Rugged Hearts by Amanda McIntyre

through the Internet and thought maybe we should do this before we get too old to really enjoy it.”
    “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, huh, Dad?”
    He laughed. “I doubt we’ll make the headlines, though I have always wanted to go check out the rumors about the Chicken Ranch.”
    “Douglas!” her mother interjected and in her best teacher voice, to boot.
    Aimee laughed. “This is a great idea, you guys. You’ll have so much fun. If you win big, please remember your starving student-loan-laden daughter up here in the land that time forgot.”
    “You sure you don’t mind? We could change our plans, come up there instead.”
    “Really, Dad? I wouldn’t.” Aimee chuckled. “Trust me. You’ll have a lot more excitement in Vegas. You can come here when you’re looking for a good game of pool at Dusty’s Pub and Grill.”
    “End of the Line has a pub?”
    “Funny, Dad. So tell me, when do you leave?”
    “Two days before Christmas Eve.”
    She’d not heard as much interest and enthusiasm in her mother’s voice in a long time. It made her happy to see them enjoying their lives again. “Wow, it doesn’t give you guys much time to get ready. Are you packed?”
    “Except for a few things,” her mom responded.
    “I love it and I love you guys for your support.” She swallowed a lump in her throat as she thought of Sarah punching her fist in the air, happy to see her parents again embracing life.
    “Well, we’ll let you know where we’re staying when we get everything finalized. We’re proud of you, sweetheart.”
    “Love you both,” she said softly.
    “Love you more.”
    The connection ended with the same phrase he’d always given to them for as long as Aimee could remember.
    Later that night, Aimee sat on her living room floor, cutting long strips of red and green construction paper. She kept an eye on the excited reporter giving updates on the weather channel, thus far, they’d received around two inches, but the high winds could make travel in the open areas treacherous at night. Aimee raised her brow. She needed no reminder of that, still a couple of inches wasn’t about to cancel school up here. She flipped her fingers through hundreds of brightly colored strips, satisfied she’d be ready for her class tomorrow. If she could as readily organize her random thoughts about handsome, Wyatt Kinnison, she might be able to sleep.

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    Not surprisingly, Wyatt’s night was as tortured as he thought it might be. He gave up on sleep, tossing and turning until finally he hauled his ass out of bed and sat in the dark, pondering what the hell had happened to his safe, cloistered world in the last twenty-four hours. A cold shower and hot cup of coffee later, he trudged across the frozen yard to the barn. Driven by the mystery of his fiery attraction to this young woman, he dove with a particular fervor into the morning chores.
    Later that morning, he leaned against the kitchen cabinet, mesmerized by the deep emerald pine trees against the glittery white snow. A flash of red zipped past the window. A cardinal in search of food reminded him to check the feeders on the deck, or Rein would have his head. Despite the holiday, Wyatt loved the winter. He loved the stark quiet on the ranch after a snowfall. It was the commercialism of the Christmas season, the sudden turn of goodwill for one’s fellow man that Wyatt neither understood nor tolerated. For a few weeks, people seemed to share a benevolent care toward each other, but once the decorations were down and the wrapping discarded, so, too, went the goodwill. As Rein was quick to point out, he often reminded Wyatt that he saw the glass half-empty and the reason, he went on to diagnose, was his inability to take the risk to trust anyone but himself. Dalton was less diplomatic and simply labeled him Mr. Grinch. Wyatt took another sip of coffee and let the heat linger on his tongue. Maybe he was a Grinch, but if it were so,