie had just assembled a giant s’more when a couple of Bonnie’s masked friends ran into her during a ghost-hunter chase. They apologized, but only after having caused Natalie to fall.
“Lord, woman…” Wyatt sprung from the crowd gathered around the fire to help her to her feet. From there, with surprising tenderness, he brushed gravel from her palms. His warmth came as a shock, causing her breath to hitch. Awareness of his size, his strength, the decadence of melted chocolate on his breath, melded into a confused knot in her chest. Was she coming down with something? “There you go,” he said. “All better. Damned kids. Should’ve watched where they were going. But you need to be careful. This is starting to be a habit.”
“Th-thanks.” He released her hands, but not her gaze. Which, if only for a few seconds, was too intense.
He looked away before asking, “Is the rest of you all right? You know, like the baby?”
Natalie nodded. “I think so.”
“Good.” Hands in his pockets, he looked to the sky, then the wagon. “Well, I should check on the horses.”
Just like that, Wyatt was gone.
Natalie should’ve been fine with his leaving, but oddly enough, she felt lonely.
“WHATWASTHATABOUT?” Dallas asked.
“What do you mean?” Wyatt checked the horse’s harnesses.
“That thing with Nat. You’re not thinking of starting something with her, are you? In case you forgot, you’re breaking your mother’s heart in just under a month.”
Wyatt shot his brother a dirty look. “For the record, your daughter’s hellion friends knocked Nat down. I was doing a good deed. As for Mom, with as many rug rats as you’ve got running around the ranch, she’ll never notice I’m gone.”
“Trust me, she’ll notice. She already asked if she should hire a bodyguard for you in case your trip gets dicey. Don’t know why you can’t just stick around here and pop out some grandkids for her like the rest of us. Would that be so hard?” Stroking one of the horse’s cheeks, no doubt when he thought Wyatt wasn’t looking, Dallas rechecked the harnesses. Classic Dallas. Always in his business. Never trusting Wyatt to competently handle a job. Ignoring the fact that since Wyatt had taken over the oil side of the ranch, they’d made money hand over fist. Ever since his big brother had the twins, he’d seemed to equate success with the number of kids a guy had. Considering his own shortcomings in that field, Wyatt figured he’d had just about all of his brother’s wisdom he could handle.
Wyatt said, “How about I take the truck back to my place and you handle the wagon?”
“Won’t work,” Dallas said. “We need you here to—”
“How about making it work.” Beyond angry, Wyatt strode to the vehicle. Nine times out of ten, Dallas left the keys in the ignition.
This time was no exception.
Wyatt started the engine, hit the lights then bucked it into gear, in the process damn near hitting Natalie.
“Where are you going?” she called over the ancient V-8.
“Home. Had enough family togetherness to last the next year.”
“Me, too,” she said, fumbling with her fingers at her waist. Had it always been huge? How could he not have noticed? “Would you mind taking me to my car?”
For a split second, Wyatt thought about turning her down, but then his mind flashed on just how pleasant his past couple meetings with her had been. Natalie was the anti-Dallas.
Meeting his brother’s glare, Wyatt said to Natalie, “Hop in. Let’s go lookin’ for trouble.”
Chapter Three
“What was that about?” Natalie asked once they were well away from the bonfire’s glow.
“You really don’t wanna know.”
“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” She rolled down her window. Sweet wood smoke laced the air rushing across her flushed cheeks and chest. “Your mom, bless her heart, just pressed my hot button nine ways to Sunday. Way I see it, I’ll tell you my frustrations, then you can vent yours.”
“Deal. Do you like shooting?”
Forehead furrowed, she angled on the seat to face him. “Haven’t done it since I was a kid, but it was fun then.”
“Oh,” he said with a sharp laugh, “you’re gonna love this.”
Twenty minutes driving across dark prairie landed them alongside an old wood outbuilding and trash pile from the land’s previous owners. One of the latest parcels added to the vast Buckhorn spread, the old Spring place wasn’t fancy, but according to Josie, Dallas had gone after it with a vengeance.
“Come on,” Wyatt said, taking a 30-30 rifle from the back window. “And grab the shells from the glove box.”
Moonlight shimmered off a pond. From somewhere—Natalie hoped far away—coyotes yipped. After handing Wyatt the ammo, she hugged herself to ward off a chill.
“Cold?” he asked, boots crunching on hard-packed dirt.
“A little.”
