Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) (11 page)

I
ARRIVED AT EXACTLY 7:20
on Saturday. The early-morning air felt sticky in the Oklahoma summer heat. I was exhausted after twisting around half the night, thinking about Wyatt. The idea of returning made me nervous. What if I screwed this up? What if I pushed too hard?

I’d made progress, but it might disappear in a snap. Our new
friendship
was held together with Scotch tape and not the heavy gray kind. And he needed the heavy kind if he was going to get any better.

The trailer door opened as I got out of my car. Wyatt wore a blue T-shirt with a clean pair of jeans and the dirty work boots. He stared at me for a moment. I stared back, feeling that pull to him. A jittery vibe danced between us as his jaw stayed loose and his lips held their softness. Wyatt’s sexy lips turned into a faint grin. In that moment, all my worries vanished.

“Hi.” I smiled at him.

“Hi.” Wyatt smiled, letting the dimples settle on the corners. He seemed good today. Actually, he seemed
really
good as he took a sip from an orange mug. “You want some coffee?”

“Sure.” I followed him back through the doorway. An identical orange mug sat on the counter next to the coffee pot, waiting for me. The thought made my skin get a little warm. Stupid, really, but I liked the idea that he’d actually planned for me to return.

“I don’t have anything fancy to put in it. Just some plain milk.”

“That’s fine.”

He poured the coffee in the cup, and I topped it off with the milk. We sipped from the mugs for a few minutes in silence.

“How does this bath thing work?”

“There’s a tub out by the storage shed. We’ll take them out one at a time, soap them up, and rinse.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“We will see.” He grinned a little and took another sip from his mug.

“Sure. Oh, I have to leave by eleven though.”

“Okay.” His eyes were full of questions I knew Wyatt wouldn’t ask me. To ask required him to answer those of my own, but I let him off the hook today.

“I need to go to the grocery store for my neighbor Mr. Hughes. He can’t get himself there anymore. And I usually make lunch for him when I drop his stuff off.”

“Do you help him a lot?”

“Some. He wasn’t this bad when we first moved in to our apartment. His daughter lives in Nebraska. She comes down to see him a few times a year, but he refuses to move there. Says he loves Stillwater too much. So I help him when I can.”

His jaw clenched for a moment as I talked of my elderly neighbor. Wyatt took a few sips of his coffee, trying to push back whatever I’d triggered in him. “That’s nice of you.”

“He’s a good person. He spent his whole life teaching other people and helping them become something in the world. He deserves to have someone be there for him, even if it’s just a few little things a week.”

“Is he a college professor?”

“No, actually, Mr. Hughes was a high school teacher. Sweet man, but cutthroat when it comes to playing checkers.”

“So you help this Mr. Hughes and play checkers with him. And you also work at the nursing home. I assume you play checkers with those people too?”

“Yes, except Vera. We drink tea together.”

His green eyes flashed a hint of something I couldn’t read. “And you rescued Charlie. Anything else I should know about?”

“I don’t understand?”

“Like in your free time, do you knit scarves for blind kids in Somalia?”

My nose wrinkled up as I absorbed the words. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No.” His voice got soft, almost like he felt guilty for even saying it. “That was just my bad attempt at a joke. You are the real deal, Emma Sawyer. One of the good guys.”

“And what do you call the guy who devotes all of his time to rescuing dogs?”

Ignoring my question, Wyatt ran a hand through his brown hair before shuffling his boots to the other side of the kitchen. “We better get out there. This takes awhile.”

He washed his cup out in the sink and then dried the inside with a towel. Turning to me, Wyatt reached for my mug. I chugged the last sip and handed it over. He cleaned the second one the same way with meticulous care. He placed both orange mugs back inside the cabinet.

His lips curled up in a faint grin. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go have some fun.”

“If you think tasting soapy dirt is fun.” He laughed as his dimples hooked on the corners of his cheeks.

Wyatt was really adorable and sexy today. I wanted to touch those dimples with my fingers, with my lips. He glanced at me, seeing those transparent thoughts tumbling through my head. I felt my face turn bright pink, but he didn’t say anything.

Looking away, Wyatt picked up a stack of towels from the couch before leaving out the trailer door. I followed behind him on a small trail in the grass that ended at the large shed.

