Doing It Over (A Most Likely to Novel Book 1) (13 page)

“Our guest is settled,” Miss Gina said when she returned.

Mr. Miller and Luke had forced Zane into a car and left.

Mel busied herself around the table, putting to rights the mess caused by Zane’s outburst. Her attention kept traveling to Zoe. The steam coming from her eyes said it all. She’d pushed her food aside and sat drinking Miss Gina’s lemonade in silence.

Sheryl kept apologizing to Mrs. Miller, who shook her head and reminded Sheryl that Zane was a grown man who was no longer someone she needed to apologize for. Mel wasn’t sure Sheryl heard her.

“You okay, Zoe?” Jo asked from the other side of the table.

Zoe attempted a half smile and pushed her hair behind her back.

“I’m all right. Ticked . . . but Mrs. Miller is right. Zane’s a grown man and is making his own choices.”

“Even if they’re bad ones,” Zanya added.

“Jo, I need you to know . . . if you ever have to put Zane in his place, do it. Our friendship will never come into question. Isn’t that right, Mama?”

Sheryl offered a single nod and looked down at her plate.

“I never thought it would.”

Melanie really hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but from the way Zane reacted to Jo, she couldn’t help but wonder how many times Jo had let him slide away when she shouldn’t have.

Wyatt interrupted her thoughts with a tap on the shoulder. “How about a walk?”

Hope still sat in Melanie’s lap, her tiny arms still wrapped around her waist. “I should probably help with the dishes.”

Miss Gina picked up a few plates. “You go. There will be plenty to do after all that pie.”

“C’mon, Mommy.” Hope slid from her knees and tugged on her hand.

Wyatt nodded toward the back of the house.

It wasn’t until they’d walked far enough away from the inn, and out of earshot of those still sitting on the porch, when Melanie released a deep breath.

“That was intense.” Wyatt kept pace beside her while Hope ran ahead.

“Is he always like that?”

Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t really know the guy. Luke might be a better one to ask.”

“He was just Zoe’s kid brother . . . annoying, but not crazed like he was today.”

“He reminds me of a kid searching for himself.”

They followed Hope on a path that led through a patch of trees. “I really hope he isn’t violent with Sheryl. I don’t think she’d do much about it if he was.”

“Have you ever met Zoe’s dad?”

“No. I know Sheryl used to drag them all to visit him in prison a couple times a year. When Zoe started high school, she always gave an excuse as to why she couldn’t join them.”

They were silent for a while before Wyatt said, “It must have been hard for them to grow up without a father.”

Melanie couldn’t help but look at Hope with Wyatt. “According to Zoe, he used to hit Sheryl all the time. I’m guessing it’s better the man was locked up than teaching his children that behavior.”

“True. I just can’t imagine not having a dad. Mine has always been there.”

“Hope doesn’t seem to miss it at all.”

“She’s a girl,” he said as if estrogen explained everything. “It would probably be harder for her without a mom.”

Now it was time for Melanie to think about Jo. She’d grown up without her mom, bucking her father . . . “Yeah, I guess.”

“Mommy! Uncle Wyatt . . . c’mere.”

“Uncle?” Wyatt asked with a grin.

“She’s been calling Zoe ‘Aunt Zoe’ and Jo ‘Auntie Jo.’ I told her it was okay.” Melanie took his smile as acceptance and didn’t correct her daughter when she met up with her a few yards later.

Hope had climbed five feet up into a pine tree. “Look what I found.”

Wyatt stood at the base of the tree and looked up. “What is it with you and climbing a tree?”

“Mommy told me she used to climb them all the time when she was my age.” Hope took another branch up with a firm grip.

Melanie felt herself cringe but didn’t say a thing.

“You climbed trees?”

She narrowed her gaze to Wyatt. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

He shook his head. “I can’t see it.”

She placed a hand to his chest and pushed him aside before reaching for the first branch.

Within three feet, Melanie knew the sap wouldn’t come off her hands for a week. But as she closed the gap between her and Hope a familiar sense of awesome washed over her.

