Impulsion (Station 32 #1)(26)

That threat was the last words she heard her mother say before dawn. Those words were stirring her gut, making her sick to her stomach. She wasn’t exactly sure what damage her mother could do to this farm, but she knew not to underestimate her either.

She woke the next day to the sound of a diesel engine. She flew from her bed and looked out her window to find the same private transport company that had brought Danny Boy to the farm backing in.

She didn’t even dare to open her door. Instead, she climbed out her window like she had done a million times over.

She ran across the lawn as fast as her legs would carry her. She saw her mother standing with the driver of the town car, her father speaking with the driver of the rig. She ran right past them with only one goal in mind.

When Wyatt opened his eyes, he saw a rig backed into his barn, saw Danny Boy’s tack trunk being loaded, could have sworn he heard him being loaded. He took off toward his door as fast as he could. Right as he opened it, Harley fell into his arms and they both gasped on contact. His lips found hers; the kiss they gave each other was desperate, a gallows kiss, one that you poured every emotion into. He broke away, only to hold her as tight as he could as he buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, telling every sense he had to burn her even deeper into his mind.

“I love you, Harley. You’re safe. I’ll fix it.”

She was crying too hard to say a word. Clenching him, her nails dug into his back. Wyatt’s eyes were burning, and he squinted them closed, only to beg whoever was listening upstairs to stop this, to give him some kind of power to stop this.

He opened his eyes when he felt a presence spill into the room. Garrison Tatum was standing in the threshold of his doorway. Wyatt couldn’t read the look on his face; it was somewhere between fury and agony.

“I love you, Wyatt. Always, no matter what,” Harley was saying over and over between her desperate crying.

Wyatt leaned back, looked in her eyes, did his best to brush away the tears. “This is too real, too deep, too powerful for them to stop us. I love you.”

“Harley,” Garrison said.

The sound of his voice made Harley tremble in Wyatt’s arms. She shocked him when she reached up and kissed him anyway, right there in front of her father.

The next instant, Beckett had made his way into the room. Garrison had taken Harley’s arm, and Beckett had no choice but to use his entire stout build to hold his son back.

Wyatt was screaming her name, and Harley was crying hysterically, even stopped walking because her legs would not carry her. Garrison hesitated at her side. In truth, he had never seen any emotion come from his daughter, not even as a child. Harley never asked for anything, never fought for anything. The closest she had come to either was the presentation she had made to purchase Danny Boy in the first place.

Before he could even consider another avenue that would save both families face, Claire Tatum charged up the stairs, grabbed Harley, and dragged her to the waiting town car.

Wyatt had overpowered his father, made it to the barn aisle, but Beckett caught up to him, and he along with Truman and Johnnie, the farm hand, tackled Wyatt. Wyatt made it past them with nothing but pure rage and desperation. It wasn’t enough, though; the town car was long gone, the rig was pulling away. He ran as fast as he could down the driveway, seeing Harley’s hand flash against the window of the car in the distance.

He only stopped to catch his breath. His chest was ripping apart, his very being was shredded. There was no air.

He glanced over his shoulder to see his mother staring at the last sight of the rig, the pain in her eyes, before she turned and drove her golf cart off into a distant field. She was too strong to show any emotion in front of anyone, but Wyatt knew she was going somewhere so she could cry.

Wyatt’s father made it to his side. Wyatt was expecting to get punched or cussed, one of the two, but all Beckett said was, “Get on up to your room, son.”

Wyatt went. His first notion was to pack a bag, pull the cash he had tucked away in his mattress together, but as he was doing that Truman came in and started packing up his clothes.

“They took your truck keys. You need to calm down and get your head right. Momma’s sure you’re gonna end up in jail if you don’t.”

“What are you doing?”

“Moving back into the house. She said you were going to be bad company for a while, thinks you might slug me for the hell of it.” Truman dared to edge a smile. “You wouldn’t do that, now would you?”

Wyatt didn’t offer an answer.

“You and her? For real? Those tight asses were not just making a mountain out of a molehill, were they?”

“Shut your mouth, or I will slug you.”

Truman left minutes later, not daring to utter another word.

Wyatt collapsed on the couch in the living room. His eyes burning, his body burning. A million ideas were running through his mind. He just needed Harley to call him to tell him she was all right. If she did that, he could make it through the next breath, find a clear head to make a plan.





Chapter Seven



Hours later, after the sun had retreated and darkness settled across the land, the apartment door opened. Wyatt was expecting his mother or even his father to lay into him, but it was Easton with a brown paper bag under his arm. He walked over to the chair next to the couch and collapsed, pulled out a long neck and handed it to Wyatt.