In all my visits, I’d never ventured over in that area. The front of the shed was open, containing a riding lawnmower and other maintenance items. The side of the building cast a nice shade over an old bathtub. The white porcelain tub sat propped up on cinder blocks with a little wooden ramp leading up to the top.

“I run water in from the hose over there. We’ll scrub them down with soap and then rinse. We might need to stop up the bottom and give some of the dogs a flea dip. I’ll have to check them and see.”

“Okay.”

“You okay getting wet?” He muttered, never looking at my clothes.

“I doubt I’ll melt.” This morning, I’d decided to wear a yellow bikini top with a pair of cutoff, frayed jeans shorts and a cropped white tank top.

“You want to get Charlie first?”

“Sure.”

Walking inside the kennel, I felt the pull around my knee. I’d worn flip-flops today because of the water. They slapped my heels as I made my way to Charlie’s kennel.

As I opened the gate, the little dog flew into my arms. I carried Charlie outside to the bath area. Placing him down in the porcelain tub, I held his body tight as Wyatt ran the cold water over his fur. I scrubbed the soap, trying to keep him still so he wouldn’t shake it off in my face.

“His leg’s doing better,” Wyatt said, running his fingers over the scabs. “He’s almost ready.”

“Ready?”

“For Diana to start looking.” His eyes locked onto mine as his gruff voice spoke the words. My muscles clenched tight with the catastrophic news he’d slipped into the moment of fun and bubbles.

“You knew it would happen, Emma. It’s why you brought him out here.”

“I-I know.” I pulled Charlie from the tub. He clung to my shoulder, making the water soak my shirt and skin.

“I thought you’d want me to tell you. You know, after Chewy was adopted while you were gone.”

Wyatt stared at me while I let the water flow out on the ground. The news of Charlie getting adopted had come with a devastating punch in the gut.

“Please don’t let it happen that way, okay?” I clasped Charlie tight to my chest, making him whimper. “Don’t let him just be gone one day.”

“I won’t, Emma. I’ll make sure you get to see him before Diana takes him.” His raspy voice trailed off. Looking away, Wyatt turned the knob on the hydrant. “Grab a towel and take Charlie inside.”

I pulled an old red one from the pile. Stains and holes plagued most of the fabric. Wrapping Charlie up tight, I carried him back inside the kennel. His brown eyes watched back in loyal submission after his dunk in the tub.

I wanted to keep him, but Charlie needed a home—a
real
home and not the fence and bars that came with this place. He never was mine.

Wyatt and I didn’t say much over the next couple of hours. We laughed a few times as the dogs shook in the tub, plastering our faces with soapy water. The sun moved higher in the sky and the temperature kicked up with the summer heat.

By the time Daisy and Gatsby got a turn, I was close to being wetter than the animals coming out of the tub. The pathetic duo arrived together. I latched Daisy’s leash on the side while Gatsby walked the plank into the tub. He turned his head and watched Daisy on the side lines. He never moved or twitched as the suds filled his old, brown hair.

When Wyatt switched them out, I dried while he washed Daisy by himself with her head turned, ever so slightly, never letting Gatsby leave her sight.

“I don’t know if this is making me depressed or happy,” I said to Wyatt.

“What do you mean?”

“They are so attached to each other. It’s sweet. But then I see them. Sad and lost. Do they want each other? Or do they stay together because everything else in their world disappeared and they cling to the familiar?”

“It doesn’t really matter, I guess. They have each other, which is more than the rest of them do.”

“I guess.” I studied them for a few moments after the gate closed. The two old dogs morphed into a single pile of brown fur on the concrete floor. Daisy and Gatsby needed someone to adopt them. They deserved to live the last few years in a house next to a fireplace eating bones.

“Let’s grab Lola next.” Wyatt’s voice came from the other side of the building. In my visits, I’d walked past “pit row,” but had never stopped to look inside the pens. He pulled a solid, white female from her kennel. Lola pranced down the aisle to me.

“Wyatt . . .” I took a few steps back.

“Don’t be scared of her. She’s not going to hurt you.”

Kneeling down, I stuck out a hand in the direction of the pit bull. She lunged forward, clamping her wide mouth down over my whole hand. I let out a gasp.