Hope sat perched on a sturdy branch with a silly grin. “This is so cool.”

“Be sure and hold on tight,” Melanie instructed. “And don’t get freaked out by bugs or flying insects.”

Hope wiggled her nose and did a little search of her personal space as if she were being swarmed.

“Even bees?”

“A bee sting is better than a broken arm.”

Hope shrugged and reached for a higher branch. The two of them climbed in tandem for a few more feet.

“Hey, ladies . . . how high are you planning on climbing?”

Melanie glanced down to find Wyatt standing with his hands on his hips, his neck stretched to keep an eye on them.

“You’ll learn not to challenge the Bartlett girls.”

Hope giggled. “Yeah, Uncle Wyatt . . . are you coming?”

Apparently, all he needed was an invitation.

He looked a little like Spider-Man without the red costume and mask. He was less careful of where he placed his hands and didn’t pay attention to the branches brushing against his face. Wyatt hung on to a sturdy branch at the base of the tree, near their feet.

“Why are we climbing a tree again?” he asked.

“Because it’s fun!” Melanie said.

Hope pointed to a tree across from them. “Look at that.”

A nest the size of a grown man’s fist held a single bird that intently watched them.

Melanie was about to tell Hope to hold on when her daughter used her free hand to brush off a few ants that were walking along her arm. “This is awesome.” Hope went ahead and pushed farther up.

Melanie followed, Wyatt trailing behind until the branches started to thin. “That’s far enough,” she told her daughter.

They were in the thick of the trees, a good thirty feet off the forest floor. The smell of pine would probably stay in her hair for as long as the sap stuck to her palms . . . but Melanie didn’t care. “You can’t do this in Bakersfield.”

“I don’t wanna go back there again ever. I like it here.”

Melanie glanced down at Wyatt, who had heard her daughter’s words. “I like it here, too.”

They listened to the wind in the treetops for a few minutes, and pointed out things they couldn’t see from the ground. “We should probably get back and help with the dishes.”

Hope offered a small protest but didn’t whine for long.

Climbing down from the tree was a little harder for Hope than ascending.

Wyatt guided her from under, and Melanie stayed a foot above.

Wyatt reached the ground first and lifted Hope from the last few branches before setting her on her feet.

With her daughter safe, Melanie stopped watching the activity on the ground and concentrated on her own descent. The feel of Wyatt’s hand on her ankle made her grin and look.

Watching the mischief behind his eyes, she took another step and felt his other hand reach her thigh. “I think I have—”

“Gotta keep the Bartlett girls safe,” he said.

And then both his hands were on her ass and sliding to her waist, where he plucked her off the tree as if she were a fly.

“There you are.” Only he didn’t let go.

When Melanie turned around, he was snug inside her personal space, reminding her how lonely it was without him there.

For a minute, she thought maybe he’d lean in a little closer. His eyes were already traveling to her lips.

A small voice stole the moment. “We should climb trees every day.”

Wyatt lifted one eyebrow without breaking eye contact with her.

“Mommy?”

Melanie had to turn away from the tractor beams of Wyatt’s gaze. “Yeah?”

Hope was studying the two of them . . . her eyes shifting back and forth.

Melanie took a tiny step back and Wyatt let go.

Hope pushed in between them and grasped one of their hands in each of hers. “Can we climb another one?”

“Sure, sweetie. But not today.”

Melanie noticed the shadow of the three of them once they left the crush of trees. The song in Hope’s voice as she talked Wyatt’s ear off about tree climbing and sticky fingers followed them all the way back to the inn.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Wyatt opened his refrigerator door, took one sniff, and shut it. He really should do something about the smell in the icebox, but not tonight.

Exhaustion wasn’t going to allow him the chore of cleaning out the fuzz growing in the vegetable drawer or the unmentionables tucked in rubber containers.

Hunger drove him to his pantry, which wasn’t better than an oversize cupboard with canned and boxed food. The standby go-to box of mac and cheese sat beside a jar of peanut butter.

