Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) (3 page)

“I found him all beat up. I think it’s just an infected cut. Almost like he got it tangled up in something. Then he chewed it. And he got kicked. But not by me. I wouldn’t do something like that. But someone kicked him. I just don’t know who.” I paused, seeing his jaw grit up tight. “I’m sorry. I guess you didn’t need to know all of that.”

He let out an annoyed breath loud enough for me to hear. “Let me see him.”

Leaving his spot on the steps, the strange guy came over to me. He was a whole foot taller than my blonde head. His hands reached for Charlie but didn’t take him, almost like he was afraid to accidentally touch me. I held Charlie out, and he picked him up. The guy went toward the building with the kennels. His boots kicked up small dust clouds in the dry dirt path.

I followed Mr. James Dean even though I’d not been invited inside the kennel. I walked through the door, feeling the cool air on my skin. Goosebumps pricked up on my legs. A little office sat on the right side just inside the door. He put Charlie on the table and unwrapped my makeshift bandage I’d tacked on in the car.

“He’s all bones. I don’t think he’s been given much to eat by the owner.” I knew for a fact that Kurt didn’t feed him. Charlie had lost weight since that jerk brought him to the apartment complex. “Or maybe he was on the run. Like I said, I . . . um . . . found him.”

Mr. James Dean didn’t say anything as his fingers ran over the area with the cuts on Charlie’s leg. Very meticulous. Very precise. They moved up to his little face, slipping inside the flap of his mouth. They examined the area where Kurt had whacked Charlie in the head with the heel of his boot.

I fidgeted, trying to stand still. The silence was making me uncomfortable. “I . . . um . . . really did want to keep him. I can’t have pets in my apartment.”

The lie slipped off my tongue a little easier this time. It was also technically true. I couldn’t have Charlie because I would get caught, harboring my stolen dog. My leg twisted around again, feeling the aching pain from my fall, which had caused my old knee injury to flare up again. “I just want you to know. I’m not like one of those people.”

His gaze lifted up in a burning glare. I stopped twisting around as the green eyes narrowed and my words dropped off. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, flashing a faint smile.

“Why do you keep apologizing?” His deep voice was a little softer this time.

“Because I . . . um . . . don’t know.” His stare made my words disappear.

“Don’t apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong. Okay?”

“Okay,” I muttered.

He wrapped Charlie back up. The dog’s pink tongue reached out, catching the guy on the cheek. A brief smile popped up on his lips.
Dimples.
I saw a flash of dimples, and my breath caught in my throat. They made his whole face light up. The harshness melted as the dimples shined on each cheek. He was cute and sexy and troubled. Deeply troubled. That part hung around even with the dimples. His green eyes shifted back over to me. The dimples disappeared into a cold stare.

“I’ve got a spot for Charlie.”

“Thank you.” I nodded back at him, feeling a flood of relief. If this didn’t work out, I wasn’t sure where else to take the dog. I gazed back at the strange guy. Even though his lips flattened tight again, I liked how he’d remembered Charlie’s name. The one I’d muttered only once after Mr. James Dean had sneaked up and scared the crap out of me.

He lifted Charlie off the table and transferred his little body back over to me. Once again, he did his best not to touch me. Not even an accidental hand graze. I cuddled the little furry head under my chin and followed the stranger deeper into the kennel, past the rows and rows of dogs.

Knowing he couldn’t see me, I examined every piece of him. In my whole life, I’d never met a person who made an impression like this guy without a name. His silent face, absent of a smile. I wanted to know why he was so unhappy. Such an odd thought about a person I didn’t know at all. Maybe he was just simply a jerk. Sometimes a bruised apple was just a rotten apple with nothing good inside.

Then I remembered the dimples. They were just as real as the soft lips that went with them. I wanted to know why he didn’t flash those dimples to the world. I wanted to know why he sat out here alone with his closed-off, hateful frown when every girl in town would walk miles just to see those dimples and kiss those lips.

