Huckleberry Lake Read online

  As far as Wyatt could see, she didn’t have an ounce of fat on her anywhere. “Come on. We don’t get to splurge on Sissy’s special cheesecake every day.”

  She studied him with unnerving solemnity. “I really shouldn’t.”

  “You can go for an extra couple of runs over the next few days,” Wyatt suggested. “That should settle the calorie score.”

  She sighed again and then grinned. “Oh, heck, why not? I really don’t indulge often.”

  It seemed to Wyatt that their desserts arrived in a flash. He found himself not wanting the evening to end. They had arrived early, and the first wave of diners had long since left, only to be replaced by people who liked to eat a little later. He wondered how long he and Erin had been lost in conversation. He guessed that they’d been talking for at least two hours. That was a record for him, and he didn’t feel exhausted.

  Erin so enjoyed every morsel of the cheesecake that she threatened to lick her plate. Wyatt rarely laughed without trying to modulate the sounds that he produced. He always controlled his mirth so as not to embarrass himself. Only Erin had a way of making him forget that, and her threat to lick up what was left of her caramel sauce tickled his funny bone. The instant he forgot himself and let loose with a guffaw, he checked Erin’s reaction. She only seemed to be laughing with him, and none of the other diners had looked oddly at him. He guessed maybe his laughter wasn’t too off the charts.

  As Erin enjoyed what was left of her wine, she smiled slightly. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a question I just have to ask. How did you manage to perfect your speech to such a degree that most people can’t even tell you’re deaf?”

  Wyatt topped off his glass and hers with what little was left in the wine bottle. He felt nicely relaxed, but not even a little tipsy. He guessed they had been at the table for so long that enough time had passed to offset their consumption rate. “I learned how to speak properly by using programs that teach people how to speak a foreign language. For me, that language was English. And the only feature in all the programs I purchased that I could actually use was the repeat-after-me feature. I could see the word, and as I tried to say it, the program would kick it back at me if I didn’t pronounce it right.”

  “That must have been grueling. And the time you had to invest must have been huge.”

  He shrugged. “I spent hours in front of a computer every night. And when you’re deaf, saying a word correctly once doesn’t mean you have it down. You forget how you said it, and you have to say it again and again.” He pressed a fingertip to the rim of his glass and circled, thinking of how Kennedy loved to make crystal sing. “It took me forever and hundreds of dollars to find an application that truly worked for me, one that focused mainly on pronunciation and wouldn’t let me move forward to another word until I said it right.”

  “How old were you when you started practicing?”

  “A teenager. Up until then, there weren’t many programs that could help me, and in the end, the one that helped me the most was the cheapest, wasn’t touted to be the best available, and probably wouldn’t have pleased hearing learners at all, because it mainly focused on correct pronunciation. That was key for me. I needed a program that wouldn’t let me skate by, saying a word slightly wrong. It was exacting. It frustrated me. Sometimes I wanted to throw the computer out the window. It didn’t tell me how I was saying the word wrong. It just repeated the word with proper pronunciation, but I couldn’t hear the example given. I just had to keep saying it until I got it right.”

  “And you ended up speaking almost perfectly.”

  “I’m not sure how perfect my diction is. What matters to me is that nobody has laughed at me for the way I talk for a long time.”

  A suspicious glimmer of moisture shone in her eyes, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He had a feeling she was battling tears. “Oh, Wyatt. I’m so sorry that ever happened to you. People can be such idiots.”

  Wyatt almost told her that truer words had never been spoken, because he was working his way toward idiocy himself. All he could think about was how lovely she was and how badly he wanted to kiss her. Big problem. He wouldn’t want to stop with only a kiss, and anything more would be as risky for her as it would be for him. He needed to drive her home, walk her to her door, and then put as much distance as possible between them before he did something he might regret.