He reached for the peanut butter and made sure there wasn’t any green growing on the bread sitting on the counter before making himself a quick sandwich. He wasn’t halfway through the first one and he was making a second.

He leaned against the kitchen counter and hummed.

Nothing better than a PB&J.

The past week had been a blur. Between the drama at Miss Gina’s and the week of reunion chaos . . . and Melanie, Wyatt was beat.

It didn’t help that when he finally closed his eyes at night, his thoughts of Melanie kept him tossing and turning. And if he was honest with himself, he’d acknowledge the soreness in his shoulders after climbing up after her and Hope in the tree.

He might climb on a house a couple of times a week, but tree climbing used a few muscles his body forgot he had.

Wyatt took his second half-eaten sandwich into his living room and sank into his couch.

The coffee table was nothing more than two milk crates holding up a piece of glass, but it worked to suit his needs. He’d started the remodel on his own house the minute he’d moved into the place five years before. Once each room was completely redone he would go through the effort of furnishing it before moving on to the next. To date he had his bedroom and master bathroom along with the kitchen completed. The living room was still a shell that needed masonry work around the fireplace, completed flooring—hardwood was his preference—and new lighting throughout. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a big screen hung on a half-finished wall and a couch . . . but he drew the line at tables and occasional chairs. The only real visitors he had were friends like Luke, and they couldn’t give two shits about the decor in his home. They would continue to crack jokes about the plumber’s faucet leaking . . . or in his case, his half-finished house when he could fix just about anything.

Problem was, he’d been working continually since he moved to River Bend. Between the odd-end jobs and handyman needs of the widowed and divorced . . . and the full-time needs of the businesses in town, Gibson Construction was booming. On occasion he would hire a few men to help with bigger jobs, like the one Miss Gina wanted him to do. There was no way he was going to be able to do that solo with the timeline she’d measured out. Why the woman wanted a guest house when the inn sat half full at best most of the year was the question. He wondered if Melanie had given her the excuse to go into an early retirement. The woman had always been eccentric and outspoken, but she was like a comet lighting up the northern sky since the reunion.

He flipped through the channels and kicked his feet up on his hillbilly coffee table and managed maybe three deep breaths before his phone rang. Thankfully the handset was sitting next to his feet and he didn’t need to pick his sore ass up off the couch to answer it.

“Yeah,” he said without checking the number.

Loud voices and music in the background met his ear, which prompted Wyatt to turn the volume down on his TV.

“Wyatt!”

One word was all it took to know Luke was toasted. “Luke, that you?”

“I-I’m gonna need a ride, buddy.”

“Where are you?”

“Jo would kill m-me if I drove. Probably toss the key in the high school time capsule.”

Wyatt switched off the set. No use pretending there’d be any stationary time in front of it with his friend slurring his words.

“Luke, it’s not even eight.” And it wasn’t like his friend to get cooked, let alone midweek.

“And bring your truck so I can get my bike back home.”

“All I own is a truck,” Wyatt reminded him.

“R-right! Thanks, Wyatt. I owe ya.” And then he hung up.

Good thing there was only one real bar in town. The beer and wine served at Sam’s wouldn’t do the bang-up job Luke had apparently managed.

For an early Thursday night, R&B’s was tight with people. Sure enough, Luke’s motorcycle sat parked in the lot along with several others.

Wyatt shoved his keys in the front pocket of his jeans as he walked inside.

The jukebox was pumping out a seriously heavy metal tune with an ear-piercing volume, and patrons were overly loud and intoxicated for such an early hour.

Apparently the post-reunion party wasn’t over yet.

Luke caught sight of him from across the room and waved him over.

“Is this place crazy or what?” Luke asked.

“I thought it would thin out after everyone left.”

Luke held his glass of amber liquid and waved it around. “Not everyone left. Some people actually like it here.” There was bitterness in Luke’s tone.

Josie slid by their table and nodded toward Wyatt. “You driving this one home?”

“That’s the plan.”

