Cowboy Conspiracy

Her voice broke and her eyes burned with salty tears. One escaped from the corner of her right eye and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. She’d lived though a year of hell, without once allowing herself to whimper or go berserk. She wouldn’t break now. She was stronger than that.

Wyatt stepped closer and slipped an arm around her shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world,” he said. “It just seems like it.”

“Don’t be nice,” she said. “I can’t take nice.” The tears started to flow and she couldn’t stop them.

She didn’t say a word. Neither did Wyatt. He just held her until her insides stopped shaking and the tears ran dry.

“I’m not usually like this,” she said, finally pulling away.

“Good. I’d hate to have to wear a bib every time we were together to keep my shirts dry.”

As usual, he kept the moment light. No doubt he didn’t want her to read too much into his supplying broad shoulders for her to cry on. Kelly backed away from the mortally wounded house. “Let’s get out of here. Just drop me off at the motel and you can escape before the black cloud over me sucks you into its vacuity too.”

“Actually I won’t be dropping you off. I’ll be staying.” She bristled and the air rushed from her lungs. If he thought holding her while she cried entitled him to—

“Not in your room,” he said quickly, before she had the chance to make a fool of herself. “And before you get all bent out of shape, my decision to stay at the motel has nothing to do with you.”