  Only how did a guy walk away from an almost perfect evening with a woman when he’d never experienced perfect? The firelight warmed the whole room, and being a visual person, Wyatt was acutely aware of every flicker of amber. How it shimmered and danced on Erin’s dark hair, making her look as if she wore an animated halo. How it shifted in energetic and unpredictable patterns over the rustic wood walls. How it lent an effervescent glow to the lighting globes in the chandeliers. And the feelings he had from being here with her filled him with expectation, as if an invisible hand had just opened an equally invisible door to show him a plethora of pleasurable things that he’d been too blind to see until now.

  “If anyone ever laughs at you again, I’ll punch their lights out.” She leaned closer as she said those words, and Wyatt suspected that she’d only mouthed them. Her sparkling gaze held his, and her expressions were so vibrant, evocative, and fleeting that he could almost believe he heard the inflections of her voice. “I know how it feels to be the odd one out. To be ridiculed and laughed at. To want so badly to be like everyone else that you’ll do almost anything.”

  He sensed there was a story behind her last words, and he wished she would reveal it. He saw old but lingering pain in her eyes.

  “Who made fun of you?” he asked.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “So I can find them and kick some ass.”

  She treated him to another laugh. “I’ve never had anybody want to fight a battle for me. It’s so nice. It makes me want to revise our agreement about being only friends. I’ve never had a big brother—or any brother at all, for that matter.”

  Wyatt didn’t want to be her brother. He’d already bumped into that imaginary wall when he’d found himself wishing that his mother had raised her. “Tell me about the very worst time that someone made fun of you,” he said.

  The merriment and rosy color drained from her face, and for a moment, Wyatt thought she might not share the memory. “I stole something as a teenager.”

  It was hard for Wyatt to imagine her doing anything illegal, but maybe it was because he’d mostly seen her only in a law enforcement uniform. “What did you take?”

  “Clothing, one of the hardest things to steal. And it wasn’t that I needed any clothes. I did it on a dare.”

  “You stole something you didn’t need,” he mused aloud. “Why? Not being judgmental. Really, I’m not. Did you want the clothes? Were they special somehow, something your parents wouldn’t buy for you?”

  “Nothing special about the clothes. I didn’t even care if I wore them again.” Judging by the pensive frown that pleated her forehead, he thought she took a quick mental trip back in time. “I was seventeen and had no girlfriends.” Flushing again, this time with what appeared to be embarrassment, she shrugged and wrinkled her nose. “I know this sounds lame, but I was a teenager, so go figure. I wanted more than anything to be part of this certain group of girls. Looking back, I could have chosen more wisely. They were pretty wild. Wore a lot of makeup, hid out on campus to smoke cigarettes, sometimes pot. And they had turned shoplifting into a fine art. But all of that was what drew me in and excited me.” She offered him a smile. “Cop’s kid, looking for thrills. Wanting to be bad, just because. Breaking the law simply because I resented my father, and it was his life’s goal to uphold it.”

  He grinned as he took another sip of his wine. “Like the child of a minister embracing a life of sin?”

  “Exactly. Some kids want to rebel against everything a parent stands for. I think
that’s particularly true when the parent is a domineering ass, which my father definitely was. Is, actually. He’s never changed. For a brief while, his way and my way were poles apart.”

  “So one of the girls dared you to steal clothing.”

  “It wasn’t just one girl. All of them were in on it. In order to belong to their group, I had to go through an initiation and do something so bad I’d be in huge trouble if anyone ever found out. In my seventeen-year-old brain, it made perfect sense, a loyalty-among-thieves kind of thing. Everyone in the group had done something risky, and none of them would ever really trust me until they had something bad to hold over my head.”

  “But you got caught.”

  Ben arrived just then with a discreet black folder that concealed the bill for their meals and drinks. Erin almost offered to pay her half. She doubted Wyatt made more money than she did. But she’d glimpsed pride and stubbornness in his expression as he’d told her how he had perfected his speech. He wasn’t a man who’d offer to treat a woman to dinner and then worry about the drain on his bank account. He had invited her. She had accepted. She needed to leave it at that. Maybe the next time they met for dinner, she could pay. If there was ever a next time.