Josie patted her hand on the table. “Then I guess I can get you another drink.”

From the glossy eyes and less than steady hand, Wyatt considered suggesting Luke switch to coffee, but he held in his words. There was only one thing that drove a man to this level of drunkenness.

Women.

He wasn’t sure if he should bring up the elephant in the room or leave the fact that Zoe had flown out the day before unsaid.

Wyatt asked Josie for a beer . . . something to nurse while he listened to what he was sure was going to be a slurred, enlightening conversation about the opposite sex.

“What is up with all the bikers in here tonight?” Wyatt asked after taking a seat.

“Couldn’t tell ya. Maybe some kind of rally up the coast.”

That sounded about right, only those usually happened closer to the end of summer when the weather in California became unbearable and the north looked more appealing for those driving with two wheels and no doors.

Most of the time, the bike rallies consisted of middle-aged businessmen wearing black leather and revisiting their younger days. This crowed looked a little less like lawyers and doctors and a little more like the real thing. Hence the out of place timing for the up the coast drive. Then again, who knew?

Josie brought their drinks and put a big glass of water next to Luke’s whiskey. “In case you think hydration might be a good idea for the morning,” she said with a wink.

“Oh, baby . . . you’re so thoughtful.”

Josie rolled her eyes. “I just don’t wanna hear about your puking in Wyatt’s truck.” She glanced at Wyatt. “It is a nice truck.”

Wyatt laughed. “Thanks, Josie.”

“Hey, lady . . . we need another round,” one of the leather wearing strangers called over the music to capture Josie’s attention.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s going to be a long night.”

Before Wyatt could process the energy in the room, Luke started in. “The problem with women . . .” His words trailed off.

“Boobs?” Wyatt joked in an effort to keep the conversation light.

Luke lost his train of thought, Wyatt could tell by the sliding up of the edges of his mouth. “She has the best rack. And that red dress.” He again pointed with his drink. “She knows I loved her in red.”

“So we’re clear . . . tonight’s lack of sobriety is about Zoe.”

There was a sigh and a sip of his drink. “She left again. I thought maybe, with Mel coming home . . . maybe. Damn it.”

Wyatt let Luke linger in his depression for a few minutes. “Seems like there is a lot of drama here for her. Her family . . .”

“I wanna kick Zane’s ass.”

Good thing Luke’s father had ridden with them that day. No telling what shape Zane and Luke would have been in had he not. “We all wanted to kick his ass.”

“He wasn’t like that. Jo says he’s been in and out of trouble. Petty shit mostly, but damn. Sheryl doesn’t need that.”

“She can kick him out.”

Luke shook his head. “Never gonna happen. Zoe always said her mom was afraid to live alone. That’s why she always put up with her daddy’s shit. I don’t think any of that has changed.”

“Well maybe that’s why Zoe needs to live somewhere other than River Bend.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. “I’m not following you.”

“Maybe living alone is Zoe’s rebellion. To avoid falling into her mom’s life.” And since when did Wyatt become a family therapist? He tilted back his beer and glanced around the bar.

“You know somethin’, Wyatt . . . you might be right.”

“Or you might be drunk.”

Luke let his dimples show. “Oh, I’m wasted . . . but Zoe avoiding her mom’s life. That . . . that makes sense.”

“Considering how many of her friends are here, I’d think there has to be something equally powerful keeping her away. Doesn’t seem like her life in Texas sucks, but she didn’t exactly brag about it either.”

“No. She’s doing great. Really great.”

Even in Luke’s drunken self-pity, Wyatt could see the respect he had for the woman that drove him to the bar early on a Thursday night.

A loud noise interrupted their pause in conversation.

Apparently Luke wasn’t the only one in the bar overindulging. From the placating smile on Josie’s face as she passed the loud party next to the jukebox, she was earning her tips the hard way.

“There’s a weird vibe in here tonight.” Wyatt returned his attention to Luke.

Luke ignored his comment. “Ever been to Texas? With a name like Wyatt . . .”

