Sheridan did the only thing she could think of. She stomped on his foot with the sturdy heel of her shoe. Hard. So hard, she imagined she could hear bones crushing, though she knew that was impossible. The action had the desired effect though. He howled in pain, in outrage, and released her.
She didn’t care that she caused him pain. She wanted to cause him more. While he hopped around, desperately holding his wounded foot, she smacked him across the face. That only served to enrage him more.
He grabbed her again, pulling her close, his arms like steel bands trapping her, and tried to plant his mouth on hers.
She turned her head at the last minute. The only thing his lips touched was her cheek, but that was more than enough. She stomped on his foot again.
Wyatt took a sip of his coffee and looked at the woman sitting across from him at the Wagon Wheel. He’d followed Lucy’s advice and invited Tamara Willis out for a piece of pie, even though his visit with Julia Applebaum had been a complete disaster.
He’d been right about Tamara Willis, too, and never again would he put himself through another date like the one he was sitting through right now. Unlike Julia, Tamara had opinions. A lot of them. She had definite ideas about what she wanted, too, and it wasn’t living and working with him on Stone Creek. No, she wanted more. Very much like Katie. And he definitely did not want another woman like Katie.
“You should cut your hair.”
Wyatt reached up and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. Yes, it was a little longer than he usually wore it, but it was still neat. “Cut my hair? Why?”
“You look unkempt.” Tamara wrinkled her nose. “Like you just walked in from the field.”
He laughed. “That’s because I did.”
“And that suit.” Again, with the wrinkled nose. “It’s awful. Doesn’t fit you well at all. Don’t you have another?”
He looked down at the black suit, usually reserved for weddings and funerals, and couldn’t see anything wrong with it. Yes, it may have been old, but it was still in great shape. Fortunately, there hadn’t been many weddings he’d attended in the past couple of years. Even less funerals, for which he was thankful.
“Did you even bathe before you came to pick me up?”
He glanced at his hand, holding the fork much too tightly. It was clean. He looked at his other hand. It was clean, too. He had, indeed, bathed before changing into this suit. He’d even shaved and splashed on some aftershave. Apparently, that wasn’t good enough.
What had Lucy been thinking? If Tamara Willis was her idea of a possible match for him, she had definitely lost her touch. And he’d tell her so as soon as he could gracefully, politely, remove himself from Tamara’s presence.
“You know, when we marry, you’ll have to sell the ranch. We’ll have to live in Santa Fe if we’re going to get you elected Senator. Or Governor. Yes, that’s the route we’ll take. First Governor then the Presidency.”
Wyatt said nothing, since it seemed she had their whole lives planned out, though where she got the idea they were getting married, he’d like to know. When he invited her out for a piece of pie and a cup of coffee, he hadn’t mentioned anything aboutgetting married. He simply stated that he’d like to get to know her better.
“You’ll have to take elocution lessons. You can’t be giving speeches, speaking the way you do.” She smiled then reached up to fix the ridiculous hat on her head. “I can teach you how to move gracefully and dress appropriately once we’re married.”
Again, he said nothing. He finished his pie and sat back, waiting for the moment he could end this, but she hadn’t stopped talking. Or criticizing. Not for one moment. Not only could he not dress himself or keep his hair neat, but, according to her, he couldn’t even choose the correct pie.
He looked up at the clock on the wall and stifled a groan. They’d been here over an hour, and he’d barely said anything. How could he? She wouldn’t stop speaking. How long did he need to stay before he could leave without being rude? Was now too soon? What he wouldn’t give to be sitting across from Sheridan. She didn’t feel the need to fill every silence with inane chatter. Nor plan out his entire life. Or make him change everything about himself.
He drew in his breath as his gaze lowered from the clock, which seemed to have stopped keeping time, and noticed several people staring at him. Some were smiling, but it wasn’t that friendly smile he was used to seeing. The others? They were giving him pitying looks, probably wondering why he was sitting across the table from Tamara. Even Elsie gave him a sympathetic glance the last time she refilled his cup and dropped off the check.
Tamara took a bite of her pie, which she hadn’t touched before now, then pushed it away, as if it wasn’t good enough. He took that moment, while her mouth was closed, to stand up and end this fiasco. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon, Tamara, but I’m afraid I need to be going.”
“Going? Going where? I thought…I thought we might catch that traveling troupe of musicians at the town hall.” Her eyes opened wide with faked innocence. “Any husband of mine needs to be educated in the fine arts, if we’re going to spend any time in Washington, DC, although in this little town, I wouldn’t call anything fine.”
No, definitely not. The sooner he could remove himself from her company, the better, and sitting through a musical revue at the town hall was not the way to do it. “I’m afraid I have too many chores on the ranch to attend a musical review.” He grabbed his hat from the spindle of the chair beside him but didn’t put it on. Instead, he just stood there, looking at her, worrying the brim between his fingers. “I’ll take you home.”
She stared at him, the smile that had been on her face throughout their time together, disappearing, replaced with a look that was full of disdain while still appearing disappointed. She threw her napkin on the table and rose from her seat in one angry, fluid motion. “Take me home? I think not!” She glared at him as if he’d done something wrong, picked up the drawstring purse that matched her ridiculous hat, and flounced out of the restaurant.
Elsie approached to clear off the table. “She’s not the one for you, Wyatt.”
He nodded in full agreement, pulled several bills from his pocket and handed them to her, then left the restaurant.
He walked down the street to where his buckboard waited, musing over what his next step should be. He’d done what Lucy had asked of him. He’d visited Julia at her father’s home and invited Tamara for coffee. There was only one of the three Lucy had suggested, Aricely, he hadn’t paid a call on. And at this point, he wasn’t going to. He already knew her and yes, she was a sweet, gentle woman, but he also knew how she felt. She’d made it quite clear to anyone who would listen that she wasn’tinterested in falling in love again. She’d been lucky to fall in love with Enrique Davilos the first time. Once was enough, according to her.
No, he was done. He could go to Lucy with a clear conscience and tell her to stop looking for a wife for him. That it wasn’t his time. He certainly wasn’t interested in anyone else she thought might be a possible match for him. Lucy Hart, Matchmaker, had, indeed, lost her touch.
“Wyatt!” He heard his name called and froze. He recognized that voice. He stopped beside the buckboard and glanced around.
