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A wrapped breakfast sandwich is tossed in front of me a moment before Wyatt lowers himself into a chair at the table.
I lock eyes with him, eyebrow raised.
“Eat,” he commands before unwrapping his own and taking a bite.
I watch him, taking another sip of my coffee and avoiding the sandwich.
He sighs. “Seriously, Dakota. You need to eat something.” He stares at me for a moment longer and sighs. “Come on. I promised Chance I would take care of you.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need taking care of. I did just fine before you both came along.”
“Clearly,” he says dryly before taking another bite.
“I’ll eat if you promise to lay off Chance. At least until he’s better and can fight back.”
Wyatt looks between me and the untouched sandwich. “Deal.”
Satisfied that he’s telling the truth, I unwrap it and take a big bite, which I immediately regret. The egg tastes like rubber, the English Muffin it’s on is stale, and the cheese tastes like it might possibly be expired.
“This is disgusting,” I say, fighting to swallow the nearly inedible food before chugging my coffee. The bitterness of the drink is a thousand times better than this ‘food.’
“I know.” He sits back, giving me a shit-eating grin.
“And you talked me into eating it anyway?”
“If I have to eat this, so do you. They charged me an arm and a leg for it.” He chuckles.
I laugh, crumpling up my napkin and throwing it at him, which only makes him laugh harder.
“Well, this is it.” I step into the small hotel room, hoping that if I act overly cheery that it will lessen the blow that this will be our temporary home.
Chance crosses into the room with a scowl on his face.
“I know it’s not much, but it’s better than sleeping on the cots in the shelter. While I’m grateful, they weren’t the most comfortable.” Or the chair in his hospital room, but I don’t mention that.
Closing the door behind him, I try to see the room from his perspective. There’s a single queen bed in the middle of the room with standard wooden nightstands on either side. There’s small, rounded table with two chairs, and a desk with a rolling chair. A door to the bathroom is on the far wall, which is tiny, but functional and clean.
There are a few piles of bags on the table. I ran out and got some clothes and food before picking him up from the hospital. I had to guess on his size, and I hope I guessed correctly. The clothes he was wearing the night of the fire had to be destroyed by the hospital, so Wyatt brought him some of his until we could get others sorted.
Chance hasn’t said a word since I got to his hospital room. Other than needing time to recuperate from the smoke inhalation, he’s thankfully all right. While it’s pissing me off he hasn’t said anything, I tell myself it’s because his throat must be in a lot of pain, not because he doesn’t want to talk to me.
“I thought you would probably want a shower and settle in. I can go grab dinner. There’s a diner around the corner that has decent food and they’ve been giving a discount to all the evacuees.” I walk into the middle of the room, shuffling through the bags on the table to distract myself. “I had to guess on your size and what you would wear, but it’s a start at least. There’s a big box store on the edge of town, and a mall in the next town over…”
Chance covers my hands in his, forcing me to look up at him.
“I don’t care about food or clothes right now.” He pulls me into him and wraps his arms around me.
I’ve tried to be so strong since the night of the fire. I haven’t broken down or cried. I’ve been so focused on what needed to be done in order to get Chance out of there or how to get him home from the hospital. But now that he’s here with me, holding me, I find myself letting go.
The tears flow freely as he holds me closer. I can’t stop the sobs that erupt from my body or the way I cling to him. I hate he smells like Wyatt’s cologne, and not of the whiskey-sunshine smell that I associate with Chance, but he’s here. He’s holding me. He’s alive.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“I want to be so mad at you for making me think you were leaving the ranch and meeting me at the shelter, but I can’t. I’m just so grateful to have you here with me.”
“I know,” he whispers into my hair.
I punch at his chest without any heat, letting my fist graze off his chest. “Why did you stay? Why didn’t you call for help right away? I know the other ranchers would have come with their trailers after unloading their own cattle.” I punch him again, this time with a little more strength behind it. “Why did you stop fighting? Why didn’t you fight for yourself? For me? For us?” I’m back to sobbing now and collapse back into his arms.
