hoarse voice, unable to take a deep breath because of the tremendous weight he felt pressing down on his chest. “Yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Stevi cried.
Dan was supposed to have arrived at the inn yesterday with Wyatt. When he hadn’t, they had chalked it up to the fact that there were times when Dan Taylor was not one of the most punctual people.
“Where was he when...when it happened? Why didn’t he come to us? Why didn’t he tell us? He must have known.”
Stevi’s questions tumbled out in rapid-fire succession. Even so, they found no target, scattering to the corners of the room, searching for any answers that made a smattering of sense.
As her sisters closed ranks around their father, alternating between asking questions and offering mutual comfort, Alex quietly took a step back.
And then another.
And another, until she’d managed to unobtrusively detach herself from the inner circle. Once certain that her sisters and Dorothy had surrounded their father with their love and overwhelming sympathy, Alex turned on her heel and quickly made her way to her father’s small office at the back of the first floor.
About to knock lightly on the door before entering, she decided against it.
Instead she slowly pushed open the door, as if she was opening a portal to another world, a world currently filled to overflowing with grief.
Or so she imagined.
She found Wyatt standing at the window with his back to the door.
His body was rigid, as if he was attempting to shoulder something that was far too heavy for him to actually manage. A burden that threatened to bring him to his knees if he took as much as a step in any direction.
A minor tug-of-war took place inside Alex and then she decided to back out of the room, to wait until Wyatt was better equipped to deal with the offer of sympathy from others—especially her.
But as she placed her hand on the doorknob again, preparing to ease the door shut, she saw Wyatt raise his head just a fraction.
“Hello, Alex,” he said in a quiet voice that sounded barely human.
Hearing him speak startled her. She stared at the back of his head. “How did you—?”
“Your reflection,” he answered, anticipating the rest of her question.
He still hadn’t turned around to face her. He was trying his best to get himself under control before he did that. There were times, less now than before, when facing Alex was not an easy thing to do, even under the best of circumstances.
This was definitely not the best of circumstances. Men weren’t supposed to cry. It wasn’t anything that had been drummed into him; it was just something that he felt. Most of all, he didn’t want Alex to see him with tears in his eyes. So he struggled to get control over himself.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
The words came to her lips automatically—and sounded incredibly tinny and hollow to her ear, even though they were filled to capacity and then some with the truth. She meant them from the bottom of her heart.
“I’m sorry for ours, too,” she added in a voice that was even smaller than when she’d begun. “Your father was a wonderful, wonderful man and we’re all going to miss him terribly. Especially me.”
Wyatt turned from the window then, his face a rigid mask of control. Only the sunlight shining on the slight telltale dampness on his cheek belied the control he was attempting to project.
“You’re kidding,” he said in disbelief.
Alex had no idea what he was referring to. Had his grief caused him to temporarily take leave of his senses? “What?”
“You’re actually engaging in one-upmanship? Now?” he asked her incredulously.
“What?” Alex repeated, thoroughly confused. Then his words sank in and she stared at him, horrified. How could he even think that? “No. I only meant that I was going to miss your father a great deal.”
“That’s not what you said,” Wyatt pointed out. “You said ‘especially me.’ That means that out of everyone who is grieving—including me—you are the one who is grieving the most. You, who only saw him for a month in the summer and a couple of times during the year, you’re going to miss him more than I am.”
She refrained from pointing out that he only saw his father the same amount she did. But that would be nit-picking and this was not the time for that.
“That’s not what I meant. I mean—oh, damn it, Wyatt,” she cried in frustration, “I’m trying my best to be nice, here.”
“Something you obviously don’t have much practice at because you’re not succeeding,” he told her.
She pulled back, hurt and confused.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe I’m being unreasonable, but I just don’t see you making an effort. My dad died last night, and all I see is Alex being...Alex. At my expense.”
The next moment, any possible escalation of a verbal exchange between Alex and Dan’s son was interrupted as people came flooding into the small office, filling it to capacity.
Cris, Stevi and Andy surrounded Wyatt, offering their condolences in what came across as a cacophony of sympathy and kind words tripping over one another.
Only her father noticed Alex retreating from the room, moving back to the threshold.
“Everything all right?” he asked her.
“No,” she answered, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from Wyatt and her sisters. Their comfort was easing his pain. She was glad for him, really glad—but she had tried to do the same thing, she really had. And he had just railed at her. “Uncle Dan’s gone,” she added in response to what she knew was going to be her father’s next question. “How can anything be all right at this moment?”
“I meant between you and Wyatt,” her father clarified.
“No,” she told him honestly. “But then,” she added, “it never was.” Alex shrugged the matter off. “That’s not important right now.” She focused on something she could help with. “If Uncle Dan just died yesterday, then there hasn’t been a funeral yet.”
“No, there hasn’t,” Wyatt said, speaking up. Despite having three women talking to him at once, he had still managed to hone in on what Alex had said to her father.
“That’s part of the reason Wyatt’s here,” her father told her.
Alex was still contemplating ducking out, but with everyone watching that seemed too much like running and it wasn’t the kind of message she was looking to send. When she came right down to it, she wasn’t sure exactly what kind of message she was trying to send.
“To carry out Dan’s last wishes,” her father was saying. “Dan wanted to be buried here, in the family cemetery. These past twenty years,
