Page 42 of Defiant Hearts

Hands still entwined, they walked back to the lodge and this time took the elevators to their floor.

He was nervous about telling her the rest. More nervous than he’d been since Gabe said the word dyslexia and Wyatt had been stunned that the label was connected to him.

He drew her to his door and led her inside.

While she took a seat in the desk chair, he sat on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, and laid out his story in pieces. The years of masking his disability through school, hiding behind charm and wit and any other workaround he could invent.

He told her about the military’s rejection. The test score that slammed every door shut and killed off his dream. The lie he’d told his family about a bad shoulder that still wouldn’t be fit for duty even if he had surgery rather than admit the truth.

She listened without interruption, and when he stole a peek at her face, he didn’t see any pity.

Actually…

She was staring at him…in awe.

“Wyatt. You did so much. You found ways around a problem nobody ever diagnosed you with and built an entire life and career despite it.” She shook her head. “Thank you for trusting me with this. That’s incredibly brave.”

He almost laughed out loud. “You’re the brave one. Look what you survived up on the mountain. And you trusted me, even after everything you’d been through. You walked down a mountain with a total stranger.”

She issued a low breath. “More like you carried me.” She was quiet for a moment and gave a small, humorless smile. “There were days I wanted to just lie down and let it be over. But I wasn’t going to let him win. I wasn’t going to let him get away with what he did to that man…or to me.”

Wyatt reached for her hand again, lacing their fingers, and this time, he didn’t let go. Whatever this was—friendship tangled with an emotion neither of them named yet—it was worth protecting as fiercely as he intended to protect her.

* * * * *

Whitley walked beside Wyatt, her mind strangely calm after all he’d told her. Somehow hearing his troubles carried her away from her own for a much-needed break.

She cuddled into the comforting weight of Wyatt’s jacket. The sleeves swallowed her hands, which kept them warm, and when she turned her head, she caught a faint whiff of his masculine scent on the collar—woodsmoke and a warm spice that belonged only to him.

As they strolled in the direction of the fire for the second time, their bodies pulled together again, shoulders brushing.

He reached down for her hand and laughed when he grasped empty cloth. The carefree sound echoed in the still air and heated her all the way to her toes. She pushed her hand free of the overlarge sleeve and clasped his.

They continued on, holding hands as if they’d always done it and always would.

She stole a glance at his profile—all rugged angles and beard stubble—and her heart gave a little hitch. When she stumbled over a rock, he darted his arm around her waist and steadied her against his side.

They stood that way a moment, her palm pressed against his hard, broad chest…and she looked up into his eyes.

The moonlight made the depths smokier and filled more with secrets she wanted to learn.

His gaze roamed over her face and finally settled on her mouth. Her breaths came in quick pants and she could hardly stand the anticipation of what he might do.

As if her thoughts scared him off, he straightened and drew his arm off her waist. They were close enough to the fire now that the crackle of burning wood reached them, giving her a sharp pang of nostalgia for her months on the mountain.

Bowing her head, she let the memories of the good times up there roll over her. Washing in the creek and looking up to find a fawn nosing through the bushes nearby. Watching a hawk take flight and soar high above the mountain peak. The cozy solitude of eating a humble meal while watching flames dance in the tiny fire she built with her own two hands.

She let out a soft sigh.

Wyatt’s knuckle brushed beneath her chin, and she met his stare again. “What is it?” His gritty voice did things to her insides that made her glad she had access to a proper bed.

“The smell of the fire makes me think of the mountain. I didn’t expect to miss it.” She had good times up there. Peaceful times. But since she came out of hiding, she probably wouldn’t go back.

He slowly dragged his roughened fingertip over her jawline. For a moment, she hoped he’d cradle her face. That he’d kiss her.

But he only took her hand again and led her the rest of the distance to the fire.

The flames crackled high against the dark sky, and a group of people were scattered around it on log benches and camp chairs. Whitley felt eyes land on them and take in their joined hands.