The Wrong Bridesmaid

The knock at my front door is no surprise. I heard Wyatt and his truck coming down the drive.

But Lester acts surprised, ruffling his feathers and jumping up to his perch when it comes. “Bawk! Who’s at my door?”

“Oh hush, Lester, you know who it is,” I shush him, not adding that I’ve been staring out the window for any sign of Wyatt and Lester asked me who I was looking for when my “pretty bird” was right here.

Wyatt said he was going to talk to his dad, but I wasn’t sure if that would send him to my door needing comfort. Or if he’d collapse into bed after the big night.

Or leave town?

I try to ignore the little voice in my head suggesting that.

My stomach twists as I force myself off the couch and to the door. God knows, I want to see him, but I’m scared he’s coming to say goodbye. This moment, with us on opposite sides of the door, might be the last possible happiness I have.

“I know you’re standing right there. Open the door, Hazel.” The demand in his voice . . . Is that desire for me or desire to get this over with and head back to Newport?

But damn my heart, I can’t help it. I open the door, and Wyatt steps in, opening his mouth to say something when Lester interrupts us. “Bawk! Booty call, booty call, booty call!”

“Lester!” I growl, trying not to cry for some damn reason. “Shut up, birdbrain.”

Wyatt lifts my chin, searching my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

I force a smile, blinking back the tears. “Nothing. You did it, you stopped Jed, saved Cold Springs. I’m happy about that . . .”

“But?”

His quiet, soft demand of a question pierces the little bits of armor I’ve been able to put up. “But . . .”

I look at him, begging him with my eyes to understand. He reaches up, cupping my cheek in a lover’s caress. “I told you I’d tell you if I was leaving.”

I nod, feeling stupid for becoming one of those women who asks “what are we” so soon. Nonetheless, I need answers. “I know you did.”

“And have I said anything about leaving?” Wyatt asks, his thumb brushing my cheekbone and a smile forming on his lips.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, William Wyatt Ford the third!” I warn, pushing at his chest. If I can’t cry, I can rage, and rage I will.

He doesn’t give an inch and, in fact, pulls me in, putting us chest to chest and talking right in my face. “Have I. Said anything. About Newport or going back?”

“No,” I admit. “Damn you.”

He just smiles more, and hope blooms fast and fierce, but I’m trying my best to hold back the tidal wave rushing through me. He’s had issues with people putting expectations on him, and I don’t want to be another person doing that, but damned if my heart isn’t doing it anyway.

Stay, stay, stay . . . It beats, so loudly I wonder if he can hear it.

Wyatt takes a deep breath, inhaling my scent and whispering in my ear, “That’s because I’m not leaving. I’m staying here. With you. If you want me to.”

Why does he sound like he’s questioning that? I obviously want to throw him in my bed, chain him up, and never let him leave. Not in a Misery sort of way, but in an “I love you” way. Probably a bit soon to scare the hell out of him with that, though, so I shut myself up the best way possible . . . by kissing Wyatt.

It’s not the classic “I love you” kiss, all soft and violins playing and one of us lifting a heel as our toes curl. No, it’s hotter, deeper, more passionate . . . but all the same it’s totally authentic, and when he pulls back, he’s grinning. “So . . . that’s a yes?”

I murmur against his lips, “You’re really going to stay?”

He growls against my neck, his voice so deep I can feel the vibration. “Not going anywhere unless you are.”

I start pulling him down the hallway, kissing as we go. “I’m going to the bedroom. You coming?”

“I sure fucking hope so.”

I pause, a thought breaking through the rush of want pulsing through me. “I’m glad, but why?”

Wyatt grins, smoothing the worried furrow between my brows. “Because you’re here, Hazel. And I love you.”

I freeze, near certain that I’m having auditory hallucinations, because there is no way Wyatt Ford just told me that he loves me.

Oh hell, is this a dream?

Maybe I fell asleep on the couch, staring out the window, watching for Wyatt, and he’s not even really here? If I wake up with a crick in my neck, alone with Lester, and none of this is real, I am going to be so pissed.

