Meant To Be Different Page 12

  Georgia shook her head and pushed him away. “Not at work. You are Wyatt Carlisle, owner of RA Ranch, host of the First Annual RA Invitational Rodeo, and my boss’s latest shining star. You don’t get to add the Rhinestone Cowboy into the mix.”

  The thread of concern that tugged at the corner of her psyche over the past few days gave another jerk, her internal back and forth debate catching fire once again. Could she really trust him not to disappear again? Were they worth leaving herself vulnerable for a second time?

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek as he reclaimed his seat, and her body temperature dropped accordingly. At least one degree. Two, if she was lucky.

  What did Wyatt Carlisle, that stupid freaking cowboy, want? His mouth opened to speak just as an alert sounded from his phone. She took the opportunity to unabashedly stare. Did he want something more than their steamy encounters?

  Was it at all possible that Wyatt Carlisle was as consumed as she was by every cherished memory now joined with the brand new discovery that the chemistry between them a dozen years ago managed to play out into something even better in reality? And was there a chance in hell he’d understand if she told him that he was placing her in an impossible position?

  A deep V formed between his brows as his eyes scanned over the screen. His mouth turned down at the corners, and Georgia’s facial muscles contracted in response. Whatever message he’d received had clearly not contained good news. His nostrils flared and relaxed three times in rapid succession. His lips pressed together in a thin, straight line.

  Her greedy visual consumption of him morphed into concern. “Wyatt…what’s wrong?”

  When his gaze finally lifted, a tempestuous storm raged in the sapphire depths, strong enough to rival a category five hurricane. His chest expanded and his lids fell shut. When they lifted again, a calm had settled on his face, but worry refused to release Georgia from its cold, steely grip.

  “These are great, Gigi.” His hand waved over the design boards she’d all but forgotten. “I’m impressed and I support these going to production.” Flat, emotionless, and nearly completely devoid of the embellished southern accent she had always tormented him for, his voice caused a shard of ice to slither down her spine.

  Her brows drew up. “But?”

  He stood and slid his phone back into his pocket before stepping to her side of the desk again to drop a quick kiss on her cheek. “But I have to go.” He turned on the heel of his well-worn brown boots and crossed to the door.

  Georgia jumped from her seat, reaching him just as he turned the knob. Her hand landed on his, preventing him from turning it. “Wyatt, what’s wrong? What happened? Talk to me.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his eyes searched hers. He lifted his hands, cupping either side of her face. Within seconds, his mouth was on hers, desperate and fevered. His grip tightened on her jaw, and she curled her fingers around his wrists.

  In the way she could only ever manage with Wyatt, they spoke without words. Their communication was found in the physical touches they offered each other. The sensory comfort of an embrace and intimate connection. She sensed the torrent of emotions rolling off of him, helpless to do anything other than offer the caress of her lips and the stroke of her thumb across his thundering pulse.

  He broke the kiss but kept his hold on her firm, his forehead joined with hers. A small, tight, but genuine smile spread across his face. The constricting band that held her heart and lungs hostage, unable to function, loosened a fraction.

  “I missed you, Angel.”

  “I missed you too, Cowboy.”

  Only when the door clicked behind him did reality come crashing around her and drive her into the nearest chair. She’d lost all sense of reason because of Wyatt’s touch. Wyatt’s kiss. Just because of Wyatt.

  And dammit, she was still in love with him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Georgia

  Twelve Years Earlier

  “Are you sure about this?”

  Her fingers tangled in his and her thumb stroked the back of his hand as they leaned against the metal railing. The guy that just got thrown from the bull Wyatt was supposed to ride limped out of the arena. With assistance.

  No matter how many times she accompanied him to training and no matter how many times she saw him leap back to his feet from a fall, she held her breath and kept her ears piqued for the sound of a siren to take her boyfriend to the ER. It never got easier.

  Wyatt’s grin widened, and he winked from beneath the brim of his hat. “Why, of course I am, Gigi.” He pressed in closer and nuzzled against her neck. “Don’t you remember who you’re talking to?”

  She rolled her eyes. “The best damn bull rider in the state of North Carolina.” She stole her arms around his neck, holding him in place while he kissed along the column of her neck up to her ear, nipping at the lobe. “Although you never got back to me with definitive numbers on how many bull riders are currently in this state so I have a better chance of looking at overall statistics.”

  “Damn, you’re hot when you talk all smart and stuff.” His breath was hot against her skin, and a flush overtook her entire body.

  A booming voice from the opposite side of the dusty circle acted as the bucket of ice water she desperately needed. “Wyatt Carlisle, you’ll be up soon. Get over here.”

  He squeezed her hand and gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek. “Prepare to be amazed, Gigi.”

  “Oh, I already am, Cowboy,” she called out to his retreating back.

  Well used to the routine, she jogged over to the concession stand to grab a hot chocolate and small bag of popcorn before taking a seat on the bleachers.

  He will be fine.

  He will be great.

  He is Wyatt.

  She repeated the mantra over and over just as she did each week. The hyperactive butterflies churning in her gut didn’t seem to understand the words were supposed to calm their erratic beating.

