for her, too?”
Wyatt smothered a sigh. He knew perfectly well his father wasn’t this dense and that Earl was giving him a hard time. “Not a party, Dad. I’m having a few people over next weekend so she can meet some other women. I’m not around much, and maybe she can find some friends while she’s here.”
“Hmm.” Earl drained the rest of his beer and tossed the bottle in the trash. “I think I’ll head on back to my place. Maybe give Alma a call.”
Alma was his father’s latest interest, a woman in her midfifties with a warm smile and a nicely plump figure. Wyatt often thought that Earl hadn’t moved out of the family house so that his son could date, but rather so Wyatt wouldn’t cramp his father’s style. Wyatt’s mother had been gone for nearly thirty years, but Earl had never remarried. He had, however, enjoyed a series of relationships.
Apparently, he wasn’t worried about appearances for himself. Wyatt just shook his head as his father grabbed his coat and left. Earl was no fool, obviously, but the way he’d been talking tonight? Wyatt wondered what was really behind it.
A short while later he stood at the front window, the large living room behind him, the lights out so he could see. Wind was ripping the last autumn leaves from the trees and sweeping them down the street.
No, Earl was no fool. So maybe he was right that having Amber here was a mistake. The thing was, Wyatt had never been one to turn away someone in need. Far from it. He always had an overwhelming desire to help.
Mistake or no mistake, Amber was going to have a place to stay while she sorted out her life and where she wanted to go from here. Because she was right: she was in a mess.
* * *
Amber Towers pulled into Conard City and wondered if she was about to drop off the map. It wasn’t that the town was clearly small—she’d been in a lot of small towns in her life—but after driving so many miles with nothing on either side of the road except rangeland and mountains, it felt like the ends of the earth.
The streetlamps had come on, casting sharp shadows beyond the pools of light. From inside most of the houses came a golden glow that somehow seemed to beckon, promising warmth, shelter and friendliness.
Just an illusion, she told herself. Her GPS audibly guided her to Front Street and right up to Wyatt’s door. She pulled up against the curb, not wanting to block him in his narrow driveway. Other cars scattered along the street told her that on-street parking wasn’t forbidden here.
Then she sat, her engine running, wondering what exactly she was doing. But she’d been wondering that for a while now. The whole situation stank, starting with her own naive stupidity and ending with her here, at an old friend’s house, unemployed and scared.
Yeah, she’d admitted she was scared. She’d never imagined that her rising boat and bright future could run aground. Certainly not this way. Not when everything had been going so well.
With both hands gripping the steering wheel, she continued to hesitate. Yes, she’d called someone who was totally outside her current circle, looking for objectivity and a true friend. Wyatt had sprung quickly to mind when she’d wanted a sounding board. Even back in law school, all those years ago, he’d been imbued with common sense, with a way of distancing himself that was excellent for a lawyer and something she’d had to learn. He could put feelings aside and see clearly.
So she had asked him to see clearly.
He had. He hadn’t told her what to do, not even indirectly, but he’d managed to draw the situation for her in sharp lines and propose several options for dealing with it.
She had chosen this one, and as soon as she had he’d said, “Well, then, you’ll need a place to stay while you make up your mind about what you want to do. I’ve got plenty of room.”
That was Wyatt. Always ready to help, a quality she had always admired in him, a quality she’d seen him display repeatedly during that year they’d been in law school at the same time. She’d accepted, but now she wondered if she was taking advantage of him. Even as she had qualms, she knew why Wyatt had been the only person she had told about her situation. She could count on him. Always. Other friends in her life had been nowhere near as steadfast.
It remained, however, this was her problem, her mess, and moving in on him and his life, even by invitation, had probably been a selfish thing to do.
Finally she quit arguing with herself and switched off her ignition. If she felt she was disrupting his life, that she was in the way somehow, she could leave tomorrow or the next day. After all, she was traveling light, most of her belongings packed away in storage for some better future day.
At last she climbed out of the car. The wind felt a little like Chicago, although considerably drier. It nipped through her jacket and gray slacks like a familiar bite. Not that she’d had that long to get used to it.
She watched the leaves blowing down the street and wondered if her life were blowing away with them. Big mistake, big consequences, and in an instant everything was different. She’d been a fool. Maybe that was the thing hardest to forgive in herself.
The porch light flipped on. Wyatt had seen her. The house itself was mostly dark, but he must have caught sight of her from somewhere. A fan window over the front door spilled warm light, and stained-glass insets on the front door glowed with color. His home. Inviting her.
The front door opened. She recognized his figure immediately, tall and straight with broad shoulders and narrow hips.
“Amber?”
“Coming,” she answered promptly, settling her purse over her shoulder. Her bags could wait. For later, for never—the next few hours would tell.
She strode up the walk, climbed three steps, crossed the wide covered porch and walked straight into his waiting arms.
She hadn’t expected this hug, but it felt so good she simply accepted it and fought down unwanted tears of relief. He’d never hugged her like this before, warm and tight, and reality proved to be far better than her youthful imaginings. She wished she could stay there forever. All too soon, he let her go.
“Come inside,” he said kindly. “It’s getting cold out here.”
The house was large, and the foyer bigger than she expected, designed in a very different age. A dark wooden staircase led to the upstairs, dark wood wainscoting lined the walls beneath walls painted Wedgwood blue and the floor itself was highly polished wood decorated with a few large oriental rugs.
But she was more interested in Wyatt himself. Time had changed him some. His face had sharper lines and seemed squarer than she remembered from four years ago at that convention. She thought she saw flecks of silver in his nearly black hair. Age had filled him out a bit, but in all the right places. He wore a dark gray sweater and jeans and was walking around in his stocking feet.
He smiled. “Come get comfortable,” he suggested, his dark eyes friendly. “You must be tired after all that driving.”
He helped her out of her jacket and hung it and her purse on the wooden coat tree beside the door. Glancing around again, she felt as if she’d wandered into a museum.
“Somehow,” she said, “I didn’t imagine you living in a place like this.”
“It’s
