Wyatt's Most Wanted Wife. Sandra Steffen
“Now why would I want to do that?”
His eyes darkened as he held her gaze. “Because I have business in Pierre and I figured you might as well ride along to pick up your merchandise.”
“I see.”
“I highly doubt that. I’ll give you a ride to Pierre. And like I said before, I have every intention of getting your car back for you. Since I doubt that’ll happen by tonight, you’ll have to find another ride down to the rodeo in Rosebud, because that’s where I draw the line.”
Lisa hadn’t expected Wyatt to be the type who drew invisible lines. She hadn’t expected him to be the type who didn’t let a person get a word in edgewise, either. But evidently he was on a roll.
“I’m supposed to be in Pierre in thirty minutes. And it’s a forty-minute drive. Are you coming?”
He didn’t say, “Or aren’t you?” but he might as well have. She stared at him for a full five seconds, amazed to find that the good sheriff had an ornery side.
Much to her surprise, she grinned. With a mock salute and her famous wink, she called, “Aye-aye, sir.”
Still smiling, she dashed away to get her purse and lock the store.
Lisa glanced over her shoulder at the boxes stacked in the back of the cruiser, then settled herself more comfortably in her seat. The check she’d written to pay for the new merchandise had nearly scraped the bottom of her bank account. But her rent was paid through the end of the year, and if she watched her spending, she might be able to make it until the store started showing a profit.
Keeping her fingers wrapped firmly around the hair at her nape, she turned her face into the warm air streaming through the open window and watched the scenery going by. This was definitely ranching country. The land was mostly flat, with occasional rolling hills dotted with small herds of cattle. The ranch houses were few and far between, rough-hewn fences and telephone poles stretching as far as the eye could see.
From the corner of her eye she saw Wyatt shift in his seat and rotate a kink out of his shoulders. She’d done everything in her power to cajole him out of his dark mood. So far she hadn’t been successful. That was unusual. People almost always responded to her sultry laughs and brash smiles. Evidently, the good sheriff was holding a grudge.
Trying to fill the silence stretching between them, she pointed to a gray wall of clouds on the horizon. “It looks like another thunderstorm is forming.”
He made a sound that meant yes, then fell silent once again. Lisa wanted to scream. She’d heard of yup and nope talkers, but this was ridiculous. Trying again, she said, “That’s good, isn’t it? Those clouds have a lot of dry weather to make up for. Maybe the ranchers out here won’t starve this winter after all. Maybe I won’t, either.”
She felt his eyes on her, but by the time she turned her head, he was watching the road again, his fingers looped around the steering wheel. Releasing a pent-up breath of air, she said, “No, business hasn’t really been very good. It’s so kind of you to ask.”
Wyatt bit down on the inside of one cheek, doing everything in his power to hold on to his vexation. Not that Lisa was making it easy. She’d been sultry and warm and more than a little brash since the moment they’d pulled away from the curb in front of her store an hour and a half ago. Whether she believed him or not, he had a lot on his mind.
Earlier he’d driven to her place on Elm Street to take a look around. The rain had washed away any tire tracks there might have been in the gravel driveway, but there was one faint impression left in the mud by a cowboy boot. Wyatt had measured it against his own foot. Although the print was smaller than his size twelve boots, it wasn’t much help. Other than Clayt and Luke, practically every man in the county had a smaller boot size than his. Lisa’s neighbors hadn’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. Whoever had taken that car hadn’t left many clues. Wyatt had been giving the matter a great deal of thought. People out here just didn’t steal cars. Or at least they never had. Why would someone steal Lisa’s?
He’d been giving the curt little declaration she’d made concerning his invitation to dinner a lot of thought, too. She had a smile that could warm him twenty degrees and a laugh that took his fantasies to another level entirely. And her body, well. She filled out her shirt to perfection, and he’d bet his badge that every last inch of her was the real thing. He’d lain awake imagining how her breasts would feel beneath his hands, his mouth. Wyatt McCully wasn’t exactly a ladies’ man, but no matter what she said, no matter what she claimed, the attraction between them was mutual.
“You know, Wyatt,” she grumbled, “although I truly appreciate the ride into Pierre and the little lunch you treated me to, this trip would go a lot faster if you’d keep up your end of the conversation.”
He glanced at her, and found her looking out the window. One hand was on her seat belt, the other was holding her hair in a low ponytail at her nape. The breeze streaming through the window toyed with the strands surrounding her face. He liked the way the wind pressed her plain white T-shirt against her body, but he had to admit he liked her straightforwardness just as much.
“Okay.”
She turned her head slowly. “What do you mean ‘okay’?” she asked, suspicion raising her voice and widening her eyes.
He managed to keep a smile off his face, because she had every reason to be suspicious. “Okay,” he repeated. “I’ll see what I can do about keeping up my end of the conversation.”
“You will?”
He nodded. He didn’t see any harm in talking. In fact, talking might just lead to a little insight and a lot of understanding.
Turning off the highway near Capa, he said, “Do you have any theories as to why business hasn’t been very good so far?”
“The economy hasn’t exactly been the greatest since I moved to town, you know? I think the drought has made everyone leery of spending a dollar they might need to feed their families next winter.”
Wyatt hadn’t realized he’d gripped the steering wheel tighter, but Lisa must have noticed because she was watching him closely. This time his silence hadn’t been intentional. He was always quiet when he crossed the bridge spanning the Bad River. Today, the river wasn’t the only thing on his mind.
Wyatt was a rancher’s son and a rancher’s grandson. He’d grown up in a family that had relied on elements like rain and snow and bottomed-out beef prices to make a living. He’d gone without new shoes and new clothes on more than one occasion. To this day, he remembered how his father used to say, “You can wear secondhand clothes, but you can’t eat secondhand food.”
Most of the folks out here had their priorities firmly in order. Even though Lisa hadn’t been here long, she’d put her finger on the pulse that made these people who they were. He didn’t know why, but the fact that she seemed to understand them on an instinctive, fundamental level made his heart feel two sizes larger.
Pointing to a place a hundred yards downstream, he said, “My parents drowned on the other side of that bend in the river.”
Wyatt clamped his mouth shut. For crying out loud, where had that come from? He sure hadn’t intended to tell her that. He wanted a response from her, but he wasn’t looking for sympathy, not by a long shot.
“Do you want to tell me how it happened?” she asked.
He tried to square his shoulders against her allure, but he made the mistake of looking into her eyes, and he was lost. Aw, hell. Now that he’d brought it up, there wasn’t much else he could do except finish it. Staring straight ahead, he said, “They were crossing an old bridge after a spring downpour. The river was dangerously high, but my mother was sick, and my father was trying to get her to the clinic in Pierre. The river took out the bridge, and them with it.”
Wyatt had been eleven that year. Since then,