  Two thrown riders later, Wyatt was standing on the platform beside the metal railing, securing his gear. Even from a hundred feet away, she caught his eye and smiled. He always looked for her before he climbed on the bull. And he always threw a cocky grin her way and added a wink for good measure.

  He repeated the same routine as always, and Georgia murmured the same reassurances under her breath as always. “Nothing can break the stupid freaking cowboy.”

  Wyatt climbed into the chute and balanced himself on the bars, one foot on the bull’s back. “Gotta let him know I’m comin’” had been his explanation for why he did that before he gingerly got into position. Even though she couldn’t see it, she knew his feet were balanced on the railing on either side of the monstrous beast with toes pointing forward. He was very particular about that fact and stressed the importance of it to her, even though she couldn’t remember exactly why.

  He will be fine.

  He will be great.

  He is Wyatt.

  Her chest heaved with each labored breath as he continued his pre-ride ritual, running his gloved hand down the rope to heat the rosin and make it sticky to keep his hand from popping out. She’d initially assumed this was for safety purposes, but Wyatt had laughed at the suggestion.

  “Why, hell no, Angel, that’s to make sure I don’t get disqualified.”

  After her fifth trip to training with him, she knew more about competitions, horses, bulls, and all the accessories required for a career in the rodeo than she’d ever wanted. And before Wyatt, her interest had been exactly zero.

  She watched intently as his posture stiffened and he nodded to the cowboy standing on the plank beside him, rope firmly in hand. Her breath caught in her throat as it always did when the gate swung open wide and he flew out of the chute on the back of an animal strong enough to kill him.

  He will be fine.

  He will be great.

  He is—

  Not moving.

  Georgia jumped to her feet, hand at her throat. “Get up, Wy. Pleas
e get up.” Her plea to him was low enough no one around her could hear. She waited exactly half a second longer before scrambling down the bleachers and running to the fence.

  Still, he laid motionless, curled on his side. Red flashed in the corner of her eye as the rodeo workers at the other end of the arena tried to get the attention of the hulking beast still bucking wildly around the oval. Three cowboys surrounded Wyatt on each side, and all she could see were his boots. Nauseatingly still.

  “Wyatt!” This time she shrieked his name as loudly as she could and was rewarded with a half rotation on the dusty ground.

  As soon as the bull was secured and locked away, she climbed between the metal poles and sprinted to his side. She dropped to her knees and cradled his face between her palms, not even registering the bare head now that his helmet and face mask had been removed.

  “Talk to me, Cowboy.”

  His deep groan in response was the most beautiful sound in the world. He squinted up at her. “What the hell just happened?”

  “Don’t move your head, son.” One of the older men surrounding him clasped his shoulder as he uttered the instruction.

  All the noise around them suddenly came into laser sharp focus. The sirens she feared rapidly coming closer moments before a backboard slid beneath him.

  Him. Wyatt. Her boyfriend.

  The EMTs tightened the straps around him and hoisted him into the back of the ambulance. “Sorry, sweetie,” one of them said, holding up an arm when she tried to climb in beside him, “only family are allowed to ride along.”

  Georgia planted her feet wide, nostrils flared, and pressed her matte black lips together in a thin straight line. “That is my boyfriend you’re taking, and there is no way in hell he’s going alone. We can either do this nicely or I can turn into a raging bitch. Either way doesn’t matter to me, but it’s going to end the same way. I’m not leaving his side.”

  A moan from inside the back of the ambulance brought her right up to his side before the EMT was able to respond. She twisted her fingers around his where they were glued to his side. “I’m here, Wy. I’m not going anywhere.”

  ***

  Wyatt

  Wyatt pushed up on his forearms to readjust on the couch and sucked in a sharp breath of air. Damn, that hurt. Nearly everything did. Especially the ass he wasn’t allowed off of. Being still was never his strong suit.

  But the tap at the oak framing the entrance from the front hall brought a grin to his face.

  “Hey there, Gigi.”

  He was starved for the sight of her and drank in every inch from the fishnet stockings that disappeared beneath the black plaid skirt to the onyx skull necklace hanging around her neck. She had been vehement about staying by his side in the hospital until he was discharged, even though that wasn’t until past one a.m. after all the x-rays and tests had been run, but once he was settled at home, she vanished and hadn’t been back for three days.

  “Well, damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes. And ribs. And femur.”

  She stood just far enough in the room that the toes of her clunky black boots touched the edge of the area rug covering the hardwood floor but didn’t take a step closer to him. Didn’t touch him. Didn’t kiss him. “And a lot of other stuff you just don’t want to mention, right?”

  Her eyes were vacant and her voice monotone. This wasn’t his feisty, fiery Angel.

  Wyatt pushed his palms into the cushion again and scooted forward slightly. “What’s wrong? Is it your mom? Is she okay?”

  Hazel eyes rolled to the ceiling. “No, she’s not okay. She’s dying. And I gotta tell you, one person in my life dying right now is about enough.”

  He swung his legs to the floor and stood, keeping his weight off the wrapped left ankle, and hobbled over to her. “In case you couldn’t tell, Angel, I am basically completely alive. I missed you like hell though, so that could be up for debate.”

