The Outlaw by Jennifer Millikin
Wyatt
Finally,fifteen fucking seconds of peace. I glance back through the large front window into the homestead, where the rest of my family chatters like they haven't seen each other in months. It's been three days, for the record.
Tenley and Dakota can carry on a stream of never-ending conversation, and this morning is no exception. They gesture, their hands flying in the air, as one of them tells a story and the other interrupts to add to it along the way. Of course my brothers would end up with wives who become best friends.
"You just come to me when you need a break from them, okay?" I whisper to my six-month-old nephew, Colt. His little body is heavy against my chest, sleep turning him into a lump of soft warmth. Dakota handed him off to me when she finished feeding him, claiming my talent for taming horses extends to human babies. She's not wrong.
Through the front window, I watch my family, everyone in the middle of conversation, their stomachs full of my mom's famous quiche. Wes and Warner shoot the shit, probably talking about the ranch. Wes is without a second-in-command right now, an absence created by Warner's career change that surprised everybody but me. Apparently nobody else noticed his lack of enthusiasm for the day-to-day running of the ranch, or the amount of time the guy spent holed up in his office. In all fairness, I'm probably the only person with a view of his office. I live the closest to him, and my bedroom window faces his office window, and I can't count the number of times I saw him at his desk, working. Come to find out, he was earning a master's degree. Now he's doing what he really loves, teaching at the local college. I think his ultimate goal is to teach at a university, but that's just speculation. Once again, this is knowledge I've gleaned by watching and listening to what's left unsaid.
Jessie, my younger sister, has joined Tenley and Dakota. Jessie is a spitfire, as my grandpa likes to refer to her. Looking out for her has been my job, because Wes was gone in the military for twelve years. After that he was here but still absent, an ill-tempered shell of his former self. We all have Dakota to thank for whipping his ass into shape.
As for Warner, well… he was present physically, but he had his own shit going on. A seemingly perfect marriage to his high school sweetheart that imploded. Two kids caught in the crosshairs. He was pulling dual-parent duty by himself for a while, but things have evened out for him. He's remarried, to an unofficially retired movie star, of all people, and happier than I can ever remember him being.
Looking at my big brothers' track records, you'd think I'd be next in line for my own happily ever after. I don't see that happening. I think I'll end up being the fun uncle, the one the kids all come to when they have questions they're too embarrassed to ask their parents. I'll teach them how to throw a mean right hook, and the wisdom to know when to use it.
I cradle Colt in my arms and watch through the large front window as my dad walks into the living room. He steps up beside my mom, and they look at each other with unfettered pride, silently saying look what we created.
The picture is ideal for them, because I'm not in there to ruin it.
Turning away from the scene, I focus on the stable in the distance. The round pen behind it. Cowboy House, where all the cowboys live, including Denny and Ham. Maybe I'll hand off Colt to Dakota, and go over there. Sometimes I feel closer to the cowboys than I do my own brothers.
"Wyatt?" My dad steps from the homestead. The look of pride on his face when he gazed upon his family is gone now.
I bring a finger to my lips, signaling to be quiet, and turn so my dad can see Colt's sleeping face.
Everything about the hardened Beau Hayden softens, like ice cream in the sun. You'd have to see it to believe it, but the guy is a puddle when it comes to his grandkids. And to his daughter. Jessie's the miracle my mom and dad gave up on when they cast their eyes on me and saw I was a boy. Who knew a newborn could disappoint an adult? Three more attempts after me, all ending in miscarriage. They thought they would never get their daughter, and then surprise! For different reasons, I'll never forget the day she was born, but mostly because I watched my dad kiss my mom's forehead and heard him whisper, "We finally got our girl." My first heartbreak came not from a woman, but courtesy of my dad. I know now how many different ways a heart can break.
In a low voice, my dad says, "Sheriff Monroe just called. He wants to see you at the station."
I sigh, turning my head so the stream of air flowing from my nose doesn't touch Colt. "Alright. I'll come inside in a second."
Dad looks at me like he wants to say something, then changes his mind and goes inside.
I look down at the sleeping baby, brushing my lips across the top of his head. Who knew I could love a kid so much, and he's not even mine?
I hand off Colt to Wes, say goodbye to my family, and try not to laugh at my ancient grandfather, snoring loudly from his seat by the fireplace. I swear the guy takes more naps than Colt.
Dad meets my eyes on the way out of the house. Judging by the fact that nobody has mentioned my police station debacle, I'm guessing my dad didn't mention it to the rest of the family. Surely this has more to do with his embarrassment of me than his respect for my privacy.
I hop in my truck, make a quick stop at my cabin just a mile away on the HCC property, and grab my wallet. Wouldn't want to be caught driving without a license.
I pullinto an open spot in front of the station and park. No doubt there will be talk about why a Hayden Cattle Company truck was parked at the police station. Lucky for me, my recent presence here wasn't marked by my truck out front. It was safely parked at the Chute, while Shelby gave me a ride. In her cop car. In the back seat.
I walk in, letting the admin know that my presence has been requested by the sheriff. He picks up the phone, has a brief conversation, then hangs up and tells me to sit, the sheriff will be with me shortly.
Behind him, I see the rest of the station. Shelby ducks behind the computer at her desk, probably because she doesn't want to meet my gaze. I smirk and look away. The next person to meet my eyes is Dan Howard. He's the last person I'd have chosen to be a police officer. The guy can't tell his ass from a hole in the ground, so how the hell does he plan to uphold his promise to serve and protect?
He stares me down, only because his blue uniform gives him a false sense of courage. He likes me about as much as I care for him, and that's exactly how I prefer it. He's the first to break our stare.
After a few minutes, the sheriff emerges from his office and motions for me to come back. I make sure to pass Shelby's desk, and offer an overly friendly hello. She narrows her eyes at me.
