Page 58 of Ridin' Solo
“Sorry. We can’t all be mega bucks like you with state-of-the-art everything.” I struggled to take off the boot, wanting to take a peek at my wound before wrapping fresh gauze on it. “What do you do to make all your stacks of cash, anyway?”
“I make miracles happen, sister of mine.”
I snorted. “Do you always have to talk in riddles?”
“Only when the riddle is more accurate than the straight answer.”
“Okay. Forget we even had this conversation. Just help me get this gauze taped up.” God bless her, I loved Esme, but she was a handful I just didn’t have the patience for today.
Vee popped back in the room, wagging her eyebrows. “I just googled him.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be making waffles?” Esme reminded her, securing my gauze and helping me back into the boot.
She tossed her hand, looking exactly like Mom. “Nah, Mom’s handling it. So get this. Wyatt’s dad died two years ago from a sudden heart attack. Wouldn’t that be right around the time Wyatt became a deputy?”
I bit my lip as my eyes burned again just hearing his name. “He told me about his dad dying, but what does that have to do with anything?”
Vee and Esme looked at each other. I felt like I was missing something.
“Maybe he changed his name to avoid the spotlight,” Vee said softly.
“Maybe he moved here to start a new life,” Esme whispered back.
“Maybe he came here under false pretenses and couldn’t even trust me enough to tell me the truth,” I said loudly.
Both of their heads swung toward me, looking guilty.
“Oh, Oakley!” Amelia’s singsong voice hit our ears right before she sashayed back into the bedroom, not looking even a tiny bit sick.
She smiled, and I shivered, envisioning devil horns on top of her head.
“Come see my artwork.”
We all filed out of my room, the girls having to slow down to accommodate my awkward limping. Amelia waited until I’d joined her in the living room, swinging the curtain away from the window dramatically. My gaze zeroed in on Wyatt’s black truck parked in the driveway next door.
In pink block letters on the side were the wordsBig Truck, Little Willy.
I gasped. “Oh, my.”
“Oh, yes,” Amelia echoed back.
“Please tell me that’s not spray paint,” Mom said, her voice carrying the weight of thirty years of dealing with Amelia’s high jinks. Her question was valid. Amelia had been known to tag things around town before.
Amelia shrugged, the smug smile tugging a matching smile on my own face. “Nah, I promised Titus I wouldn’t do that anymore. It’s just chalk paint. Pretty sure some soap and water will take care of it.”
“Pretty sure?” Mom asked.
Amelia shrugged. “Who’s ready for waffles?”
26
Wyatt
“What the hell happened yesterday?” Emmeline kicked the bedroom door open with her foot, waking me abruptly from the worst night of sleep I’d ever had. I kept dreaming about being in the middle of a barn, bullets flying left and right while Oakley screamed for help. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to get to her.
I shot up in bed, just barely keeping myself covered when my first instinct was to grab my gun and deal with an intruder. Em stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, her gaze flickering over me. I instantly regretted giving her a key to my house.
“Are you hurt?”