He nodded. “It’s flat and hot.”

“Humid.”

“You’ve been?”

“Once,” Luke said, without elaborating. Lost in his thoughts, Luke finished his drink and looked around.

“How about the water? Save my truck.” Wyatt nudged his friend’s arm with his.

“Yeah.”

Luke drank the water slower. “Any word from Melanie’s ex?”

Wyatt shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard.”

“Not sure if that’s good.”

“You think he’s going to cause her trouble?”

“I think he’s already caused her trouble and I don’t think people change all that much.” Even drunk, Luke made sense.

The next track on the jukebox screamed off the walls of the bar. Someone had found the volume control and was doing their best to have a rock concert in the small space. When Luke caught his head in his hands Wyatt suggested they leave.

“You stay here, I’ll settle up with Josie.”

Luke pointed two fingers in the air and offered a drunken grin.

“You guys are leaving?” Josie asked instead of telling Wyatt what they owed.

“Gotta get him home before he passes out.”

Josie stood on her tiptoes and glanced around the bar. “Can you just give me like ten minutes? I think I’m gonna call Jo, have her swing by.”

“Any trouble?”

“No. Well . . . just a little crazy and not enough locals to keep it sane . . . ya know?”

“I hear ya. We’ll hang out until Jo gets here.”

“Thanks, Wyatt. Melanie’s a lucky girl.”

It took Wyatt a full second to move his feet. Where had that come from?

Small town, he reminded himself.

“Ready?” Luke asked when he returned to his side.

“Not yet.” Wyatt went on to explain Josie’s worry, which resulted in a bobblehead nod from Luke.

Luke attempted to hold in a burp and failed, then waved his thumb toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna . . .”

“You do that.”

Luke swiveled off the high stool, steadied himself, and then found his path to the john.

Wyatt turned back to his lone beer and played with the bottle.

Over the music he heard a shout, turned in time to see Luke stumble, then saw the first fist thrown.

Wyatt was out of his seat and across the room in two breaths, but not before Luke’s ass took out one of the tables.

Somewhere a woman screamed and several men started shouting. Wyatt pushed in between Luke and the stranger in an attempt to stop the fight.

Before he could, a hand gripped his shoulder, spun him around, and a fist connected with his jaw.

There weren’t too many things that shot his adrenaline through the roof, but a punch to the face did it every time. He saw red and came up swinging.

He punched and blocked and took a hit from the opposite side. A warm trickle of blood ran down his cheek, the feeling hardly registered.

Luke had managed to gain his feet and everything was a blur of fists, screams, and pain.

He couldn’t even calculate time until he spun toward another hand on his shoulder and damn near dislocated his shoulder to stop his punch from connecting with Jo’s face.

“What the fuck, Wyatt?”

Someone had the good sense to unplug the jukebox, abruptly ending the majority of noise. A couple of men were still tossing punches and stopped only when Deputy Emery broke them up.

Wyatt wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, grimaced at the blood he found. That’s when he saw the destruction.

“What the hell is going on?” Jo twisted in a circle.

Wyatt couldn’t tell if it was the uniform or the woman under it that caused several grown men to study their shoes.

“Well?”

Josie tossed a towel on a broken stool.

Noise from outside told him a few of the bikers who managed to slip out were driving away. There were still three shaking out bruised fists and glaring at Wyatt and Luke.

“I said stick around and help, not bust the place up.” Josie placed both hands on her waist and glared.

“I can explain,” Wyatt said.

“I’m listening.” Jo waited.

Wyatt glanced at Luke. “I tried to break up a fight.”

Jo swiveled toward Luke. “Who started it?”

Luke pointed to the stranger. “He punched me.”

“You knocked me over,” his nemesis yelled. “No one knocks D-Man over.”

Luke started yelling, followed by D-Man pushing closer.

Jo stood between the two of them.

“Enough!” Josie did the yelling that time.

“Damn it.” Jo reached for her handcuffs. “Turn around,” she ordered the stranger.