Taking on Twins (8 page)

“Mom, make him stay,” Noah whined.

Annie sagged against the banister and rubbed her brow. It appeared that her sons were no more immune to Wyatt's allure than she was. Even though she'd rather laugh at the sight of them swinging from Wyatt's appendages, she affected a stern front. “Boys, please leave poor Wyatt alone and go wash up. Your dinner is ready.”

“Do as she says,” Wyatt urged when they didn't move.

Grumbling, Alex took the lamp from Wyatt and turned to slog to his bedroom to clean up for dinner. Noah, equally dismayed, relinquished Wyatt's leg and followed his brother.

“You ready?” Wyatt grasped the railing and in a few lanky steps was standing before her, reminding her too vividly of the way she used to melt when he stood this close.

Mentally bracing herself against the age-old pull between them, Annie touched her horrid hair. “I guess.”

 

As Wyatt held Annie's chair, then helped her settle at the table, he simply could not get over how she hadn't changed. She was twenty-nine now, but still looked the waifishly thin nineteen-year-old. There was not a line on her face. Not one. And, except for a smattering of endearing freckles, her skin was the stuff of an Ivory soap commercial.

He was glad she'd taken her hair down from that knot she liked to stuff it into and let it flow freely to her shoulders. She had such a wonderful, eye-catching head of hair, tying it up like that seemed a shame. He loved the way it spiraled so flatteringly around her face and longed to reach up and tug one of these corkscrew curls and let it
boing
back, the way he used to.

“Thank you,” she murmured in the voice that had haunted his soul in all the years since he'd seen her last. She scooted into a comfortable position and reached for her linen napkin.

Reluctance coloring his smile, he stepped away from the back of her chair and moved into his seat across the table. He'd chosen a restaurant that clung to the edge of a raging river, nestled in a valley halfway between Keyhole and Nettle Creek. It was a charming old building, all rough-hewn logs and plate-glass windows and best known for its prizewinning chicken and dumplings. It seemed neutral territory, what with the bright lights, squawking babies and simple fare. Hopefully, she wouldn't think he was trying to seduce her in these surroundings.

After the waitress had taken their drink order, they were once again left to deal with the uncomfortable silence that comes from years spent apart. Finally, Annie spoke.

“My boys seemed taken with you.”

“They're great kids. Cute. Like their mama.”

Annie glanced at the light fixture overhead, seemingly to dismiss the compliment. “They can be a handful.”

“You've done well with them.”

“My family helps out a lot.”

Wyatt drew a finger over the condensation on his water glass. Family. It was the reason Annie had left college. He glanced up at her and could see that she was following his train of thought. Might as well get it over with.

“I—” He swallowed and could feel his Adam's apple straining against the collar of his polo shirt and unbuttoned the top button. “I asked you to have dinner with me tonight because I need to explain…to tell you that I'm sorry about what happened between us.”

Annie held up a placating hand. “It's—”

“No. Annie, hear me out. This needs to be said and I've been waiting a long time to do it.”

She lifted a shoulder in capitulation.

“I just want to tell you that I now understand why you had to come home. Back then, I was selfish and didn't really understand the importance of family.”

“You had a bum deal as a kid.”

Wyatt dipped his head in agreement and mulled over the miserable life he led before Joe rescued him. He didn't much like to think about the time when he'd been a frightened little boy whose pitiful existence before Joe consisted of a broken home, a drunken, abusive, sorry excuse for a father and an altogether absent mother. They were dead and gone now and he was a Colton in every way but name.

“That's true, but only until Joe rescued me. Because he cared for me, and—” Wyatt paused, as his throat grew tight whenever he talked about Joe “—loved me, I should have understood the way you felt about your own dad. About a year ago I almost lost Joe, which—” jaw jutting, he shifted his gaze to the far wall “—really served to drive the point home.”

“Oh dear. I'm so sorry,” Annie murmured.

