Impulsion: A Station 32 Fire Men Novel (7 page)

“Fuck you, Easton,” she spouted as she turned and left. The laughter exploded then, and even Harley dared to crack a smile as her eyes met Wyatt’s
. The brief glance told her that he’d understood exactly what she’d really said, that she had found a way to tell everyone that she was in love with him without telling a soul.

The
dare of it, how strong and confident she seemed as she spoke those words, stirred Wyatt, brought adrenaline to the surface of his skin. He knew without a doubt that Harley was strong and confident, the only issue was that
she
didn’t realize that she was. So when she stepped up, when for a brief second he saw that boldness he was trying to uncover, he felt like anything was possible, their forever was possible. That thought knocked the wind out of him, made him hungry to find more of that nerve, to open her up a little more.

Everyone ate dinner around that fire. Harley listened to Beckett and his brothers taunt one another, Camille dominating them all, speaking the ultimate truth as she saw it. The wayward stories that would lead in any direction about anyone or any horse lasted for hours. One by one, people faded from
beside the fire.

Truman and Ava were sitting between Wyatt and Harley. Across the massive fire, Easton was next to Memphis, but his stare was deep in the fire. Dorcas was chatting away with Camille, doing her best to get Wyatt’s attention at the same time, making sure she was leaned forward as far as possible so if Wyatt happened to look across the fire he would get a face full of cleavage.

“What is he looking for in that fire?” Truman asked with a nod to Easton.

“A pocket,” Wyatt said as he downed the Coke in his hand.

“A what?” Truman said with a confused gaze.

“His daddy taught him how to read the fire, how to find the pocket,
the safe place.”

That seemed to awe Truman.

“Your dad said you two were going to join the fire department one day.” Harley said it as a question that could blend into the casual conversation but carried the reverence of a private moment.

Wyatt glanced at her, trying to figure out how to say his plans without revealing the pair of them. “Easton is going in, without a doubt. This fall, we’re both joining the volunteer with Memphis. It wouldn’t be hard to do what I had to do here and that one day.” He nodded in Easton’s direction. “We both grew up hearing the glory stories of his dad, and a few of my uncle
’s. I’ve always wanted to do it for at least a few years.” His eyes fell into the flames. “My mother always told me that if I wasn’t afraid of something, then I had to help others that were, that the fear was taken from me for a reason, to never take that for granted. I don’t fear the fire.”

Harley was sure that Camille was speaking about how well Wyatt broke the horses, and not any future with the fire department. But she also knew Wyatt heard what he wanted to hear, that this dream to dance with fire was his.

“I don’t fear it either,” Truman said.

Wyatt grinned and reach
ed to ruffle Truman’s wavy, dark hair. Ava was called away by Kate. They’d turned on a movie in the main room of the house and were gearing up to camp out in that room.

“Where is the pocket?” Truman asked, now staring at the fire.

“Ah, now you’re going to have to get Easton to teach you that. He’s the flame whisperer.”

Truman made it to his feet and around the fire to sit next to Easton and Memphis. Wyatt casually moved to his side, only barely, making it seem like he only wanted to sit more so on the blanket that they all had been sharing.

It had taken him hours, hours of gazing at Harley through the flames to make his way around the fire to her side. Even now, he was still a few feet away from her, but no one was close to them, so in a way they had found a safe place, their momentary pocket.

He wasn’t sure what to say to her, if he should bring up what she talked about at the creek or if he should just wait until the moment was breathing down their necks. Before he could even weigh his options, she spoke in a hushed whisper
. “I didn’t mean to make it weird. I mean, I didn’t mean to sound so forward.”

He bit his lip before he spoke, knowing a shy smile was daring to surface. “Have you been thinking about it for a while?” His voice was husky, his mouth dry. He hated this barrier, these invisible chains around him. He wanted to hold her as he said those words, he wanted to cradle her face in his hand, let his thumb graze across her cheekbone, look deep inside those eyes that the fire was dancing within.

A flush kissed her cheeks as she tilted her head and her strawberry blonde hair fell over her shoulders. That was her silent ‘yes.’ He had learned to read her body long ago, her gestures. They spoke a thousand words a day without saying a word.

“I have, too,” he admitted in a deep whisper.

Her eyes flicked to him as a cautious smile dangled on her lips.

“We’ll know when it’s right. We’ll make it perfect,” he promised, letting his eyes connect with hers, daring not to care that his family, his mother, was just across the fire.

That night, Harley couldn’t sleep; her heart hurt. She hated knowing that each day brought her to an end, at least for now, that she didn’t want to face. Her mind raced through every avenue she could take, every bold move she could make. No matter what, someone would be in pain.

If she dared to be reckless and leave behind her family the moment she turned eighteen, threw everything away, it would destroy her father, break him. She couldn’t handle that.

If she walked the line a while longer, if she kept the seas of her life calm and promised herself she would find her way back to Wyatt, the awareness of that absence between one point to the next seemed so vast that it tore her heart.

All she wanted was Wyatt and her father’s blessing; the money
truly meant nothing to her. In fact, she was sure that her life would be more peaceful without the weight of it. The closest she came to an answer was to convince Camille and her father somehow to let Wyatt travel to her and train Danny Boy. Even that solution didn’t sit well with her, knowing it would cause Wyatt to put his life on hold, trash his dreams.

There seemed to be no way out, which made the moments she wanted to stretch on forever move as fast as the speed of light.

It didn’t rain the next day
—it poured—which kept everyone including the horses inside, meaning there were no stolen moments; there were barely any private ones beyond sleep.