I need to be sure, so I pinch Wyatt’s nipple, twisting it a little.

He slaps my hand away, barking out, “Ouch. What the hell? Warn me before introducing that shit.”

He’s real. He’s here. He loves me. He’s glaring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“I love you too.”

And then I’m kissing him again, or maybe he’s kissing me? Either way, the words ignite the feelings rushing through us, and once again, I’m blown away by the passion Wyatt holds just below the surface, keeping a tight control on his hunger.

But he releases it for me, moving us the rest of the way down the hall to the bedroom.

Lester squawks, but neither Wyatt nor I pay attention as we close the door, eyes totally on each other. As one, we take off our clothes, shirt for shirt and jeans for jeans. Wyatt’s eyes burn as I push my panties down, standing in front of him fully, totally nude and vulnerable.

But I’ve never felt safer.

“How do you want me?” I ask, reaching out and taking his cock in my hand. He’s leaking precum in less than a stroke, and I relish the velvety steel in my hand. God, he’s just right for me, just right for filling my pussy . . . and my heart.

“I’ve been staring at your ass since the day we met,” Wyatt says, his look dark with promise.

“Is that so?” I ask, turning around and shaking my hips back and forth. I sashay to the bed, bending over and waiting for him. I’m expecting heat, torrid intensity . . . but instead, Wyatt steals my heart again with a feather-soft kiss on my shoulder.

“I want you, I love you,” he whispers, his hand trailing down my spine and over the curve of my ass.

His fingers find my folds, stroking and massaging me as I moan, melting into his touch. He lies over me, his chest to my back, and I turn, kissing him over my shoulder. He takes his time prepping me, stretching me until I’m desperate for him. Even still, the feeling of his cock spreading me open from behind takes the very breath from my lungs.

I push back into his stroke and make our hips clap together. “Mmmm . . . love me hard, baby.”

He does. Each stroke of his cock inside me lights up my body; each time my ass smacks hard against his taut hips and stomach, I gasp, wanting more . . . more . . . more.

I want Wyatt.

All of him.

His fingers dig into my waist. His other hand is wrapped in my hair to pull me in closer as he speeds up. The muscles of his legs are tight as he pours all his strength and passion into our joining.

I push back, giving every inch of myself, until, in a frozen heartbeat of pleasure that feels like it lasts an eternity, we peak together, and Wyatt’s essence explodes deep inside my body as I fall apart in his grasp.

After we clean up, we collapse into my bed, my head resting on his chest. I listen to the thrum of his heartbeat, reassured with every deep throb. It’s steady and sure, in contrast with mine, which is racing with excitement.

“Oh my god, Mom and Etta are gonna flip their shit.”

Wyatt chuckles, his abs rolling sexily. “Could we not talk about them while we’re naked? It’s kind of a buzzkill.”

I lift up the blanket, peeking at the goods, and then look up at him with innocent eyes. “Doesn’t seem to be affecting you too much. Unless . . .” I flip over, propping up on an elbow, and mock-accuse, “You have a thing for them!”

Wyatt rolls his eyes and grabs my hips, pulling me astride him. “I have a thing for you. Always. Anywhere. But naked, I’d rather talk about anything but family.”

I nod, more than happy with that. “Deal. On the topic of family, what are we going to do?”

“Right now? I’m hoping to recover for a few more minutes and then bury myself in you again,” Wyatt says in a soft, sexy growl. “After that? I’d like to take you to dinner and then let you beat me at a game of pool.”

I frown, looking up at him. “Let me? I’ll wipe the table with you and we both know it.”

After all, pool is serious business. But Wyatt ignores my entirely not-humble brag to continue on with his plans. “And after that? I would love to take you to Newport, show you my workshop.”

“Newport?” I echo, a little worried. Cold Springs is my home.

“With you, Hazel. Temporarily,” Wyatt says, relieving me. “I’m not going anywhere without you, but it would be nice to get a few things. I only packed for the wedding when I came, and I’d like to get some clothes and some of my tools.”

