Page 22 of His Big Hometown Cowboy
But this… this was different.
His best friend. His little brother.
“What if he’s weird about it? What if he thinks… I don’t know… that it’s messy? Or thinks he has to choose sides or something? He’s always been so protective.”
Wyatt pushed off the counter, closing the distance between us. He stopped inches away, looking down at me. “Travis? Okay, maybe he’ll be surprised.” He conceded. “Might take him a minute. But he loves us both.” His hand came up, resting gently on my shoulder, solid and reassuring. “He’ll come around. He just wants us both to be happy.”
“There’s only one way to find out, I guess,” I said, trying to borrow some of his certainty, squaring my shoulders. “We have to tell him.”
Wyatt nodded, his expression serious now.
He pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around me, tucking me against his solid warmth. His chin rested on the top of my head.
Safe. Secure. Like this was exactly where I was supposed to be.
“Okay, then.” His voice was a low rumble against my ear. “Together.”
The word resonated deep inside me.
A team. Facing whatever came next.
Here. In this kitchen, in this house, with this man who felt more like home than any place I’d ever known. I leaned into his embrace, letting myself believe it, just for this moment.
“Together,” I agreed, the anxiety still fluttering, but overshadowed now by a fragile, burgeoning hope.
Coming home might have been the best decision I’d ever made.
CHAPTER FIVE
Wyatt
The crunchof gravel under my tires announced our arrival at Travis’s single-wide trailer. Beside me, Timmy shifted, the borrowed gray sweatpants I’d given him bunching around his ankles. He looked small, swallowed up in my clothes, but the sight sent a possessive warmth through me.
Mine.
Before I’d even cut the engine, the trailer door swung open. Travis stood there, silhouetted against the morning light.
He took in the truck, then Timmy beside me, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on the familiar faded gray of the sweats. His arms crossed over his chest, suspicion clouding his features like a gathering storm.
“Didn’t expect to see you two rolling in together.” Travis’s voice was carefully neutral, but his eyes were sharp, assessing. He looked back at Timmy. “Rough night, Tim?”
Timmy let out a breath, halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Jesus, Travis. Good morning to you too.”
I killed the engine. This wasn’t the gentle easing-in I’d vaguely pictured. Travis’s stare shifted to me, narrowed slightly. “Wyatt.”
“Morning, Travis.” I kept my voice even. “Mind if we come in?”
He hesitated for just a beat, then stepped back, gesturing with a jerk of his head. “By all means. Already have coffee on.”
Inside, Travis moved to the kitchen counter, pouring three mugs. He set them on the dinette table, the Formica worn smooth in places. I slid onto the bench opposite him. Timmy squeezed in beside me, our knees bumping under the table.
Travis stirred sugar into his mug, the spoon clinking against the ceramic. He didn’t look at either of us directly. “So,” he began, his voice low. “What’s going on here?”
“We wanted to talk to you about that,” Timmy started, reaching for his own mug.
Travis finally lifted his gaze, pinning me with it. “Wyatt?”
I met his look squarely. No point beating around the bush now. “Timmy and I went to Rainbow Night yesterday. At The Lone Star.”