“Thank you. Luckily, he's fine now, but I can't begin to describe the fear.” Wyatt took her hand and laced his fingers with hers and in doing so, felt the familiar currents vibrate between them. “Annie, when your dad had his stroke, I didn't understand the gravity of the situation. I
thought you were choosing him over me and that scared me.”

“I was,” she whispered.

“I know.” Urgency drove Wyatt forward in his seat. “And that's good and fine and I should have understood and I should have been there for you. When he was sick, and then again when he died.”

“But how could you have understood? Your father had never been a father.” Eyes bright, smile tremulous, Annie gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You did the best you knew how. I've come to terms with that. Just as I have come to terms with the fact that Daddy needed me to quit school and help my mother and sisters run the business.”

“You were mature beyond your years back then. I always admired that, even if I didn't say so.” Wyatt studied her familiar hand as it lay in his. “Until recently, I never really got—or more importantly, trusted—the family unit. I chose career. It's the one thing I figured I could always count on when the chips were down.” His laughter was mirthless. “And I wanted to get as far away from the stink of poverty I was born into as I could get.”

He looked up from her hand and could see that he need not continue. She knew why he'd made his decision as clearly as if she could read his mind. They'd always been that way, finishing each other's sentences, thinking about obscure topics at the exact same time, knowing instinctively how the other felt. And he'd let it all go. What an idiot.

“Back then I always figured we'd get married,” he said.

“Me too.”

“I wish we had.”

“I— What's done is done.” She sounded so resigned. So final.

“We would have been great together.”

She paused, flustered. Clearly, she didn't think so. “I wouldn't have my boys.”

Right. Her boys. Or her husband, the sainted father of those boys. Wyatt swallowed back the jealousy that he'd battled since he'd learned of Annie's plans to marry, so very long ago. “I wanted children. Eventually.”

“Someday, you will no doubt have some.” She didn't seem to notice the defensive note in his voice and her smile was meant to encourage, not wound. But wound, it did. “I can tell you'll make a great father.”

Someday. When you find a nice girl and settle down, her words seemed to imply. A nice girl who is not Annie Summers.

“You must miss the boys' father.” He paused to figure out how to best proceed on this topic that frequented his thoughts more than he would ever care to admit. “I heard about his passing, and I'm…I'm sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Did you love him more than me? he wanted to ask. Was he the man of your dreams? Is he still? Did you ever wonder about me, the way I've obsessed over you?

Wyatt was burning with unasked questions. Questions that would no doubt never have an answer. “I wanted to call when I finally heard. Really. I just…I didn't know what to say. You were grieving and I didn't want to overstep my bounds.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“Okay.” She knew. Annie always knew what he felt. No doubt she knew exactly what he was feeling at this very instant. Wyatt leaned back in his chair, slowly running his thumb over her knuckles.

He'd thought that purging his soul to Annie this way would help cauterize the wound in his heart. Instead, it seemed to be having the opposite effect. He mourned the
fact that those boys were not his. That this simple life and caring community were not his. That she was not, and never would be, his because another man had beaten him to the vows. Vows to love and honor and cherish until death.

How the hell could he ever compete with that?

For sanity's sake, he changed the subject. “Your mom looks good.”

“She is good. I think she should sell her place and move in with me, but she's a stubborn old bird. Says Daddy built that little sunroom just for her and it would be a sin to let someone else sit there and read the Sunday paper.”

Wyatt chuckled. He'd always liked MaryPat. “How are your sisters?”

“They're fine. Uh, let's see. Judith is living on a small farm in Iowa. I haven't seen her in nearly two years. She's still happily married and is home-schooling her kids.”

“Wow, that's a lot of work.”

“True, but she's up to the task. The kids are in high school now, and pretty much take care of themselves. Rick is playing baseball, football, basketball, soccer and uh—” her brow furrowed “—I forget, but Judith says he's always sweaty and eating. He plays for the public high school and hopes to pick up a college scholarship. Lynn is an accomplished musician, artist, dancer, professional giggler and I hear she has a phone growing out of her head.”

