Free Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) by S.D. Hendrickson

wrong. What I could do differently. I pushed too much and too fast. I pictured his sad face, and it pulled at my heart.
    Wyatt had never said that his life was filled with nothing. He had never said it was a life of solitude. He had never shared that part with me. But I just knew. I felt it. Something in my gut said, Don’t give up.
    Everyone deserved to have someone think about them, and I wasn’t sure anyone thought about Wyatt. So I thought about him. I thought about his soft lips. I thought about his dimples. I thought about his sadness. It drew me in and twisted up my insides.
    I created all sorts of backstories in my head. Maybe he was ex-military. Maybe the time away had screwed with his brain, and he was out there, spending time with his dogs until it felt right again. Maybe he’d lost someone. The girl he loved. Maybe it was a little of both. Maybe he cheated on her. Maybe she cheated on him while he was away and he went crazy when he returned home. Maybe she died. Maybe she was the one who had cancer.
    Either way, I wanted to save him from the depths of whatever was making Wyatt this way. I wanted to pull him from the dark pit that made his eyes ache in pain. The guy needed me whether he wanted to admit it or not.
    I rubbed my forehead as the thoughts tumbled around inside my head. I jumped up from the steps, holding out a hand to pull my sister to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go in the house.”
    It did me no good, sitting around thinking up a hundred different stories because none of them were his story.

O N FRIDAY, I WENT BACK to visit Wyatt. I knew the soft approach wouldn’t work again. Once inside the fence, I mashed the Fusion’s gas pedal to the ground. The grass exploded under the car as I drove fast and reckless. The back tires fishtailed over the ruts. I skidded to a stop in the dirt parking area in front of his trailer.
    Wyatt ran out of the kennel room. Jumping from the driver’s seat, I headed straight toward the building’s door. I’d caught him off guard. Good. He needed a nice rattling.
    “I’m back.” I walked straight past him, never making eye contact. My flat lips spat out the words. “And don’t worry. I didn’t bring any peace offerings to offend you.”
    Entering the kennel, I heard footsteps, following close to my own tennis shoes. I’d pulled my hair into a ponytail today. I knew it was my imagination, but I swore I felt his breath steaming down my bare neck.
    I stopped at Cye’s gate, trying to compose myself before I sent the wrong message to my scared friend. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and hummed a little song. My shoulders relaxed and my eyes opened clear, with a purpose.
    Once I was calm and collected, I lifted the metal handle and crawled on my hands and knees inside the entrance. His single eye watched from the corner. I went a few inches further than the last time and put the bone on the cement. I scooted out backward and stood up.
    I felt his presence a few feet away. Waiting until I had Cye’s gate closed, I turned around to confront Wyatt.
    “You not trust me now? Going to watch everything I do? Are you afraid I’ll set them all free? Steal them? Whisper bad things about you in their ears? Really, Wyatt? Just go back to your trailer.”
    He seemed confused at the huffy outburst. I stormed past Wyatt to the wall with the leashes. I removed two and crossed back in front of him. I pulled Charlie out and latched him to the end of the black one. I opened the kennel that held Ricky Bobby. I attached the rat terrier to the red leash. Wyatt followed my every step with his bewildered eyes.
    “We are going on a run,” I said matter-of-factly. “Please get out of our way since you insist on standing here watching me.”
    “Should you do that with your leg?”
    “My leg is none of your business.”
    Our eyes caught for a split second, then I pulled away. I left at a small trot out the front entrance. Charlie was happy to be free of the kennel. Ricky Bobby