Harley woke before the sun the day after, wanting to steal any second she could with Wyatt, wanting somehow to make up for the day Mother Nature had
so wantonly stolen from them.

Just as she approached the barn, the lights clicked on, beaming in the dark dawn of the day; it was Wyatt, waiting for her. Together, they always fed the horses that rode in the first lessons, walked the barn all alone before the farm hands showed up and brought the farm to life.

Just as they dropped the last feed bucket, Wyatt pulled her into a stall, his hands cradling her face as he moved her against the wall. Their breaths were already racing; it was always like this, this intense when they had gone a day without the slightest stolen moment. She lunged forward, capturing his lips. He deepened that kiss, devouring her lips as his hands slid down her face, her neck. When they reached her chest, she gasped and arched her back into his touch. His grip tightened for a second before he lost control and reached down for her legs, picking them up and wrapping them around him as he pressed her into the wall. Her hands rushed through his hair as they swallowed each other’s near silent moans and he rocked into her. He reached back to her knee, then slid forward; she held him tighter, wanting him closer, wanting to savor every sensation. Just as his hand reached the warmth of her, as she let out a gasp, they heard the distant rumble of laughter, a few of the horses grunting and neighing in response.

The staff was showing up. Silently, their kiss ended. He lowered her feet to the stall floor, careful not to make a sound, then nodded for her to leave the stall with the bucket they walked in with. By the time she had stepped out of the stall and grabbed the wheelbarrow, Wyatt was walking in the barn from behind the staff. He’d crawled up through the hayloft and made his way around.

It took everything she had not to laugh when she saw the audacious grin on his face.

An hour later, Harley was in the ring, on Danny Boy. Wyatt was leaning against the fence, and Camille was in the center of the ring.

Danny Boy was high strung today; they had expected him to be after being in his stall all day yesterday, which was why Wyatt was at the gate and not lingering in the barn or moving through his morning chores.

Harley was doing her best to listen to everything Camille was yelling at her, but every few steps Danny Boy would
rear up. Without warning, Harley lost her seat and was tossed from the saddle. She landed on her feet, but the weight of that fall caused her to fall back on her hands, on the wrist Danny Boy had already broken once.

Wyatt had jumped the fence and was at her side, pulling her up and grabbing Danny Boy’s reins at the same time.

“Give it a go, Wyatt,” Camille said as Harley made it to her feet. She moved her wrist and her neck, found a way to catch the breath that was knocked out of her.

Her eyes only met Wyatt’s for an instant, but it was her way of telling him she was fine without
uttering a word.

Wyatt was on Danny Boy the next second.

“I told you that you’re too tense,” Camille scorned.

“He was in all day, Mom,” Wyatt grunted as he pushed Danny Boy into a canter. All the while, Danny Boy was protesting, bucking left and right, rearing up.

Wyatt was trying to do a human lunge, wear Danny Boy down, work through the aggression, teach him to play his role in the ring.

“In or not, Harley, that horse has nothing but power. You got on him today twice as tense as any other day because you were expecting him to act out, and he gave you what you asked for. If you continue to ride tense, he will give you every reason to be tense, and
that
is a tragedy waiting to happen.” She looked up at Wyatt. “I’m going to get the lunge. Lesson is over for today. I have a ring full of horses due here in half an hour.” She glanced back at Harley and said, “You’re going to have to listen to me or sell this horse to someone that can let him be who he needs to be,” then left the ring.

Those words cut through Harley; they were too close to what her mother had said the night she signed her name to Clandestine’s papers.

Wyatt was at a solid gallop at that point. Danny Boy had stopped his protest and was gliding through the wind with Wyatt. Both of them were looking powerful and regal.

All at once, he stopped beside her and hopped down. He was only vaguely out of breath, but it was enough to cause his broad chest to rise and fall. He held out his hand for Harley to climb up.

“She said the lesson was over.”

“And she’s not here right now,” Wyatt asserted.

Harley mounted, feeling every muscle in her body tense. She loved this sport, loved this horse, and because she loved them so much she was afraid to do something wrong, anything wrong.

One of Wyatt’s hands reached to hers on the reins; the other was on her calf, slowly rising past her chaps to her knee.

“Soft hands. He fights against the constriction; give him his mouth,” he said as his hand brushed against hers. She let out a sigh.

“You let him know you are in charge here,” he said as his hand rushed down her leg. “A lot of leg.”

Harley nodded, letting out a breath.

“Look at me, Harley.” Her eyes fell to his. “He loves you, he respects you, he feels connected to you, and he is responding to every subtle move you make. Don’t try to force that connection
, learn to entice the impulsion; soft hands, strong leg, relax. You’re safe.”

Impulsion is building momentum, built so that when you approach the jump, it empowers the horse to fly.

Harley’s issue was that she was always too hard in her hands, holding back too long, giving Danny Boy no choice but to rebel.

Wyatt was trying to teach her to gracefully combine power and speed as one. Impulsion. Something the two of them managed to fight daily in their love affair, holding everything back, only stolen glances and brushes of touches, so much so that when they were alone…it was intense, powerful seduction with raw speed.

A slow smile came to her. He stepped back, letting her go.

The trot was graceful, smooth, the canter elegant. A ruined lesson turned into the best ride Harley had that summer, maybe that year.

Just as she finished her course, she heard that deep, slow clap of Camille’s. She was standing on the side of the ring with the lunge line under her arm.

“You better make damn sure you master that calm before your father sticks the pair of you with a trainer that couldn’t give a damn about what you or Danny Boy needs.”

“You being replaced?” Wyatt asked, making it seem like a careless quip, but there was a serious question under his words.