him the teenage attitude she’d always greeted him with before. He’d thought it was because his presence made her feel safe. That was what he’d intended, anyway.
He’d been so damn clueless, and he’d ended up hurting her just as much as her asshole boyfriendhad. But instead of using his fists, he’d broken her heart.
Chapter Four
‡
“Marriage requires a special talent, like acting.”
—Warren Beatty
E arly birds chirped as Nancy built a teepee out of the small logs left over from last night’s fire and filled in the gaps with kindling. Swiping a match across its box, she lit the fire and blew gently to help it catch. When it crackled to life, she satback against a mossy, fallen tree and watched the fire burn.
The sun had barely risen over the mountains, bathing the clearing in a soft light. Everyone else was still asleep. Polly’s thunderous snores had woken her an hour ago, and she’d finally given up on falling back to sleep. Her muscles ached from yesterday’s activities but in such a sweetly memorable way that she couldn’t wait for moreof the same today.
She’d nearly forgotten telling Polly and Ruby about her childhood wilderness adventures, and she’d always wondered whether they realized how many of those stories were made up. She’d read a lot as a kid, stories of girls her age who’d been just as poor but had infinitely more gumption than she did. Girls who’d been orphaned and decided to live in boxcars or ride the rails insearch of family. Nancy hadn’t worked up the courage to leave her own boxcar-like trailer and set off in search of a better life until she’d graduated from high school. She sure hadn’t found that better life quickly, either. She’d found Polly and Ruby, and together the three of them had worked their asses off to afford a meager lifestyle until their fortunes started changing.
The fire’s flamesgrew higher and warmed her cheeks, so she got up and hung a metal bucket full of water over it. Wyatt had rigged up a pretty ingenious system the night before, with two forked sticks sunk deep on either side of the fire pit and a strong stick lying across them, perfect for hooking the water bucket onto.
It didn’t take long for the water to start bubbling, and she carefully picked up the stickit hung on and lifted it away from the fire. She poured the water into a container of coffee grounds and let the first whiff of caffeinated goodness wake her up. Wyatt had supplied the good stuff.
A rustle from the woods drew her attention just in time for her to see him crawling out of his tent. He wore jeans and a dark thermal shirt that showed off the musculature of his chest and abs. Memoriesof last night’s game and the unsettling dreams that had followed came back to her. He’d touched her twice in her life—the time he’d held her hand after Brady’s attack, and the time he’d pushed her away, horror etched in his face and vibrating his voice as he’d said, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Kissing you.” She’d thought it was obvious, given that her hands were on his shoulders and her lipshad briefly touched his.
He’d brushed aside her hands and jumped out of the truck, still parked in front of her school. “Jesus Christ. Whatever made you do that, just forget about it. It’s not going to happen, Nancylynn. It’ll never happen—not in a million years.”
All the clichés about hearts breaking were baloney. Hers hadn’t broken. It had disintegrated.
Yesterday, she’d been shocked he broughtthat shared humiliation up and even more shocked at how frankly he’d spoken about it. She’d appreciated him getting it out in the open, but the conversation had dredged up memories that fueled some horribly erotic dreams, similar to the ones she’d had of him as a teenager but with a lot more experience to color in the details.
All of which made it damn near impossible to look at him now.
“Morning.”She gave him a tight smile and avoided his gaze as
He’d been so damn clueless, and he’d ended up hurting her just as much as her asshole boyfriendhad. But instead of using his fists, he’d broken her heart.
Chapter Four
‡
“Marriage requires a special talent, like acting.”
—Warren Beatty
E arly birds chirped as Nancy built a teepee out of the small logs left over from last night’s fire and filled in the gaps with kindling. Swiping a match across its box, she lit the fire and blew gently to help it catch. When it crackled to life, she satback against a mossy, fallen tree and watched the fire burn.
The sun had barely risen over the mountains, bathing the clearing in a soft light. Everyone else was still asleep. Polly’s thunderous snores had woken her an hour ago, and she’d finally given up on falling back to sleep. Her muscles ached from yesterday’s activities but in such a sweetly memorable way that she couldn’t wait for moreof the same today.
She’d nearly forgotten telling Polly and Ruby about her childhood wilderness adventures, and she’d always wondered whether they realized how many of those stories were made up. She’d read a lot as a kid, stories of girls her age who’d been just as poor but had infinitely more gumption than she did. Girls who’d been orphaned and decided to live in boxcars or ride the rails insearch of family. Nancy hadn’t worked up the courage to leave her own boxcar-like trailer and set off in search of a better life until she’d graduated from high school. She sure hadn’t found that better life quickly, either. She’d found Polly and Ruby, and together the three of them had worked their asses off to afford a meager lifestyle until their fortunes started changing.
The fire’s flamesgrew higher and warmed her cheeks, so she got up and hung a metal bucket full of water over it. Wyatt had rigged up a pretty ingenious system the night before, with two forked sticks sunk deep on either side of the fire pit and a strong stick lying across them, perfect for hooking the water bucket onto.
It didn’t take long for the water to start bubbling, and she carefully picked up the stickit hung on and lifted it away from the fire. She poured the water into a container of coffee grounds and let the first whiff of caffeinated goodness wake her up. Wyatt had supplied the good stuff.
A rustle from the woods drew her attention just in time for her to see him crawling out of his tent. He wore jeans and a dark thermal shirt that showed off the musculature of his chest and abs. Memoriesof last night’s game and the unsettling dreams that had followed came back to her. He’d touched her twice in her life—the time he’d held her hand after Brady’s attack, and the time he’d pushed her away, horror etched in his face and vibrating his voice as he’d said, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Kissing you.” She’d thought it was obvious, given that her hands were on his shoulders and her lipshad briefly touched his.
He’d brushed aside her hands and jumped out of the truck, still parked in front of her school. “Jesus Christ. Whatever made you do that, just forget about it. It’s not going to happen, Nancylynn. It’ll never happen—not in a million years.”
All the clichés about hearts breaking were baloney. Hers hadn’t broken. It had disintegrated.
Yesterday, she’d been shocked he broughtthat shared humiliation up and even more shocked at how frankly he’d spoken about it. She’d appreciated him getting it out in the open, but the conversation had dredged up memories that fueled some horribly erotic dreams, similar to the ones she’d had of him as a teenager but with a lot more experience to color in the details.
All of which made it damn near impossible to look at him now.
“Morning.”She gave him a tight smile and avoided his gaze as
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