Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) (25 page)

I grabbed Ricky Bobby, carrying him out to the wash area. The rat terrier morphed into one of his feisty streaks as I scrubbed him in the porcelain tub. As I held him down, the little dog covered me with soap. That three-legged guy had more energy than ten other dogs combined. After I was finished, I put his wild ass in the play area to run around and dry.

Going back inside, I took the next dog on the aisle.
Charlie.
My chest gripped for a moment. Since Emma left, it had been a struggle to be around him, which wasn’t fair to the dog. His ears shot up as soon as I unlatched the gate. That dog looked so damn weird. His body didn’t fit those strange rabbit ears. Scooping him in my arms, I carried Charlie outside as he licked my chin.

After a good scrubbing, the dog pranced around in the tub as I tried to wash the soap off. I grinned, thinking about Emma. She sure knew how to pick them. I leaned over and turned off the water. I froze, remembering when she’d come out here for bath day. It was stupid. My life was total shit, but I’d wanted her to come back anyway.

I thought about the way she laughed as Ricky Bobby shook the muddy suds in her face. The way it felt as our hands accidentally bumped under the water. I thought about her smile and the way the white T-shirt had clung to her breasts, showing off the yellow bikini hidden underneath.

I’d tried not to look at her. I’d tried not to take a peek. But I couldn’t stop myself. I’d let my eyes drift down to what I knew existed right in front of me. I’d let myself watch her, fussing with the water hose, trying to get the mud off her legs. Her arms. Her stomach. I’d watched her even though the image caused my jeans to get tight.

I hated the fact she’d possessed the power to cause that reaction. I’d tried to rationalize it. After years of being in this place, of course I would get turned on by a girl in a wet bikini. But I knew it wasn’t just some random sexual pull to her. This was different.

Emma was so beautiful. So full of life as she laughed. So kind. So sexy. So sweet. She cared about the dogs. She cared about me. She made me crave her body. The feel of her skin. The way those brown eyes said
kiss me slowly
while tearing off my clothes.

Whether she realized it or not, Emma had always shared her thoughts in those innocent looks she sent in my direction. I knew her attraction to me had existed from the moment I’d made her stammer in the front yard.

I thought about that first day. Other than my weekly visits from Diana, I’d seen virtually no one in over two years. But Emma had landed on my doorstep like some sexy angel with bloody pawprints all over her shirt, so beautiful and sweet, holding the weirdest-looking dog in her arms, asking if I could help her.

At first, I thought the girl was a hallucination—like one of my trances had taken hold and I’d imagined her out of thin air. But she had kept talking and asking questions, probing into my life, making me realize the girl with blonde curls was very real.

And then she tried to leave. I panicked. I had to stop her. But I’d regretted the decision the moment I’d asked her to come back to see Charlie. I’d regretted it because Emma sent a look that reached straight inside my chest.

She’d touched me with her eyes and not her hands. She’d held on to my body from ten feet away, boring into my soul, ripping me apart. And I craved it. I craved something from Emma that had nothing to do with sex. And I still craved it.

Emma saw things I didn’t want her to see. Or
anyone
to see. But in some twisted way, I needed her to see those shit-filled pieces. And I hated the very idea that I needed someone like her. I hated every damn second of it.

So I was an asshole. I tried to drive her away. But she didn’t care. Emma had hope for me even though I had none of my own. And it scared me. It was a tug-of-war raging inside me. She made me
want
something, and I didn’t allow myself the privilege of
want
in my life.

Charlie whined, and I jumped.

“Damn it,” I muttered. I’d let it happen again. I wasn’t sure how long I’d stood there beside the tub, but I snapped out of my psychotic break and wrapped the little guy in a towel. At least I wasn’t holding a razor or knife this time.

It was the time alone. That had to be it. When a person spent every day with only animals as companions, I’m sure they were allowed a certain amount of unexplained episodes.

Or maybe it was the glass. The doctor never did get all of the pieces out of my head. They surfaced sometimes when I washed my hair—little shards, climbing out of my skin as reminders.

I
WAITED FOR DIANA T
o arrive on Sunday. Sometimes I forgot the days of the week. They blended together into the daily chores of the kennel. It didn’t matter if it was Tuesday or Friday—the dogs had to eat and the place had to be cleaned. However, I usually got my bearings when Diana came out to the kennel on Sundays to drop off food and supplies.

Sometimes she picked up a dog for adoption or brought in a new one. Sometimes they were injured and they arrived with a bag of medicine and a list of instructions from the vet. I didn’t know what to expect today. It’s not like she’d phoned and told me in advance of her plans.

Diana pulled up in front of the kennel after lunch. I waited for the tiny woman to climb out of the one-ton beast of a truck. From a glance, some might dare to accuse her of trying to overcompensate for something in her life—like flat tits or a husband’s small dick.

But that was far from the truth. Diana Sweetwater overcompensated for nothing and bowed down to no one. She was a classy lady with real grit who could cut down any man with a few quick words. She didn’t give a shit what people thought about her—
or
the decisions she made to help clean up the crap in the world, which included me.

In her stubborn resilience, Diana had believed this place would right the wrongs in my life. She had been the reason the kennel was even an option on the table. As the police chief and the mayor fought over their sons, she had come up with an alternative solution. Marcus’s dad thought Diana had lost her mind. But she’d fought Fred Tucker, toe to toe and eye to eye, swearing on the Bible and God and the President of the United States that this would work for everyone.

