entirely different emotion.
Attraction.
The force of it hit him like a blow from nowhere.
Paige had been his friend when they were growing up. His best friend. At times, his only friend. That he should be affected this way, so quickly and so strongly, unnerved him.
Eventually, he found his voice. “Maybe we can talk later.”
“I’ve nothing to say to you.”
Her words proved they did, indeed, have a lot of unfinished business.
Wyatt was more than willing to bide his time. Theirs was hardly the only burned bridge he’d left behind needing repairs.
The fact his parents had sent him the party invitation indicated they were as willing as him to reconcile. With luck, Paige would come around, too. He’d spend his visit trying his best to convince her.
She set the knife on the cutting board and wiped her hands on a towel. “I’ll take you to your dad now.”
He knew the way to the office. His parents had owned and operated the Open Range Saloon for better than twenty years. But he’d allow Paige to lead him down the narrow hall if only for another chance to speak to her.
“I’ll be ready for a refill when you’re done,” a man at a corner table called out and raised his nearly empty beer mug.
“Sit tight, Royce. I won’t be a minute.”
Wyatt thought he might be acquainted with the older man and searched his memory. It came to him in a flash. Royce was one of the hands from Thunder Ranch, the Harts’ spread. Wyatt once worked there and frequently ran into Colt Hart during his years on the rodeo circuit. Until she’d moved, Thunder Ranch was also the home of Dinah Hart, Wyatt’s former girlfriend.
He’d forgotten all about her. A single look at Paige had cleared his mind of every woman from his past and present, save her.
She glanced over her shoulder to check if he was still following.
“What’s wrong?” Her brows drew together. “You’re limping.”
“It’s nothing. Just a little stiff from the long drive.”
She stopped a few feet from the closed office door. “Is your injury still bothering you?”
“You know about that?”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “Your mother told me.”
He nodded.
A year ago, Wyatt had taken a fall from the infamous bucking horse The Midnight Express. Among his injuries he counted a concussion, a ruptured spleen and seventeen broken bones, one of them a rib that punctured his left lung and left him with his life hanging in the balance for two full days.
It was the last time he’d sat a bucking bronc. Probably the last time he ever would.
“There’s a bottle of aspirin behind the bar if you need some,” Paige offered.
“Just like always.”
She didn’t reply, but simply knocked softly on the closed office door. “Ted? You there?”
“Yeah,” came a deep, muffled reply. “Come in.”
Wyatt’s spine automatically straightened at the sound of his father’s voice.
Paige opened the door. “You have a visitor.” She stepped aside to let Wyatt enter.
Their gazes connected briefly when he brushed by her. For an instant—and only an instant—her expression softened, and she was the same Paige St. John he remembered.
Wyatt’s gaze went next to his father, sitting behind a battered metal desk that had come with the saloon when his parents purchased it. As he watched, his father’s expression went from shock to anger.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
Wyatt’s arm, extended for a handshake, fell to his side.
* * *
“You sent me an invitation,” Wyatt answered, perplexed more than anything.
“I sure as hell did not.”
“It came in the mail. Postmarked Roundup.”
“Not from me, it didn’t.”
Was this some kind of joke? Wyatt turned, seeking Paige, only to catch a glimpse of her as she rounded the corner and disappeared.
“Maybe Mom did,” he said.
“I doubt that. You broke her heart.”
“I know I did.…” Wyatt struggled to make sense of what was happening.
After his accident, his mother had visited him in
Attraction.
The force of it hit him like a blow from nowhere.
Paige had been his friend when they were growing up. His best friend. At times, his only friend. That he should be affected this way, so quickly and so strongly, unnerved him.
Eventually, he found his voice. “Maybe we can talk later.”
“I’ve nothing to say to you.”
Her words proved they did, indeed, have a lot of unfinished business.
Wyatt was more than willing to bide his time. Theirs was hardly the only burned bridge he’d left behind needing repairs.
The fact his parents had sent him the party invitation indicated they were as willing as him to reconcile. With luck, Paige would come around, too. He’d spend his visit trying his best to convince her.
She set the knife on the cutting board and wiped her hands on a towel. “I’ll take you to your dad now.”
He knew the way to the office. His parents had owned and operated the Open Range Saloon for better than twenty years. But he’d allow Paige to lead him down the narrow hall if only for another chance to speak to her.
“I’ll be ready for a refill when you’re done,” a man at a corner table called out and raised his nearly empty beer mug.
“Sit tight, Royce. I won’t be a minute.”
Wyatt thought he might be acquainted with the older man and searched his memory. It came to him in a flash. Royce was one of the hands from Thunder Ranch, the Harts’ spread. Wyatt once worked there and frequently ran into Colt Hart during his years on the rodeo circuit. Until she’d moved, Thunder Ranch was also the home of Dinah Hart, Wyatt’s former girlfriend.
He’d forgotten all about her. A single look at Paige had cleared his mind of every woman from his past and present, save her.
She glanced over her shoulder to check if he was still following.
“What’s wrong?” Her brows drew together. “You’re limping.”
“It’s nothing. Just a little stiff from the long drive.”
She stopped a few feet from the closed office door. “Is your injury still bothering you?”
“You know about that?”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “Your mother told me.”
He nodded.
A year ago, Wyatt had taken a fall from the infamous bucking horse The Midnight Express. Among his injuries he counted a concussion, a ruptured spleen and seventeen broken bones, one of them a rib that punctured his left lung and left him with his life hanging in the balance for two full days.
It was the last time he’d sat a bucking bronc. Probably the last time he ever would.
“There’s a bottle of aspirin behind the bar if you need some,” Paige offered.
“Just like always.”
She didn’t reply, but simply knocked softly on the closed office door. “Ted? You there?”
“Yeah,” came a deep, muffled reply. “Come in.”
Wyatt’s spine automatically straightened at the sound of his father’s voice.
Paige opened the door. “You have a visitor.” She stepped aside to let Wyatt enter.
Their gazes connected briefly when he brushed by her. For an instant—and only an instant—her expression softened, and she was the same Paige St. John he remembered.
Wyatt’s gaze went next to his father, sitting behind a battered metal desk that had come with the saloon when his parents purchased it. As he watched, his father’s expression went from shock to anger.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
Wyatt’s arm, extended for a handshake, fell to his side.
* * *
“You sent me an invitation,” Wyatt answered, perplexed more than anything.
“I sure as hell did not.”
“It came in the mail. Postmarked Roundup.”
“Not from me, it didn’t.”
Was this some kind of joke? Wyatt turned, seeking Paige, only to catch a glimpse of her as she rounded the corner and disappeared.
“Maybe Mom did,” he said.
“I doubt that. You broke her heart.”
“I know I did.…” Wyatt struggled to make sense of what was happening.
After his accident, his mother had visited him in
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