  Gigi pulled her arms away and stepped back from his attempted embrace. “Alive with a concussion, three fractured ribs, and a severely sprained ankle. All from one freaking fall in a training exercise, Wyatt.”

  Tears collected in the corners of her eyes and spilled over. His arms ached to hold her, but when she folded her own across her abdomen, he read the signal. Stay. Away. “Look at me, I’m okay. A bump and a bruise here and there, but I’m okay.”

  “You’re okay? Then how come you have to stay home from school for a week to recover? How come you aren’t allowed to train for six weeks?” She spread her arms out wide. “If you are just so freaking okay, then why do I wake up from nightmares of you breaking your back o-o-or worse?”

  This time he closed the space between them and held her tight against his chest. He could promise her that would never happen, but they both would know it was a lie. His passion held risks that were higher than most careers, but it was the driving force behind every decision he made, and he couldn’t give it up.

  She sniffled against his shirt, rubbing her wet face across the soft cotton. “I don’t want to break up with you, but I don’t think I can stand to watch that happen again.”

  “Whoa, hold on.” He held her at arm’s length and adjusted his stance slightly as the pain shot up his leg from putting too much weight on the injured ankle. “Who the hell said anything about breaking up? I got hurt and, yeah, I’ll admit that it was the worst one I’ve had so far, and it might not be the worst one I ever have.” He leaned forward, leaning his forehead against hers. “But dammit, Gigi, don’t leave me.”

  Twin paths streaked down her cheeks. “Every day I watch my mom die. A little piece of her disappears every freaking day.” She cradled his face between her palms. “I can’t sit back and watch while I lose you too. I’m not strong enough.”

  Panic coursed through his veins with the ferocity of a wildfire, destroying every ounce of self-control he had. Wyatt bent down and pressed his lips to hers, the need to prove he was fine, that every part of him was fine, and that this damned conversation needed to go away driving him to deepen the kiss.

  He pulled away only when the need for oxygen burned hotter in his lungs than his need for Gigi. “First of all, Angel, you are a hell of a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. There is zero chance I’d be able to handle half of what you do every single day.” He drew in two deep breaths. “But there is also zero chance this is gonna be over that easy. Nothing is gonna happen that could ever take me away from you.”

  Her eyes widened and her voice dropped to a whisper. “But you fell.”

  Wyatt tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve fallen before and I’m sure I’ll fall again.” The corner of his mouth kicked up in a grin. “That’s why it’s a damn good thing I have a hard head.”

  For the first time since she’d arrived, a hint of a smile teased at the corners of her lips. “That’s a freaking understatement.”

  He tugged her closer to his body. “Hey, now, I thought my stubborn tendencies were part of the whole cowboy charm you loved so much.”

  Gigi snorted, and a measure of the tension wrapped around his chest eased. “Yeah, so charming.” Her face settled into a sober mask, and she dropped her gaze. “I was scared, Wyatt. So freaking scared.”

  One finger hooked beneath her chin and brought her hazel eyes back up to meet his. “And I am so sorry you were, Angel. But I really am fine. Banged up, but fine.” He sighed and ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. “Let’s be honest, I could get hurt tomorrow just walking down the road. Or driving to school. Angel, nothing in life is guaranteed. Nothing is safe.”

  He gripped her biceps and held her away from him. “The only thing that is a certainty is that I love you. We might not make sense, but we were meant to be together forever. No matter what it takes to get there, I promise you that us is one thing you can count on.”

  Gigi groaned and tilted her head back. “I hate it when you make sense.” Her hands slid up the front of his tear-soaked shirt, and she straightened, intensity pouring from her
eyes and piercing into his soul. “Promise, Cowboy?”

  His shoulders relaxed, and he pulled her back into the circle of his arms, unwilling to let her out of touching distance. “On my cowboy honor, no matter what it takes, we will be together one day.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wyatt

  Present Day

  A string of curses ran from one corner of Wyatt’s mind to the next. He was short. By a lot. A hell of a lot. He paced the length of the guest room at his brother’s house where he’d stayed as little as possible this week now that his nights were filled with Gigi. He ran his fingers through his hair and then locked them behind his neck. Even though sleeping on that damned futon was miserable, having the scent of Gigi lingering on the pillowcase made it feel damn near like heaven.

  He couldn’t fail. Wouldn’t. That wasn’t an option. But he damn sure couldn’t look into those hazel eyes either. Not until he straightened this shit out. He’d sent her a brief text just before five letting her know he wouldn’t be over tonight and that he’d see her tomorrow. That maybe they could try for something better than a quick romp in a tiny room off his barn. Maybe a hotel. Maybe wine. Maybe roses. Maybe a bubble bath. That was all stuff girls liked. He’d add that to the plan to win her back. Tomorrow.

  He’d have this all figured out by tomorrow…right?

  Two taps at his door barely proceeded Tanner’s entrance. His older brother stood just inside the doorway, feet planted wide, and arms folded across his chest. Silently he stared for a moment before offering a brief nod and softly latching the door shut behind him. “So, what happened?”