I’d known both of them as long as I could remember, but my actions that night had turned friends into enemies. His dad had blamed me for everything that had gone wrong in his son’s life. I was the reason Marcus ever had a drink of alcohol. I was the reason he was friends with Trevor. I was the reason he went to
my
homecoming party instead spending Christmas Eve with his family. I was the reason he was a crippled-up piece of shit in a chair. I was the reason he would never walk Zoey down the aisle or teach his kids to play football—if he could even have any.

It had been strange seeing Fred Tucker turn on me—after all the nights I’d spent at his house and all the times I’d ridden home in his Suburban from football games. Not to mention all the Sundays I’d eaten dinner at his house after church. Our families had even gone on three vacations together.

But
Mayor
Fred Tucker had turned on me in a blind rage, full of pain and helplessness as Marcus sat in the hospital. He’d wanted me to pay for every business that had gone up in flames on
his
main street and every bone I’d broken in
his
son’s body.

“Snap out of it, kid,” Diana spat as she slammed the large metal door on the truck. Her jet-black hair was pulled high on the back of her head, making the gray piece in front resemble a white stripe. “Hurry up and get your stuff out of the backseat. I don’t want your Popsicles melting all over my leather.”

“I didn’t ask for Popsicles.”

“It’s too damn hot. You need Popsicles.” She walked around to the bed of the truck, leaving a trail of soft perfume. Her white button-down shirt was tucked into formfitting jeans that ended with a pair of custom-made ostrich boots.

Diana had married some rich guy who was twice her age, but he’d died about ten years ago, leaving her a pile of money to piss away in the wind—or so says the stories floating around Gibbs.

I opened the back door, taking out the sacks. I never asked for much. She knew what I liked to eat at this point in our arrangement. I also never gave her a reading list, but Diana always dropped in a few books with my supplies.

She had asked me once about my classes in college—which ones I’d liked and shit. I’d mumbled something about a literature class and reading as we traveled to the away games. After that conversation, Diana dropped off a large black shelf and some books. I think she was just happy that something seemed to interest me.

I unpacked my sacks, glancing at the grape Popsicles before adding them to the freezer. I found three new books and placed them on the counter. Seeing the title of the first one, I flipped it over to read the back cover. I guess Stephen King had a new one out.

I thought about the outside world sometimes. Things were changing while I was here. I knew nothing of the world news. Technology would keep advancing. I had no idea what had already been invented or what would come in the next couple of years. But I was okay with it. I didn’t want to know anything about life outside of the fence.

As I walked back out the door of the trailer, I frowned, thinking of the one exception that had landed on my doorstep. I caught myself wondering what she was doing right now, and it pissed me off.

I found Diana with an old bulldog sitting on the bed of her truck. Walking over to the edge, I looked into the dazed eyes of the poor dog.

“So who’s leaving?” I asked, knowing if I were getting a new one, she must have found a home for one of the others.

“The one you call Ponyboy.” Diana snickered a little as she said it.

“So the antisocial one found a home before the others.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t find him one before now. He’s actually not a bad sell. Mild-mannered dog. Potty trained. Doesn’t give a shit if you just leave him alone. He’s going to live with a workaholic who has a dog door. The dog gets free reign of the house and a half-acre backyard. Perfect fit.”

“Until you put him in a bathtub. He freaks out because it’s too small for him.” I shrugged. “But maybe he’ll do better there.”

“And it makes room for Betty here. Sorry, kid. You don’t get to name her. She’s lived too long with that one to change it now.”

“Owner die?”

“No. Family surrendered her to the pound. They got tired of her or some stupid shit story. Like someone would adopt an old, cranky bulldog. She was scheduled to be put down on Friday so I scooped her up. She’s been staring at the wall of my house the last two days. I don’t know if she’s in shock or depressed or senile. Maybe you can work with her some. I would like to think she’s not a lost cause.”

“Okay.” I lifted her up from the bed of the truck and headed to the kennel. The old dog hung from my arms like a lifeless bag of rocks. I felt sorry for Betty as I placed her in the holding pen. I ran my fingers over the wrinkles around her face as she stared blankly back at me. The poor girl had some serious issues.

Diana spoke from behind me. “So I guess from the looks of you, Emma finally knows why you are here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I turned around, staring down into her blue eyes. I towered over the woman, but not a bone in her body was scared of me.

“Kid, you look like shit.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I took a shower. I shaved.”

“Your eyes, Wyatt. You got dead fish eyes today.”

“Shit, Diana. What did you expect? We both knew how this was going to end.”

“No, we didn’t. So the question is—did she decide to drop your mopey ass or did
you
decide for her? Considering your pissy attitude, I assume the latter.”

Hearing her accusation, my fingers gripped into tight fists. “This is your fault, you know.”

“How, exactly, is it
my
fault?”

“You told Emma to come out here. Practically drew her a damn map.” I shook my head. “I still don’t understand
why
you thought that was a good idea?”

“Because I saw a girl with spunk
and
compassion as she begged me to take that dog. One who might be able to tolerate your self-absorbed pity-party. And she was cute too. Figured that would get your attention.”