I continued with my inspection of the stranger, letting my eyes linger on his backside. Mr. James Dean had a nice one. Cute dimples and a tight butt. He glanced over his shoulder, feeling the probing gaze from my eyes. I smiled in embarrassment. His lips tilted into a snarl, letting me know once again, he didn’t like me being here and he
really
didn’t like me staring at his butt.

The sooner we got Charlie settled, the sooner I would be out of his hair. Whether he was a good apple or bad apple, it didn’t matter. I didn’t need to be thinking about him like there was something to be figured out. He was odd, and my life was a little scattered right now.

I was still trying to figure out my future since I didn’t go to college with my sister. Over the last couple of years, I didn’t do all the things I’d imagined when I’d graduated high school. I didn’t make glamorous new friends and go to fun parties. I didn’t date much. Not that I was thinking about dating this strange guy. I cringed. This wasn’t the kind of guy someone contemplated dating. He was strange. He made weird people seem normal. But what right did I have to call anyone strange? My friends consisted of my
weird
sister and the old man who lived next door.

“This is what I got.” He stopped next to the only empty pen. “You can put Charlie in there.”

I bent down, prying the tiny paws from my shirt. His little body seemed dwarfed in the large indoor pen. A little bed sat in the corner. I looked into the brown eyes of my new friend.

“Bye, Charlie.” I scratched his gray and black fur one last time. A tear fell out of my left eye. Good thing I’d piled on the waterproof today. Standing up, I shuffled out of the way. Charlie jumped against the metal cage, watching me with his sad eyes. I needed to get out of there immediately, or it wasn’t going to end well. I would take that little dog back with me. And that couldn’t happen.

Charlie flipped his ears up, begging me not to leave. Those eyes. Those ears. I needed to get out of here. “He likes car rides. You might mention that to whoever looks at him,” I muttered before spinning around.

Charlie whimpered as I left him behind. He yelped, but I kept on walking. The single yelp turned into a string of wails. The desperation in his voice tugged and pulled and twisted up my insides.

The kennel came alive with the sounds of the other residents. They barked as I moved faster, hearing my flip-flops click with each step. I didn’t look at their faces this time. The sad animals were just too much.

This place was a home for the neglected and the forgotten, just like Charlie. Another tear fell down my cheek. I flicked it away before I could offend Mr.
James Dean with my girly emotions. I glanced over in his direction, but he wasn’t there. I turned back around, and the scene grabbed me a little in the chest.

The unfriendly stranger was bent over, talking to Charlie. His voice was lost in the sounds of the kennel, but I saw his lips moving. Words. Lots and lots of words, strung together in sentences that he couldn’t seem to manage to say to me. He smiled, letting the dimples settle into place. I saw them all the way across the room. They pulled at my heart as he calmed the poor little dog.

After a few moments, he stood and walked slowly in my direction. I wanted to ask what he said in his private conversion with Charlie. I wanted to ask, but I knew he wouldn’t answer, even if I threw out a hundred questions.

He stopped just a few feet away, tucking his hands in the front pockets of his tight jeans. The green eyes stayed upright and blinked in silence. They never dipped down to take a peek at my body. He never followed the outline of my curves in the cutoff shorts. He never looked at me like other guys. This silent stranger was different.

I smiled faintly. He should talk. It was his turn to say at least
something
. I’m a guest at his place, but that’s the catch. He wasn’t going to mutter a word because I was the uninvited guest. The awkward vibe in the air got even thicker.

“How long do you think it will take?” I asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“For what?”

“To find a family. I mean, some of them seem like they’ve been here awhile.”

“They have.”

It was all I got from the strange guy, but at least he was talking. “Do you advertise them? I’m guessing not many people find their way out here by accident.”

“I . . . uh . . . ” He stumbled for the first time. “I don’t really have visitors out here.”

“Oh.”

“Diana takes them to town. At least, the ones she thinks she can get matched up. Some of them are going to stay here and live out the rest of their lives. They’re too old or hurt to be adopted out. She gives them food and a good place for the end.”

I think he just broke a record on the most words strung together. I waited, watching his face. It betrayed nothing but more secrets. “Who’s Diana?”

“She owns the place.”

“Oh. So it’s not your place?”

“No.”

“Do you work for her?”