Fear shot through my stomach, and then I smiled as the white dog tasted my fingers with her tongue. My skin felt the gumminess of her mouth. Pulling my hand out of her lips, I scratched behind her ears.

“Sorry. She doesn’t have a lot of manners,” Wyatt muttered.

“And she doesn’t have any teeth either.” Lola came forward and licked my face. She rubbed her square body all over me until I tipped sideways. I fell over on the cement laughing.

“She wouldn’t hurt you even if she had a whole mouth full of teeth.”

I glanced up at Wyatt as Lola mauled me. He was laughing. The sound of his deep voice floated out into the kennel.

My hand went still, seeing a bit of happiness on his gorgeous face. The rare and beautiful sight gripped my heart. His eyes caught mine. The surreal feeling was electrifying. And then Lola got a lick in across my mouth. I squealed as her large tongue left a trail of drool.

“Come on, Lola.” He pulled her off my body.

I wiped my mouth against my right arm. Sitting back up, I patted the white pit across her wide head. “Sorry, girl. I don’t know you well enough for that kind of relationship.”

He smiled at my comment. Bending down next to her, Wyatt rubbed the soft fur under her neck. The white dog smashed herself tight to his side. He leaned over, giving Lola a quick kiss next to her ear.

The action had come from reflex. Something he must do on a regular basis. Wyatt shuffled around, trying to pretend I didn’t witness the brief moment of vulnerability. “Let’s get her in the tub.”

As I climbed up from the ground, a sharp stab went under my kneecap as I lifted myself up from the cement. I needed to spend the evening with an ice wrap. I didn’t know how much longer I could ignore the inevitable.

I followed Wyatt out the door, trying not to show a visible limp. He led Lola up the steps and into the tub. As I ran water over her body, I touched the permanent marks etched onto her skin.

“How’d she get them?”

“Doesn’t it bother you to hear this stuff?” His jaw tightened a bit without looking in my direction.

“Yes, but I gotta know. I can’t just do this and not care what happened to them.”

“Okay. Fine.” He let out a deep breath. “Most of the pits we got here are bait dog survivors from fight training.”

“Like dog fight rings?”

“Yeah, illegal dog fight rings. Those bastards toughen them up by setting mock training fights. They pick out the softies. They take away anything that might give the dog a little bit of a fighting edge. Like Lola here. They pulled out her teeth with pliers. They cut marks in her skin to get the blood flowing. It gives the other dogs a taste of what they’re going for in the ring. The stripes on her thighs are from being cut up.”

I got sick. Not in the actual throw-up-on-the-ground kind of sick. But the heart-crushing kind that stopped the breath in my chest. I got sick because it wasn’t one cut.

Lola had scars from knife slices all the way up and down her thighs; short ones, long ones, deep ones that healed in large, chunky, raised hunks. Marks like a bear had grabbed the dog between his paws and tried to swallow her in one gulp—except it wasn’t a bear, but a human who had tortured for the sheer fun of it.

“How did she survive?” I asked, massaging the soap into her hair. My fingers felt every scar over her body, every place some demented sicko had ripped into her soft, white skin.

I felt rage in a way I’d never experienced in my life. I thought Kurt was evil by kicking Charlie. This was a whole other level of planned abuse. It wasn’t a flippant kick to the face out of irritation. The marks on her body were an act of planned and deliberate exploitation.

“There’s some known dumping sites. But they rotate around so it’s hard to know. People toss the dead or half-dead animals in the ditch. If someone finds them in time, some dogs actually survive.”

I took Lola out of the tub, rubbing an old blue towel over her body. It dried away the water, but the scars remained. They stayed as a reminder of surviving a house of horrors by people who should be in jail.

The rage continued to burn under my skin as Lola’s happy face watched with her red tongue sticking out of her toothless wide mouth.

“Someone should go to prison for this,” I muttered, looking up at Wyatt.

“I know.” His eyes flickered, and he got a little twitchy.

“I don’t understand why monsters that hurt something so innocent are allowed to just walk down the street and be out with everyone else in the world. They should be arrested.”

“Sometimes the law is not always fair.” His lips almost went flat. Wyatt took the leash from my hand. “I’ll take her back. It’s almost eleven.”