"Wyatt," the sheriff greets me, leading me into his office. "Sit down. I'm waiting for one more person."
I don't sit. One more person? "Who?"
The sheriff ignores my question, keeping his eyes trained on the front door. "There she is now."
I turn to look. Jo Shelton?
Jo and I used to be friends, at least in the general sense. I've known her forever, we've been running in the same social circle since she moved here and showed up as the new student when she was sixteen and I was seventeen. And then, sometime in the last year or so, she froze over, at least where I'm concerned. She doesn't speak to me, meet my eyes, nothing. I am officially persona non grata when it comes to her.
Like he did me, the sheriff waves Jo back. I'm watching her approach, her blonde, light pink tipped hair brushing her collarbone, so I see it the moment she spots me. Her shoulders stiffen, her eyes turn to steel. I don't know what I did, but Jo hates me. She glances down at Shelby as she passes. Shelby shrugs quickly, shaking her head back and forth as if to say she doesn't know why Jo's been called in.
"Come on in, Jo," the sheriff directs. He motions for her to sit at the chair in front of his desk. "You too, Wyatt."
We both take a seat, and we both do it reluctantly. It's the closest we've been to each other since that weekend a big group of us went down to the valley for a couple days away. I sat next to her at dinner one night, and I remember liking the way she smelled. Like citrus and flowers. Kind of how she smells right now.
I spare her a quick glance. Her entire body is rigid, her back perfectly in line with her seat. She's beautiful, no man would disagree. My eyes linger for just one extra second, roving over her defined cheekbones. I'm hit with a feeling that doesn’t make sense… her skin under my touch, my fingertips trailing over her cheek.
I'm thrust from this moment, from this office, and into a place I don't comprehend. What I just felt was my imagination, I know it. So why is it that it feels more like a memory?
"Wyatt, are you with us?" Sheriff's irritation slams into my consternation, breaking apart my thoughts and delivering me back to the present.
"Here," I answer, tearing my eyes from Jo's profile. She still has not spared me a single glance.
"This"—the sheriff picks up today's paper—"was interesting today." He opens it and looks at me over the top. "Did you know that Jo here has purchased the Circle B?"
I shake my head. "I did not know that." Why would anybody want that place?
Sheriff Monroe smirks. "Did you know she's hiring?"
Jo frowns. "I'm not hiring yet. I'm not doing anything yet. It's only been final for two days and I'm figuring out the next steps."
Sheriff turns his attention to her. "What would you say is your first next step?"
"Clean up. Demo. Figuring out what's salvageable."
Sheriff nods. "And do you have people to help you with that?"
Jo looks like she's about as tired of this conversation already as I am. "Not at the moment."
"I have your first helper. Unpaid, of course." His gaze flickers over to me.
Wherever the sheriff is mentally, I haven't yet joined him. He may as well be talking in riddles. Apparently Jo isn't quite there either, because she says, "What are you getting at?"
Sheriff Monroe doesn't even try to hide his shit-eating grin. "It just so happens Wyatt here is in need of some community service."
"I am?" I was really hoping my last name worked in my favor and the whole situation had been dropped.
He nods. "You are." His words are followed by a look that tells me in no uncertain terms am I to even think about challenging him. I get the message. I have the feeling he wouldn't hesitate to lay my shit bare right here in front of Jo, and I don't particularly want that occurring.
"Crook," I say under my breath.
He chortles. "Takes one to know one."
He has me there.
"Excuse me," Jo cuts in, her voice tight and her volume higher than it was before. "Do I get a say in this?"
"Sure," the sheriff answers.
"Good. Because I don't want Wyatt serving his community service at my ranch."
I glare at her profile. "What's your problem with me?"
Finally, for the first time since we both arrived in this office, she turns her gaze on me. And I'm hit again, another figment of my imagination masquerading as a memory. She is small underneath me, allowing me to push her back against the wall, running my hands through her hair.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
Jo's in the middle of a sentence. "…and you're unreliable. And you're not even listening to me now!"
"I'm hearing you," I tell her. Turning back to the sheriff, I ask if there are any other community service opportunities available. He folds his arms across his stomach and shakes his head back and forth slowly. "This is it for you, my friend."
I turn back to Jo. "Please, Jo?" Her eyes widen when I say her name, and not in a good way. She looks ready to rip my head off. "I promise you won't even know I'm there."
Jo unclenches her jaw. "Fine," she nearly spits the word.
Sheriff loudly claps his hands once, and both of us jump. "Good, good. Glad that worked out." He's obnoxiously proud of himself. "If you two don't mind, I have other problems that need solving, and I can only hope they go half as well as yours."
Jo stalks out of the office, and I follow, glancing at Shelby as I go. She already has her phone in her hand, no doubt texting Jo about everything she just overheard.
We get out front, the warm Arizona sunshine spilling over us, and Jo turns on me. "Just to clarify, I wasn't the one with the problem. In fact, all Sheriff Monroe did was create a problem for me." The air around her buzzes with her intensity.
I point back at myself. "I'm a problem?"
She says nothing, but her expression doesn't waver. "Be on time. Be sober. Be ready to work. Think you can handle all that?"
"What was that last one?" I mean it as a joke, something to lighten the mood between us because I'm uncomfortable with how much she hates me when I don't even know why, but her response tells me how unappreciated my attempt is.
"Don't fuck with me, Wyatt Hayden, or I will kick you off my ranch and you can have whatever alternative punishment you are surely deserving of."
Jo turns around, gets in her car, and drives off.
I stand there, stunned. I have somewhere to be, and still, it takes me nearly a full minute to be able to climb into my truck and drive.
I've never been told off like that by a woman. And, if I really think hard about it, I've never seen Jo exhibit that much emotion before.