Page 39 of Defiant Hearts

“Thank you for the clothes as well.” Whitley glanced down at her T-shirt someone had left folded outside her door two days ago. “They keep showing up. I don’t even know who to credit.”

“Community effort.” A woman named Honor waved a hand. “I heard that you’re helping in the clinic, but if you get free time, I’d love it if you attended one of my art classes.”

“Or sunrise yoga every morning. Zee holds it,” someone added.

A pretty woman named Fern beamed at her. “Planting is just beginning in the community garden. Extra hands are always welcome. And Felicity reads aloud to the vets every week. She also brings the best snacks.” She beamed at Whitley.

She sat there, stunned by the way these people shared whatever they had to offer, stacking gift on top of gift until somehow, all of it together became a community.

“You should come to the bonfire tonight too,” Rhae said. “Everyone’s usually there.”

She glanced up to answer, and then she saw him.

Wyatt.

Crossing the dining hall in that unhurried way he had, like nothing in the world could rush him even when he clearly had someplace place to be. At the sight of him, her chest gave a quick pulsing flutter she’d been feeling for days whenever she saw him leaning in the door, lazily buttoning his shirt, walking toward her or simply sipping coffee.

He caught her eye and gave her that crooked smile now, brushing two fingertips against the brim of his cowboy hat in greeting.

Her breaths came faster. God, he was ridiculously handsome, all rough edges and quiet competence. The kind of man who looked as if he belonged on a horse but could jump out of a helicopter too.

Over the past few weeks she’d come to rely on him so much that it scared her. His steady presence and the easy way he made her laugh and the time they spent talking from their respective doorways felt like the most natural thing in the world.

The last few nights…she’d found it more difficult to fall asleep. Her mind—and her body—were hyperaware of Wyatt sleeping just steps away from her. And more than once, she wished he’d invite her into his bed. Or come to hers.

The wanting was a weight inside her belly, low and constant, impossible to ignore no matter how many other things demanded her attention.

“Whitley?” Willow’s voice cut through her daydream.

“Sorry?” She tried for a smile even as she knew what must be plain on her face. She was always an open book—her parents told her she could never lie and everyone around her could read her too.

From the corner of her eye she caught Wyatt sauntering up to another table for a chat.

Willow continued, “I was saying there’s a professional hair stylist who regularly visits the ranch. She’s coming this afternoon. I remembered you said you wanted to see a stylist, though the dreadlocks do suit you. What do you think?”

Her mouth opened on a puff of surprise. Automatically, she lifted a hand to one of her long dreadlocks, running her fingers over strands that had once been thick and soft but were now rough from two months on the mountain.

She nodded, her chest blooming with more affection for all of these amazing people. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

“So we can expect to see the new hair reveal at the bonfire.” Willow smiled around the carrot stick she nibbled on.

Whitley looked over at Wyatt, suddenly yearning to see firelight flicker across his rugged face. At that moment, as if he felt the weight of her stare, he turned his head and looked right at her.

A thrill passed through her, and the way his eyes hooded made her think he felt it too.

“I’ll be there,” she told Willow, thinking of sitting beside Wyatt under a canopy of stars.

Chapter Nine

Whitley’s door had been shut for the better part of an hour. Long enough that Wyatt had stopped checking every time he heard the faintest noise in the building.

Then he heard it open.

Without even thinking about what he was about to do, he stepped into his own open doorway.

Whitley appeared in hers, and the stupid grin died on his lips as the sight of her punched the breath from his lungs.

“You changed your hair,” he said gruffly. His hand twitched toward her, and he slipped it into his pocket to find the smooth rock. Its familiar shape was the only thing keeping him from closing the gap between them and sinking his fingers into her hair instead.