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Thunder rumbles ominously overhead before fat raindrops begin pelting the windshield.
Wyatt eyes the darkening sky. “Come on, city girl,” he says and yanks open the driver’s side door. “We need to get you inside before this storm hits.”
Inside? Like inside his house?
As if sensing my inner turmoil, Wyatt gentles his tone. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. Let’s just get out of the rain.”
Why do I feel like I can believe this stranger when I so clearly misjudged the man I almost married today? Maybe it’s the genuine concern in Wyatt’s eyes, or the way he’s treated me with more kindness in these past few minutes than Bradley did in months.
Biting my lip, I nod slowly. “Okay.”
Relief flashes across Wyatt’s rugged features. But it quickly morphs into surprise when he takes in how I’m awkwardly positioned in the driver’s seat, my soggy wedding dress tangled around my legs.
“Sorry, I think my dress is caught in the—” My words end in a surprised squeak when Wyatt scoops me up into his arms and lifts me clean out of the seat as if I weigh nothing.
“Wyatt, what are you doing?” I splutter, instinctively grabbing onto his broad shoulders for balance.
He kicks the truck door shut with his boot. “It’ll be faster if I carry you. This storm’s about to let loose.”
Mortification swoops through me. Faster. Because of my weight slowing us down, no doubt. I think of all the times Bradley subtly reprimanded me for my size, all his little jabs and barbs. My cheeks burn with fresh shame.
“Please put me down.” I try to squirm out of his hold. “I’m too heavy. I can walk on my own.”
Wyatt just snorts and tightens his grip. “I’ve got you just fine.”
I’m stunned into silence. Bradley would have leaped at the chance to remind me of my weight. To make me feel small. But Wyatt...
Suddenly, I’m intensely aware of everywhere we’re pressed together.
The coiled strength in his arms around me. The heat of his solid chest against my side. I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my veins.
When was the last time a man held me like this, with such surety and ease? As if my curves are no burden at all? I can’t remember.
The rain picks up, pelting us as Wyatt quickens his pace toward the large farmhouse ahead. It’s a ranch-style house with a wraparound porch and red shutters framing large windows.
Wyatt mounts the porch steps and carries me across the threshold, bridal style. Then he sets me gently on my feet in the entryway and gives me a crooked smile. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
My eyes roam the space. I take in the rustic décor—exposed wooden beams, a stone fireplace, and cozy furniture that looks like it’s seen years of use. Framed photos line the mantel with snapshots of smiling faces and simple moments. It feels lived-in. Loved.
“Wow,” I say as I slip off my shoes. “This place is huge. Do you live here alone?”
Wyatt shakes his head. “Nah, I share it with my three brothers and my niece, Maisey. It’s a full house, but we make it work.”
I try to imagine living with my siblings, and I can’t. We’ve never been close, each of us too focused on our own lives.
“I don’t know if I could do that,” I admit. “Live with my family, I mean.”
Wyatt chuckles. “It has its moments, that’s for sure. But we’re a pretty close-knit bunch. Plus, the house is big enough that we all have our own space when we need it.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “You hungry? I was just about to make dinner.”
My stomach answers for me with an embarrassingly loud rumble, and I feel heat creep into my cheeks.
Wyatt grins. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come on, kitchen’s this way.”
He guides me down the hall with a gentle hand on the small of my back. I can feel the warmth of his touch through the thick layers of my waterlogged wedding dress.
As we walk, I catch more glimpses of Wyatt’s life in the pictures we pass. Wyatt as a boy, gap-toothed and freckled, his arm slung around a beaming blonde girl. Wyatt in a graduation cap and gown, his eyes crinkled with laughter. Wyatt on a horse, the mountains stretched out behind him.