Wyatt laughed. “They sound like us, when we first met.”

Annie's smile was wistful. “They do, don't they?”

“How's your little sister doing?”

“Brynn?” With her free hand, Annie pushed her hair out of her face and smiled. “She's still here in Keyhole. She's in real estate now and doing well. Property is really
starting to pick up around here. She's still single and sassy as ever.”

“Sounds like you are all still really close.”

“We are. We miss Judith, but we talk all the time.”

“Nothing like family.”

“No. Nothing.”

Annie sighed and regarded him with her sweet, ingenuous expression, and suddenly all rational thought left his mind. He could sit here for the rest of his days, reminiscing, catching up, simply listening to her sexy alto.

A half carafe of wine was delivered and Wyatt filled their glasses. Touching his rim to hers, he toasted family and old friends and was warmed by the verdant light in her eyes. Dinner—chicken and dumplings for them both—lived up to its reputation, and not once did the conversational ball ever drop, as he'd feared it might.

In fact, so smitten was Wyatt by their animated discussion of everything that had transpired since college, that he did not notice the passage of time, the uneaten dessert, the lukewarm coffee, the dwindling crowd, or the entrance of a stranger who slipped into the bar and took a table in a darkened corner.

 

Silas—his christened name was rarely used save by his mother and his parole officer—“Snake Eyes” Pike settled himself into his chair, lit a cigarette and drummed his fingers on the table while he waited for the gum-snapping waitress with the hot set of gams to come back in the bar and notice his arrival.

Damn, his dogs were barkin'. His chair teetered on the two back legs as he wound his feet around the front two and debated taking off his boots. But, for several reasons, he thought better of it. No shirt, no shoes, bladdy blah, and he needed a drink. Smoke curled out of his nostrils and
then coiled around his head in a bluish haze as he absently watched the tremor in his hand. Man. Where was that lazy waitress? With bloodshot eyes, he searched the dimly lit bar area. He needed a drink. Now.

All day he'd scoured this godforsaken countryside, and for what? If he didn't find the little brat soon, he was going to need more money. A lot more. Though he didn't relish asking for it. The woman who hired him could be a pain in the butt to deal with.

Wyoming.

He snorted. What did Emily get out of moving here? But he was on her trail now. For seven months he'd been thinking of revenge. Rocking to and fro in his chair, he closed his eyes and gripped the salt shaker, envisioning his fingers closing around her smooth little throat.

Then again, maybe he'd save that particular pleasure until after he had his way with her. Yeah. That was a good idea. For a moment, he imagined her fear as he overpowered her and his eyes narrowed even as he smiled. This time she wouldn't get away from him.

Nobody made a fool of Snake Eyes Pike.

Buoyed by the thought, he leaned even farther back in his chair, which was a big mistake, considering the hardwood floor had just been polished the night before.

With a
kawhomp,
he suddenly found himself prostrate, his table upended and his ashtray rolling away like an escaped hubcap from a traffic accident.

Curses, so violent the wallpaper on the walls certainly began to curl, fractured the restaurant's family-style serenity. Hissing and spitting, Snake Eyes rolled about, grappling with his chair—a heavy, curve-armed, mahogany affair—but it was useless. The chair's arms held down his arms and the chair's front legs had somehow jammed deeply into the backs of his boots. Had he not been aware that he now
commanded the attention of every eye in the place, he'd have drawn his gun and shot his way loose.

“Hey, buddy, you look like you could use a hand.” Some preppy-looking jerk and his flame-haired wife who'd been sitting out in the restaurant proper, came running, looking down on him, with big old concern etched into their pusses.

“No!” Snake Eyes stretched his lips into a pseudo smile, wanting to downplay the entire incident and remain incognito. He regretted the shouted curses, but that was habit for you. “Thank you, anyway,” he demurred, stretching, attempting to look the lounging lounge lizard.

The man took the woman's hand and stepped back. “You sure?” he asked. “You don't look too comfortable down there.” His voice held a note of pity.