Impulsion (Station 32 #1)(57)

To Wyatt, that gap of time no longer existed. She had always been his, and he was going to do whatever he had to do to make sure she never left him again.





Chapter Twelve



“Does the word ‘flood’ mean anything to the two of you?” Camille said as if she didn’t even notice how Wyatt and Harley were standing, as if she could not imagine why no one noticed the hose running into the aisle.

Wyatt let his stare linger a second longer, then let his hands fall.

“Why is he in here anyway?” Camille asked, picking up the hose and letting Danny Boy glide his teeth over the flow of the water.

“Doc wanted the cuts cleaned and his legs wrapped again,” Wyatt said as he turned and leaned down to push some of the water off Danny Boy’s legs.

“Are you riding today?”

Both Wyatt and Harley said yes at once.

“Then you need to change, Wyatt. We’re almost done tacking.”

Wyatt stood and looked back at Harley. His eyes fell deep into hers. As far as he was concerned, they were still in their own world; this right here was just going through the motions of life. “You want to walk him while I change? Then we can wrap him.”

“Do that. I want to see him walk,” Camille said.

Wyatt reached past where Harley was still standing to turn off the hose. She was utterly aware of how his hand grazed her arm as he leaned a little longer than he needed to.

Harley’s head was spinning, her heart was racing. She was sure her skin was flushed as she unhooked the cross ties on Danny Boy and attached his lead.

Harley had walked out of the side doorway by the wash stall and was leading Danny Boy to the side paddock.

“Lead him up front, better footing,” Camille said.

Being at her side was not making Harley’s head, her emotions, all of it, any better. This place was like a wicked time warp. If they had been caught like that years ago, there was no telling how her life would have ended up. At this point, Harley didn’t know if that would have afforded her and Wyatt more time or less.

“I’m only going to say this once, Harley,” Camille said as she stopped them just before making their way into the gate that led to the front. “You break my boy’s heart again, and I will be your worst nightmare. I will make your mother look like a kitten compared to me.”

Harley held her stare, swallowed her emotions, then opened the gate to lead Danny Boy in. How the hell was she supposed to tell her that it wasn’t Wyatt’s heart at risk, it was hers?

Wyatt had kissed her like he owned her, touched her body like it had only been his, like it would only be his. During that moment, that’s all she could ever want. Now, after…it hurt. For more than one reason, her body hurt with want, her soul hurt from the separating, her mind hurt as she kept imagining that girl upstairs under Wyatt, him touching her that way.

“He’s not putting much weight on that leg,” Camille said after a few minutes, obviously trying to start a conversation that had nothing to do with killing anyone.

Right then, Harley heard, “You low life, selfish, ornery son of a bitch!” coming from the second story doorway.

The apartment upstairs had two ways out; one was through the stairway that Harley could clearly see, and the other was the one inside of the barn that Harley had always used. Last she was at this barn, no one used that outside doorway. That was one of Camille’s rules. There used to be a stallion boarding under that stairway that would break a board in his stall every time Wyatt or Truman would run down the stairs.

That blonde Harley had met in passing threw down a bag from the stairs, then continued to yell inside the apartment as she grabbed another bag.

Harley glanced at Camille; the woman had turned rigid. Camille never yelled outside of the ring, but you could always see when she was furious—and this moment was one of those times.

Harley was half-mad, half-elated. Mad that Wyatt thought she was a sure thing, that he decided at least to clean out his apartment—elated that the girl was that easy to replace.

The girl charged down the stairs, threw her bags in the car, tossed a glare in Harley’s direction, then got in and peeled away. Harley almost lost control of Danny Boy; he’d jolted back, his eyes wide. That was a new development. Harley halfway considered that the wreck they were in had marked him in more than a physical way, but the thought never surfaced. She was confused. That green Honda almost backed into a four-wheeler that was approaching, a four-wheeler that Wyatt was driving.

Wyatt cursed in her direction, “Slow the f*ck down!” Then looked at Harley. “You all right? You have him?”

Camille had grabbed hold of Danny Boy’s halter, and she and Harley were both running their hands down his neck as he stood between them.

“Tell him to get his ass down here,” Camille said to Wyatt as he pulled his four-wheeler closer to the gate and got off.

He’d changed. Now he was in his jeans and a white T-shirt that fit just right. Just watching him walk across the driveway was causing Harley’s breath to hitch. All man now, she thought, not a trace of the boy left.

Right as Wyatt went to climb the stairs, Truman came out pulling his shirt on.

“How many times, Truman?” Camille scorned as he moved down the stairs.

“Last time, I swear. It’s over.”

“She could have killed Harley,” Wyatt said through gritted teeth. With wide eyes, Truman looked at Harley. She shook her head to tell him she was fine. Danny Boy had put her through worse, no doubt there.