  Erin finished off her wine, thinking that Wyatt would want to leave as soon as he’d signed the credit card receipt. Instead he took care of the bill, put his card back in his wallet, and rested his folded arms on the table’s edge. “You were saying?”

  “It’s late. You need to get back to the ranch. Morning for you will come early.”

  “I’ll decide when I stay and when I go. You got caught stealing. Now tell me the rest.”

  She laughed. “It’s really not that exciting a story. I had to steal three outfits, and I couldn’t carry a bag or backpack to hide anything. I had to walk out wearing all three ensembles. That takes some thought.”

  “I guess it would.”

  “My plan was to do it by wearing clothes in three different sizes, the smallest next to my skin, the largest as the top layer.” She shook her head. “I probably looked like a polar bear as I tried to leave the store. Three layers of clothing bind up on one another. They also make you look a lot fatter. I’m sure I waddled out of the dressing room, and I was apprehended the instant I stepped outside the store. It took a while for the cops to come. I was handcuffed and escorted from the building by an officer. As he was putting me into the back of the car, I heard snickering.”

  “Oh, damn. It was the girls that dared you to do it.”

  Erin searched his gaze and finally nodded. “Exactly. I’d been set up. They didn’t want me as a friend. And they thought it was funny that I’d been dumb enough to think they’d accept me into their group, no matter what I did to earn the privilege. So you weren’t the only kid to be laughed at. End of story.”

  He shook his head. “No, Erin. I think that’s only the beginning of your story.”

  She placed her napkin on the table. “No, actually. My story ends there. From that moment forward, I put everything I had into pleasing my father, and it became his story, his dream, and I was only an actor on the stage. I knew what I wanted, but it was never the same thing he wanted. I wasn’t as strong-minded as you, though. You were determined and never gave up. I wasn’t determined enough, and after my one brush with the law, I caved. My dad got the offense expunged from my record. I’m not sure how, but I think he must have greased palms and called in some favors. And from that point forward, I lived to accomplish the dreams he had for me. I wanted to be a speech therapist. He wanted me to become a state cop. I rebelled by becoming a county cop instead, but as good as it made me feel to do it my way, it didn’t last, because in the end I realized that I was still doing what he wanted and only changing it up a little.”

  “And you’re angry.”

  She spent a moment thinking about that. “Not angry, really. I made my own decisions, and even though he pressured me to make the choices he wanted me to make, I could have stood up for myself. Somewhere along the way, it became all-important to make him proud of me. I craved words of praise from him, which didn’t come often, but that only made me want his approval all the more. Jonas says we can all fall victim to that when we don’t fit in as kids. We find one thing that we believe will make us feel better and doggedly pursue it. For me, that one thing was hearing my dad say, ‘Good job.’”

  “And for me, it was learning to talk so well that I could pass as a hearing person.”

  “Yeah, I guess. I hadn’t thought of the similarity.”

  “It’s very similar, actually, except that achieving my goal has made me feel better, and I’m not so sure you do.”

  “Not really, no. Mostly I just feel lost. I was never passionate about law enforcement. Instead I wanted to help people. When my father kept pushing me, I told myself I could do a lot of good as a cop.” The color in her cheeks deepened, a telltale sign that it embarrassed her to speak of something so personal. “I pretty much pictured myself as Mother Teresa in uniform. Someone on the streets who helped runaway teens and drug addicts, the homeless, and abused children. Only that isn’t what law enforcement is about. Officers don’t stop crime. We just discourage it with our presence or do follow-up. We don’t save children from abuse. Most of the time, we’re called in after the fact, and our only job is to get the child to a safe place and try to make the person responsible pay. We’re not always successful. Children get returned to the war zone. The abuser gets his hand slapped. Sometimes it all happens again and again to the same child. I got a rush at first. I thought we were winning the battle. But over time, I came to understand that I was only doing cleanup. I stopped nothing bad from happening. Very little, anyway. And before long I felt so disillusioned.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a very fulfilling profession.”