Before I can agree, the door in the kitchen opens and Etta calls out, “Getchur clothes on, kids! I wanna hear what happened with Mayor Ford. Your mama’s already on her way, too, bringing some Slutty Brownies. Told her that seemed appropriate given your current position.”

While she talks, I can hear her opening and closing cabinets, helping herself to plates and forks to get ready for Mom’s arrival. Thankfully, Etta doesn’t open the bedroom door, which allows me to sigh dramatically and look up at Wyatt. “Your place is out in the middle of nowhere, right? No parents, no siblings, just the two of us?”

He pushes a lock of my messy hair behind my ear. “Just you and me.”

“Can we leave now?” I ask eagerly.

He pops me on the ass playfully, grinning. “After we talk to your family.”

I groan but agree. “Fine. Let’s get dressed then. I don’t trust Etta not to come in here to try to get a peek at your dick.” Getting up, I yell, “Aunt Etta, I hate you right now.”

“Love you, too, baby!”

From the living room, Lester calls out, “Bawk! Cockblock, cockblock, cawwwkblawwwk.”

At the kitchen table, Mom and Aunt Etta look at Wyatt and me with barely concealed grins. They might as well be singing, “We know you had sexxx!”

Yeah, that’s not awkward at all with your mother and pseudo-mother figure.

And when I take a bite of a Slutty Brownie Mom brought, I can’t help but moan obscenely. “Ermagawd, Mom. These are sooo gud.”

Mom sips her coffee with a smile of appreciation. “How’d everything go with your dad, Wyatt?”

He swallows his own bite of brownie, somehow not making any vulgar noises, and answers, “Surprisingly well. We’ve got some work to do, but I think we’re in a good place to restart things. And Dad wants to fix the damage he’s done with this whole subdivision thing. He never wanted to destroy Cold Springs or its community.” He looks to Etta, who nods agreeably before glee washes over her.

“And Jed?” Etta asks, looking like she wants to hear that he’s nursing his wounds in a pit somewhere. Preferably with acid dripping onto them.

Wyatt shrugs. “I think he likes being a big fish in a small pond, and Dad said he probably has a plan B, or more accurately, a site B, for the subdivision. Somewhere outside Cold Springs, which makes sense to me, but he’ll have to get funds. According to Winston, those people in suits at the hearing were investors, and they walked out pretty angry.”

Mom asks quietly, “Is it wrong if I hope the contract he signed with them is ironclad in their favor?”

Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good. “Did you hear back from the lawyer about your lease?”

Mom’s nod is resigned. “Yes. The bad news is, Jed can change my rent because the term of the lease is up. It’s part of the renegotiation, fair and square.”

Etta adds eagerly, “Tell ’em the good news.”

Mom’s grin is pure devilment as she says, “I’m going to have to raise prices across the board, just a little. Probably twenty-five cents on everything. I’m going to call it a Jed Ford Fee.”

Etta laughs. “Hell, it’ll bug him more to have the menu redone with every item listing the price plus a Jed Ford Fee. Bad publicity will irritate him more than anything. I can’t wait!”

Wyatt laughs. “You women are evil. I love it.”

I can’t help but smile happily. Most men, hell, most people, would be terrified of the crazy ideas we come up with and run for the hills. But Wyatt not only isn’t scared, he approves and laughs along with us.

Aunt Etta leans my way, talking behind her hand, but keeping her typical volume so that everyone can hear the “secret” she’s sharing with me. “I like this one, even if his last name is Ford and he’s kin to Jed.” She fakes spitting on my clean floor as she says Jed’s name, and I suspect that’s going to be a new habit.

I look at Wyatt, who’s grinning easily as he eats, and tell Etta, “I like him too. Maybe one day, he’ll make me a Ford too.” I wink and Wyatt chokes on his brownie.

Mom and Etta laugh loudly. “Good job, girl. You gotta keep them on their toes.”

“She definitely does that,” Wyatt agrees. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”