Impulsion (Station 32 #1)(14)
That statement spawned a fight between Wyatt and Harley. She didn’t speak to him for two days, and when he finally cornered her and she told him why she was mad, he laughed. Hard. He told her he would not touch that girl with a ten-foot pole if his last breath depended on it. He swore to her that he had never touched another girl aside from Harley. She believed him, she believed him because she saw the vulnerability in his eyes, saw how scared he was that she wouldn’t believe him.
Harley was going to have to get through the night without giving Dorcas any reason to create gossip while watching her flirt with Wyatt.
When Harley walked up, Easton turned and smiled. “The queen of the rope swing has arrived.”
Harley put on a shy smile.
“Oh Lord, do not tell me Miss Priss jumped in the creek? How many hot showers did you take to wash that memory away?” Dorcas taunted.
“Harley dominated that creek, and the four-wheeler,” Easton said.
“And the ring,” Wyatt said.
“Anything and everything on this farm,” Truman added.
Harley gave Truman a shy smile. He’d always had a glint in his eyes that said he thought Wyatt hung the moon. Harley had no doubt he would be wilder than Wyatt ever was, but at the same time, she thought those brothers would always keep each other safe. Considering what Beckett just told her she could only hope she was right about that, right about all of the boys Wyatt ran with.
Dorcas landed a hard glare on Harley, but she smiled as well. “So I guess you’re sowing your royal oats before you run on home and find some rich Prince Charming and settle in a mansion somewhere, drinking hot tea.”
She was trying to get a rise out of both Wyatt and Harley, and they both knew it.
Girls were girls, no matter what class they were or were not raised with, and Harley had been told by the queen of the game, her mother, how to handle women like this. She smiled and said, “The only thing I’m doing at the moment is savoring a Clandestine love affair with a strong, vibrant, powerful, stunning boy…who is clearly rightly named.”
What Harley’s mother taught her, what she watched her mother do, was always to ensure your words never revealed the truth yet bellowed it at the same time, so when questioned your integrity could always be argued to be true.
Harley answered the hidden question. Yes, she knew this time now would be the best years of her life, that nostalgia would be her constant companion; yes, she was madly in love with Wyatt Doran, a boy that finds you ridiculous—but at the same time she only admitted that she was at Willowhaven to learn to ride her horse.
Dorcas pulled her brow together in confusion as the others belted out laughter.
“Yeah, Dorcas, go run and tell our mom that,” Truman mocked.
“She’s talking about her horse,” Easton told Dorcas. “Her horse is named Clandestine…you’d know that if you talked to the girl instead of always trying to be a bitch.”
“Fuck you, Easton,” she spouted as she turned and left. The laughter exploded then, and even Harley dared to crack a smile as her eyes met Wyatt’s. The brief glance told her that he’d understood exactly what she’d really said, that she had found a way to tell everyone that she was in love with him without telling a soul.
The dare of it, how strong and confident she seemed as she spoke those words, stirred Wyatt, brought adrenaline to the surface of his skin. He knew without a doubt that Harley was strong and confident, the only issue was that she didn’t realize that she was. So when she stepped up, when for a brief second he saw that boldness he was trying to uncover, he felt like anything was possible, their forever was possible. That thought knocked the wind out of him, made him hungry to find more of that nerve, to open her up a little more.
Everyone ate dinner around that fire. Harley listened to Beckett and his brothers taunt one another, Camille dominating them all, speaking the ultimate truth as she saw it. The wayward stories that would lead in any direction about anyone or any horse lasted for hours. One by one, people faded from beside the fire.
Truman and Ava were sitting between Wyatt and Harley. Across the massive fire, Easton was next to Memphis, but his stare was deep in the fire. Dorcas was chatting away with Camille, doing her best to get Wyatt’s attention at the same time, making sure she was leaned forward as far as possible so if Wyatt happened to look across the fire he would get a face full of cleavage.
“What is he looking for in that fire?” Truman asked with a nod to Easton.
“A pocket,” Wyatt said as he downed the Coke in his hand.
“A what?” Truman said with a confused gaze.
“His daddy taught him how to read the fire, how to find the pocket, the safe place.”
That seemed to awe Truman.
“Your dad said you two were going to join the fire department one day.” Harley said it as a question that could blend into the casual conversation but carried the reverence of a private moment.
Wyatt glanced at her, trying to figure out how to say his plans without revealing the pair of them. “Easton is going in, without a doubt. This fall, we’re both joining the volunteer with Memphis. It wouldn’t be hard to do what I had to do here and that one day.” He nodded in Easton’s direction. “We both grew up hearing the glory stories of his dad, and a few of my uncle’s. I’ve always wanted to do it for at least a few years.” His eyes fell into the flames. “My mother always told me that if I wasn’t afraid of something, then I had to help others that were, that the fear was taken from me for a reason, to never take that for granted. I don’t fear the fire.”