“Something like that.”

He watched me again. No elaboration. No smile. Nothing. Feeling like I’d officially worn out my welcome, I glanced toward my car.

“Well, I guess I should go.” He didn’t respond, making it even more awkward. “Thank you, I guess. You know, for taking Charlie.”

He nodded. I thought I might see a smile. I hoped for one last glimpse of those dimples as a parting gesture. No such luck. I left the building and walked to my red dirt-covered car. The flip-flops aggravated my leg, making my butt twist a little as I limped.

“You could come back. You know, to check on Charlie.”

What the . . .
I stopped cold in my tracks as he startled me with his deep, raspy voice. I turned around, seeing a strained look on his face like he wished to take back those words. Well, he wasn’t going to get that option. I wanted to see Charlie again. And I wanted to know more about . . .
him
.

The idea pulled tighter in my chest, tugging at that place in my heart that always got me in trouble. I wanted to know why he didn’t talk. Why he seemed so angry. Why the guy with the dimples was so
sad
. My life might be a bit of a mess right now, but he was far worse off than me.

Closing the gap between us, I forced the guy to stare down at me. The summer heat burned into his skin, making the glare from his eyes reflect with a scorching twist. I wouldn’t let him look away. I tried to see what I was missing.

I probed deeper into the eyes of the stranger. This guy was hurting something fierce. He fought an internal battle. He fought something awful, but I pushed back. He didn’t want me here. Not really, but something made him do it. Something made him spit out those words and invite me back.

The green eyes flashed with deep pain, and then his jaw clenched, breaking our locked stare and sealing up his emotions. The stranger had stopped me from seeing the broken pieces that existed beneath the hateful mask he broadcasted to the world. And I had to remember he was just that to me.
A stranger.
But I knew at least one thing I could fix in this moment.

“If I’m going to be coming back, I think I should at least know who you are.” Even though I felt the jittery nerves from our impromptu staring contest, I stuck out a hand to the guy who towered over me. “I’m Emma. Emma Sawyer.”

He peered down at my fingers for a few seconds before taking them in his big hand. He gripped tight, but not to the point he crushed my bones. His hand felt warm and soft and hard, just like the glimpse he’d shown me of his heart.

He muttered in his deep voice. “Wyatt.”

“Wyatt?”

“Caulfield.” The last syllable came out like he swallowed razors. The grit of his jaw went to an extreme level of intensity, grinding his teeth against the sides of his mouth. Our hands melded together in the fiery warmth until Wyatt suddenly let go.

Taking a step back, his right hand gripped tight into a fist, the same hand that had just touched mine. I waited for Wyatt to ask or say or do something, but he shuffled back another step, putting more distance between us.

“Thursday? That work for you?” I asked quickly, trying to rein his attention back to the original question. I did everything I could to act like this wasn’t affecting me. I was practically shaking from the strange undertone pulling me toward him as he pushed me away.

“Huh?”

“You said I should come back.”

“Oh. I guess Thursday’s fine.”

“Okay. Oh, wait.” I fished my cell phone from the pocket of my denim shorts. I held it, trying to act normal. “Give me your number. You know, in case something comes up. I won’t drive all the way out here and you be gone or something.”

“I’ll be here.”

“What if something happens? You might have to—”

“It won’t.” He cut me off.

This was getting weird between us. “Well, okay . . . um . . . let me give you mine.”

His lips clamped down even tighter in a thin line and the color disappeared. I worried for a moment Wyatt would pull back his offer. I’d pushed too hard, too fast. It was just a dang phone number, but he seemed to have a problem with it. This was a normal question, I reminded myself. Normal people exchanged phone numbers all the time. But this guy was far from normal.

“I don’t have a phone,” he muttered, sticking his hands down inside the pockets of his jeans.

“Wait. What? You don’t have a phone?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“How do you not have a phone? I mean. You live all the way out here. How do you talk to people? Meet up with people? Find people? Call people? How do you—”

“I don’t. Have. A phone.”

He said it again so firmly my mouth stayed slightly open. I knew from the tone it was by choice and not because of money. That made it all the more bewildering and confusing.