“Me, too,” she said, fumbling with her fingers at her waist. Had it always been huge? How could he not have noticed? “Would you mind taking me to my car?”
For a split second, Wyatt thought about turning her down, but then his mind flashed on just how pleasant his past couple meetings with her had been. Natalie was the anti-Dallas.
Meeting his brother’s glare, Wyatt said to Natalie, “Hop in. Let’s go lookin’ for trouble.”
Chapter Three
“What was that about?” Natalie asked once they were well away from the bonfire’s glow.
“You really don’t wanna know.”
“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” She rolled down her window. Sweet wood smoke laced the air rushing across her flushed cheeks and chest. “Your mom, bless her heart, just pressed my hot button nine ways to Sunday. Way I see it, I’ll tell you my frustrations, then you can vent yours.”
“Deal. Do you like shooting?”
Forehead furrowed, she angled on the seat to face him. “Haven’t done it since I was a kid, but it was fun then.”
“Oh,” he said with a sharp laugh, “you’re gonna love this.”
Twenty minutes driving across dark prairie landed them alongside an old wood outbuilding and trash pile from the land’s previous owners. One of the latest parcels added to the vast Buckhorn spread, the old Spring place wasn’t fancy, but according to Josie, Dallas had gone after it with a vengeance.
“Come on,” Wyatt said, taking a 30-30 rifle from the back window. “And grab the shells from the glove box.”
Moonlight shimmered off a pond. From somewhere—Natalie hoped far away—coyotes yipped. After handing Wyatt the ammo, she hugged herself to ward off a chill.
“Cold?” he asked, boots crunching on hard-packed dirt.
“A little.”
He removed his ranch coat, settling it about her shoulders. It was still warm and smelled of him—a delicious blend of leather and soap and citrus that quickened her pulse.
“Thanks.”
He cast her a faint, unreadable smile before fishing rusty cans from a burn barrel. After lining ten along the crooked posts of a barbwire fence, he took the rifle from under his arm and the shells from his back pocket and loaded the gun.
Handing it to her, he said, “Ladies first.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” she said, “but it’s been a while. As a refresher course, I’ll watch you a few times.”
Shrugging, he said, “Suit yourself. I’ve got to work some of this frustration out before I say something to Dallas I’m gonna regret.” Aiming at the farthest can, he fired, blowing it to smithereens. “Damn! Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
Natalie laughed above her still-ringing ears. “Hand me that gun, cowboy. Training camp’s over. I want a turn.”
He loaded it before handing it to her. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“No, but how hard can it be?” She prepared to fire, but he stopped her.
“A pose like that is going to give you one helluva bruise. Try this…” Behind her, he drew back the butt of the rifle, landing it square against her shoulder. His proximity set off explosions that had nothing to do with gun powder. The tall, lean length of him radiated heat to her shoulders and back and butt, igniting a tingling swirl in her belly. What was wrong with her? She’d never been attracted to Wyatt. He was the kind of guy she knew she could count on if she had a flat tire. He wasn’t the kind of guy a single, pregnant woman turned to for a rebound fling. He was renowned for breaking hearts—never saving them. “Feel better?”
With his warm breath in her ear, she most certainly did not feel better. What she truly felt was a yearning hunger for another kiss. Ludicrous, but undeniable. Forcing a breath, she nodded.
“Good. Line the can in your sight, then pow. Blow all your frustrations away.” He’d whispered that one little word, causing more damage to her resolve to resist his charm than she’d ever do to the can.
“This one’s for you, Georgina.”
“Sounds intriguing,” he teased.
She pulled the trigger, and found that the noise and thrill were just the ticket to clearing the angst buildup.
An hour later, having finished off the box of shells, Natalie sat alongside Wyatt in the old truck, warming her hands in front of blowing heater vents. “Thanks for this. It turned out to be exactly what I needed.”
“Happy to oblige.”
After a few moments’ comfortable silence, cocooned in the truck’s dark cab, Natalie said, “I haven’t yet found the nerve to tell my folks about my pregnancy. Their world’s pretty black and white, and having an unwed daughter with a baby on the way wouldn’t even begin to compute.”
“Sorry. When it comes to family disapproval, mine wrote the book.”
“Oh, please.” Twisting on the seat for a better view of his handsome profile, she asked, “What have you ever done that the mighty Buckhorns disapproved of?”
“Like your folks,” he said, narrowly avoiding a fallen tree, “they would prefer I be married. Oh—and they can’t stand my house.”
“Really? Town gossip says it’s pretty amazing.”
“I like to think so.” His smile warmed her far more efficiently that the heater.
“And lately, they’re mighty pissed about me leaving.”
“Hmm…Josie told me about your great Ethiopian adventure. Sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Something to be done before you finally do settle down with a wife and those requisite 2.5 kids.”
Natalie had expected Wyatt to appreciate her support. Instead, his expression hardened.
She asked, “Did I somehow offend you?”
He shook his head and gripped the wheel tighter.
“Then why the one-eighty in your mood?”
After a glance out his window at the inky nothing beyond the glass, he exhaled. “What the hell? I’ve needed to get this off my chest for a while now, and I like you, Natalie. Always have. Most girls fell for my Buckhorn hype, but not you. You always treated me like a regular Joe.”
Stomach sour, Natalie wasn’t sure she wanted to hear whatever Wyatt had to say.
“I appreciate that. Outside of family, and a few close friends, there aren’t a lot of people I can trust to keep my private issues private. Know what I mean?”
She nodded. “I feel that way about Josie. As happy as I was to see her marry Dallas, part of me mourned to have lost her. Sure, we’ll always be close, but not the way we were before she began bursting with family.”
Wincing, he said, “There’s that word again. The bane of my existence.”
“Family?” Wrinkling her nose, she said, “I would think however your relatives are, they’re still your blood and you love them.”
“Love has nothing to do with it. Their expectations for me to be just like them is what brings me down—especially since no matter how much they bitch and nag about me marrying and having kids, their hopes will never come to pass.”
“Why? You’re young. How can you arbitrarily decide you never want to be more than a bachelor?”
“Easy.”