  “For some people, it is. My dad is one of them. But for me, not really. I loved working in speech therapy, because I could see improvement and hope. In law enforcement, I don’t get that sense of satisfaction. Others do. They feel that they’re taking a small bite out of crime in their little corner of the world. They can take pride in those moments, and it’s enough for them.”

  “In other words, you were never geared for this profession.”

  “Nope, and now I may be stuck with it.”

  He slid back his chair and rose to his feet. Whether he wanted this evening to end or not, she’d been right to point out that morning came early on a large ranch. “As much as I hate to call it an evening, I really should get back so I can get some sleep.”

  She stood and grabbed her bomber jacket from the seat of the extra chair. Prompted by childhood training, Wyatt stepped over to grab it from her hand and then moved behind her to line up the sleeves as she reached backward with her slender arms to find the openings. As he drew the heavy garment over her shoulders, the collar clamped down on her long hair. Using a scooping motion, he plunged his fingers beneath the drape of silky strands to tug them free. And that was his mistake. His knuckles grazed the velvety nape of her neck, and he felt her shiver. His own body reacted as if he’d just touched a live wire that put out 220 volts.

  * * *

  * * *

  The blue-gray of twilight hovered between the tall buildings that lined each side of the street when they exited the restaurant. Even as Erin noticed the encroaching dusk, the quaint lantern lights that lined the sidewalks began coming on, their globes glowing a cheerful yellow. The cool night air cut through her clothing and made her shiver, a sensation that wasn’t nearly as pleasant as the one she had experienced when Wyatt’s fingers caressed her neck. He cupped her elbow as they walked to his truck. When they reached the front bumper, she expected each of them to go their separate ways, but he strode beside her to open the passenger door and help her get in. Logistically, his attempt to help only complicated the process. She was accustomed to jumping in and out of high-clearance vehicles dozens of times a day
and had her moves down pat. He interfered with her rhythm and the swing of her body weight. He grasped her at the waist to give her a boost up, which made her feel foolish. And feminine. She refused to allow those feelings to get her hackles up. Instead she needed to think about how nice it felt to have a man look after her.

  As he climbed in from the driver’s side a moment later, he said, “We’re entering the no-speak zone again. I’m sorry I can’t chat while I drive.”

  Within the confines of her seat belt, Erin shifted to face him. “If I sit in the middle, will you promise not to think I’m hitting on you?”

  His golden brows snapped together in a puzzled frown. “Why else would you want to sit right next to me?”

  “Because I’ve got an idea!” She disengaged the seat belt hasp. “For chatting, I mean.”

  As he buckled up, Erin shoved back the center console and slid over to sit beside him. After engaging the center restraint across her lap, she smiled up at him and said, “Okay. Let’s try it. You stare straight ahead like you’re driving and ask me a question.”

  As dubious as he appeared to be, he did as she asked. “What’s your favorite color?”

  Erin extended her hands to speak in sign to the right of the steering wheel. “My favorite color is pink. Some of my signals will be out of your visual range, I guess, but maybe you can see enough to get the general gist.”

  “I got that you like pink.”

  “You see? It may work if we play this right.”

  As they drove home, Wyatt engaged with her verbally while she responded in ASL. At one point when she needed him to see all of her to get a point across, she unbuckled her belt, slid forward on the seat, and turned to face him. He immediately hit the brakes and pulled over onto the shoulder of the road.

  “Erin, I’m a fuddy-duddy about seat belts. Please get yours back on.”

  Erin gestured at the windshield. “It’s a country road, Wyatt! Hardly any traffic. It is Mystic Creek, remember. Do you know how many thousands of times I’ve buckled up and never once needed a safety restraint?”