Impulsion (Station 32 #1)(78)
“Look at her, Memphis,” Wyatt said with a nod to the dance floor. Harley was laughing as she danced, talking to everyone that passed her like she had known them for years; some she had. “Does it look like she belongs anywhere else but here? We’ll worry about her daddy and the rest when we have to. Right now…it’s just good right now, and that’s the way we want it.”
“You don’t think you need to have a conversation with her dad? You mean to tell me that Beckett hasn’t already made you have one?”
Wyatt came from southern blood, they all did. There were unspoken rules about respect that were never broken. If you planned to make a life with a girl, talking to her daddy was not a suggestion, it was silently demanded. Downright rude not to.
Wyatt’s father hadn’t brought it up, not clearly at least, but Wyatt knew it was coming. It needed to happen, he knew that. He had not left things right with Garrison Tatum. The last time he saw him, well, that was the darkest day of Wyatt’s life, and Wyatt acted like anything but the gentleman his parents had raised him to be.
Wyatt would have talked to Garrison weeks back if he understood whatever this deal was that Collin and Harley had been tied up in. Wyatt assumed sooner or later Garrison would surface at the farm, and he would look him in the eye and tell him. If not, then when he took Harley to get her things, later on, Wyatt would talk to the man.
“Everyone is taking it slow, no rush.”
“I don’t care how slow you take it. I just don’t want to see you go down that dark road again. I honestly don’t think you can survive it.”
“Not going to happen,” Wyatt said and meant it.
His expression turned cold as he saw Dorcas making her way toward Harley. He hadn’t even seen her come in. Normally, she was easy to spot. If she wasn’t trying to hang on to Truman, she was lingering near one of the Doran cousins. “We might need to head out,” he said as he stood to make his way to Harley.
Harley was on cloud fifty; she had not stopped dancing since she had gotten there. She was moving so much that she managed to hedge off any buzz that might have taken her over the edge with that one beer she’d downed, and the sips of Truman’s draft she had taken. She felt numb, but it was a good numb and she doubted the beers had much to do with that. Outside of Willowhaven Farms, this was her new favorite place in the world.
She was so at ease that her smile didn’t even falter as Dorcas walked right up to her in the center of the dance floor. The entire bar seemed to focus in on them all at once.
“They said Miss Priss wasn’t getting enough attention in her world, so she faked some drama out on the back highway just so Wyatt would come to the rescue.”
Harley looked this girl up and down; all time had done to her was encourage her to add more makeup and wear her shirts even lower. “You’re the one that told me he forgot my name. I figured a dramatic entrance might trigger a thought or two.” When Dorcas looked at her like she was insane, Harley went on. “Oddly, though, he never forgot my name, never forgot a single thing about me.” Harley stepped up to her, let her eyes fall down and up her. “It’s going to take far more than your ignorant wannabe insults to rock my boat tonight.”
“Screw you and your holier than thou attitude. What right do you have to get my girl kicked out of that apartment? That’s right, you don’t have one. You just didn’t want any competition because you know southern boys all come to their senses when it counts.”
“Go to hell,” Truman spouted. “I kicked her out. We board horses, not bums.”
“That’s not what you said when you were hitting it,” Dorcas yelled over Harley’s shoulder.
Harley moved to her side just to come eye-to-eye with Dorcas.
“Look right here,” Harley said, pointing to her own eyes. “The Dorans, they’re southern royalty. The only thing I compete with in their presence is myself. The only thing I strive to do is have the amount of class and style this family has.” Harley tilted her head to the side slightly. “If anyone was asked to leave Willowhaven Farms, it was because they lacked both.”
“Your rich little boyfriend know where you are? He does now. I just emailed him. A nice little picture of you and Truman rubbing against one another, you gulping his beer.”
Harley smiled slowly, glanced to her side at Wyatt as he approached, looking murderous. “Come here, baby, smile for the camera. Dorcas is trying to develop a talent in photography. So far, she’s managed to learn how to aim her camera at the wrong Doran.”
“I aimed the camera at the Doran that was all over you. What are they doing, passing you around now?”
Wyatt grabbed her phone and dropped it in Truman’s draft, then stepped forward and looked down at Dorcas. “I told you once, I won’t tell you again: stay away from me and my own.”
Harley doubted Dorcas ever heard that; she was too busy gasping and screaming, “My phone!” While scrambling to get the phone, all she did was manage to pour what was left in the glass down her shirt.
Everyone in the pub all started to laugh, calling out her name or screaming, “Wet T-shirt contest!”
“You owe me a phone!”
“And you owe Harley an apology,” Wyatt spat back.
“Somebody owes me a beer!” Truman said, raising his empty glass. “Pub Foul!” Everyone in the bar started to chant the same thing, laughing as they did so.