I finally look at the Sheriff, and I wish I hadn’t. Pity lines his mouth and eyes. From the look on my face, he must have some kind of inkling that I have zero clue who could have done this, because he doesn’t poke and prod me for answers. He only tells me, “Whoever it is, made it look like an accident. I don’t know if you have any enemies, Ms. Adler, but I’d be extra careful about who you let in from now on.”
“Thank you, Eaton.”
“Call me if you get any tips. Or if you need something from me.” He places his hat that’s been resting by his side back onto his head, and tips it towards me. “I promise we’ll do everything we can to find the bastard, Whitney. No one gets away with something this big in a town this small.”
I want to believe it. I really do. Whoever did this was smart. Intentional. But maybe, just maybe going after a town gem like Bell’s Coffee Shop will push those at the station to really find me some answers. After the Sheriff leaves, his car kicking up dirt as it departs, Wyatt turns to me. Concern flashing in his eyesas he reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. I nearly crumble at the gentle touch. So, at odds with the harsh reality of my current world. “Are you okay?” he asks.
“No.” I admit. My eyes don’t sting like I expect them to. They’re as empty as I feel right now. “No, I’m not.”
Chapter Sixteen
WHITNEY
“Get dressed.”
My ears don’t even process the demand before something rough is smacking against the side of my face. Wyatt’s aggravatingly deep voice makes me groan and I involuntarily pop an eye open to see him looming over where I lay on the couch.
He’s still in his work clothes from this morning, whereas I changed into boxers and one of his sweatshirts the second I got the chance. If he’s surprised I’ve been hoarding his clothing, he doesn’t show it. I let the eye I opened drop down to whatever it is he’d thrown at me, eyebrows raising when I find a pair of my bell bottoms. But not a different top.
My first instinct is to launch it right back, but the smirk on his face tells me he’d be expecting that. I roll my eyes, leaving the grey fabric lying there, throwing a hand back over my face, and pushing myself deeper into the cushions. I’ve been dozing off for the past half hour, trying to rid myself of the blooming headache that had arrived since Sheriff Eaton showed up. It hasn’t worked, unfortunately. But I’m so accustomed to the pain of tension headaches that it’s merely an inconvenience nowadays. Brinley was napping when I laid down.
Wyatt clears his throat, as if signaling his impatience. I sigh, forcing myself to sit up. I meet his gaze, furrowing my brows when he takes an overly large step backwards. Confusion is quickly replaced by embarrassment when I realize how close my face was to the waistband of his jeans.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t–
I shake my head, forcing myself to look at the ceiling fan. “Is Brinley awake?”
I can practically feel the heat of his gaze. “And already dressed and in the car. Let’s go.”
That draws my attention back to him. Wyatt israrelyimpatient. “Uh-why?” I ask, standing up. I hate the way his cologne floods my nostrils.Howdoes he smell so good all of the time? “Where are we going?”
He rubs his brow. “You have no idea how surprises work, do you?”
Smartass. I cock my head, looking over him skeptically. With the way that familiar, gentle glow breaks through the nearby windows, it had to be around dinner time. “Does it at least include coffee? Food?”
I’d need coffee in an IV at this point, but beggars can’t be choosers. I toss the denim behind me, slipping my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts. Wyatt doesn’t respond, obviously shocked that I’m stripping right in front of him.
Good.I hope I get under his skin the way he digs into mine. I watch him as I shimmy them down my thighs and over my knees, waiting for him to avert his gaze from mine–to look over my shoulder, or to even lower them. He doesn’t.
Wyatt’s jaw just ticks, but he just shoves his hand in his pocket. “You have five minutes before Brinley and I leave you here.” He makes a show of holding up five fingers. I respond by giving him a sickly sweet smile and throwing the pink and plaid shorts in his direction.
The very breathis stolen from my lungs at the first sight of rolling hills blanketed in a soft purple. A delicate breeze brushes the meadow, swaying the sprawling evergreen and pushing the sweet smell of blossoming flowers towards us. “Is that…?” I begin to ask, but my words tumble off as I run my eyes over the field, so taken aback by the sheer amount of flowers.
“Springbank Clover?” Wyatt finishes for me. “Yes.”
“This is beautiful,” I nod. Beautiful doesn’t begin to cover it. This isbreathtaking. It looks like something you’d pull out of a storybook, or see woven into an intricate painting. Beside the field, there is a small, quaint pond. The water is still, with lilypads and a massive willow tree shading half of the water. Ducks and geese mingle in the pond, either oblivious or unphased by the three of us standing here.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when Wyatt had told me to get dressed, but it certainly wasn’t this. We had parked the truck a few yards back, choosing to hike a small distance until we’d reached this secluded oasis. “I had no idea this was even here,” I breathe. It smells like fresh rain and wood, and I find myself entering just one solid moment of pure…bliss. Birds chirping, trees swaying, and the steady, solid feel of cold wind against my cheeks. It’s probably one of the warmest days we’ve had in awhile–but it’s that perfect balance between warmth and chill.
Thisis why I love Clover-Hills. It’s a small town full of drama and gossip, but underneath all that? You’ll never find beauty like this just anywhere. It’s comforting in a way you’ll never experience in the city.
“That’s kind of the point, Winnie,” Wyatt teases as Brinley drops the picnic basket she insisted on dragging. I watch as thecorner of Wyatt’s mouth tip up in amusement, but it’s there and gone by the time he’s flipped the blue and white checkered blanket out. Benji darts past us, as if he’s been here a dozen times and can navigate the territory with his eyes closed. His shiny black coat is a stark contrast against the purples and greens. Brinley shoots after him, but not far enough for me to worry and chase after them. With how close it is to the ranch, itmustbe a part of his property. No wonder I’ve never seen it before.
“My dad used to bring me here when I was a kid,” Wyatt says under his breath, as if he can read my thoughts. He begins unpacking the picnic basket. My eyes snag on the thermos he pulls out, nearly sighing in relief when the smell of freshly brewed coffee slams into my nose. I glance past his shoulder to make sure Benji and Brinley are still nearby–quickly finding them picking at flowers along the base of a nearby tree. I drop to my knees, realizing that I should probably help unpack our spread of food. “I stopped thinking it was cool before Wesley was born,” he adds, “We never came back much after that.”
I watch him over the wicker basket, and those blue eyes speak for themselves. If he could, he’d take it back. A moment so inconsequential at the age of four or five, but so meaningful after the loss of someone you love. And the fact that he wanted to share this with Brinley, withme?
I don’t need to ask why he brought me here. I know he did this to ease some of that tension in my head. I can see it in the way his gaze keeps flickering towards me, as if expecting me to break under the weight of today’s news. I can see it in the way he pours me a mug of warm, brown liquid without having to ask. I can see it in the way he glances behind him to check on Brinley, as if her well-being is subconsciously floating in his head, too.
