Unexpectedly Hers(45)
Ryder snorted. “Don’t try to s-snow me.”
“It’s not a con, Ryder.” Wyatt backhanded his brother’s arm.
“Brothers,” Marcus mused. “You’re lucky to have each other.”
“I know.” Wyatt glanced at Ryder and then back to Marcus. “We always trained together. He knows my strengths and weaknesses better than anyone. I need his input. I want him to tell me what I’m doing wrong, just like he used to. I rely on him to keep me on track.”
Ryder looked at Wyatt for a long moment. Did he remember the way it had been? The way Ryder had been at least as good as their coach at pointing out Wyatt’s flaws—anticipating them, even? At encouraging Wyatt to overcome them? He must’ve remembered something because he nodded at Wyatt, signaling an agreement.
Finally, a breakthrough. Wyatt felt a smile tug at his mouth as he wrapped an arm around Ryder’s shoulder. “Thanks, brotha’.”
The weight Wyatt had been shouldering since last night lifted, making him feel lighter and more optimistic than he had since he’d arrived in Sterling Canyon. He’d prove to himself, Ryder, and Emma that this was the right direction for both Lawson brothers.
Emma—a puzzle. Goodness incarnate, if these people were to be believed. But he’d seen another side to her. A testy side. And no one was perfect. So why did Emma need to project this perfect image to everyone except for him? What was it about him that brought out a prickly side?
Wyatt stopped listening to Marcus and Ryder’s conversation so he could watch her now, her red hair casually hanging around her face in long layers. Her clothes were neither baggy nor tight. Neither sexy nor sexless. Dark denim jeans that clung to shapely legs. A crisp, blue-and-green striped top, unbuttoned just below the notch in her neck. Silver hoop earrings and a matching bracelet. Fresh and appealing in her own subtle way. Just looking at her stirred him deep down, where a steady hum vibrated.
He’d like to strip her down, literally and figuratively, but the timing wasn’t right. He’d just gotten his brother on his side. Tomorrow he’d meet up with Trip and learn to tackle the backcountry before moving on to Crested Butte next month to prepare for the qualifier that would take place there in January.
Wyatt wouldn’t trade his adventurous life for anything, although the past few days had forced him to acknowledge a certain grace in a simpler kind of life. But no matter what happened here in Sterling Canyon, he’d be cruising out of this town soon. For all of her intriguing mystery and physical appeal, Emma Duffy would become just another girl he used to know.
It’d be better for both of them if he followed her lead and kept his distance. Even as he thought it, his eyes sought her out, and he was oddly happier for a glimpse of her reading to Mrs. Ritter.
Chapter Eight
Emma worked quickly, stuffing small boxes with signed author copies of Steep and Deep and other goodies to send to a few of her Facebook followers in exchange for early reviews. She handwrote notes to each, thanking them for taking a chance on a new author, and then prayed that they’d enjoy her story.
If she spent any time thinking about reviews, her mouth got pasty, her palms damp. One would think that growing up with a fault-finding mother would make it easier for her to handle the idea of negative reviews. While Emma dealt with criticism better than some, it still stung. The fact that, after a day or two of curling up in a ball, she could turn negative feedback into a means of motivation didn’t mean it never hurt. It always hurt.
She’d recently read advice from other authors that warned not to read reviews, or not to take them to heart, or promised any review is only the opinion of one person, not a wholesale assessment of a writer’s skill. Yet, Emma couldn’t quite rectify how to dismiss bad reviews as insignificant while accepting good ones as true (or using them as marketing tools). At this point, she could only hope to receive more good ones than bad ones.
And what she should be stressing about was the work-in-progress, which was going nowhere. It had become intolerable to try to create fake scenes about Dallas while his alter ego rambled around the inn, throwing off testosterone and flirty smiles.
Knock, knock.
Emma froze before she remembered she’d locked her bedroom door. “Who is it?”
“Wyatt.”
Instinctively, she stretched her body to conceal the books. The cover art, which featured a shirtless Dallas, taunted her, making her question once more where the line between privacy and hypocrisy could be drawn. “Just a second!”
She shoved the box of books under her bed and placed the packages in her closet.
What could Wyatt want? Ever since the care center visit earlier this week, they’d politely addressed each other while minimizing personal contact. Contrary to her wishes, the intentional indifference only enhanced her tension and longing. Now here he was standing outside her bedroom near midnight?