Claire didn’t bother to argue. Instead, she turned cold, almost pouted, the way she always did when she felt that Harley had gotten away with murder.
“She could get hurt, Garrison. She’s your legacy, and you’re placing her in danger.”
“No. I’m teaching her to face danger, for she is my legacy, and any Tatum knows that we do not ask for what we want—we claim it.”
The next day, after Harley’s mother left, her father took her to a stable not far from her home, took her to her horse. They spent that weekend buying everything that Clandestine needed.
When her mother returned, the only complaint she had was the fact that Harley would be staying with two boys that were her age. Garrison did travel to Willowhaven, but not until Harley had been there for three weeks, and he found no fault in Wyatt or Truman, the cousins, or the other farm hands’ kids that were also on the property. In fact, when he wasn’t watching Harley’s lessons, he spent his time with Beckett, Wyatt’s father, watching the bulls, watching Wyatt ride. He even made the comment that Wyatt was him made over when he was a boy.
When Harley came home after her first summer at Willowhaven, she found a new stable in her own backyard. It was her sanctuary, where she spent all day when she was at home.
It took Wyatt half of that first summer to understand that first statement that Harley made, the one about how everything she owned was on that trailer. When he did figure out the life Harley came from, the stiff line she had to walk between her parents, who seemed to be worlds apart, in some way that broke his heart. Harley seemed so lost, so alone.
“His barn name is Dan,” she said to the crowd around her that first day at Willowhaven as she led her horse from the trailer.
“Come on, Danny Boy,” Wyatt had said as he led him inside the barn. When he looked over his shoulder, he was surprised to meet Harley’s gaze, even told himself she was watching her horse, not him, but when his brother Truman elbowed him and said, “Mom got enough hell about us being on the property, you want to stop drooling?” he had a spark of hope that she felt the same odd pull he did when he saw her for the first time.
Before that day, Wyatt was his father’s son, always had a dare in his veins, a wild streak that pushed every button his mother had, or anyone that had to oversee him, to the limits. Most times, what damage was done was undone. If he was ever grounded, or limited, his father Beckett would come to his defense and say that, “Boys will be boys, they only push you when hold ‘em back. Let ‘em run, Momma, let ‘em run.” Camille would dare to smile at her husband, and then whatever heat Wyatt was under faded.
After that day, all bets were off. Wyatt walked a tight line. He kept his nose clean, for more than one reason. One, he didn’t want there to be any chance that he’d be sequestered from Harley. The other, Harley drew something out of him, some kind of respect, maturity, balance—she made him want to be a better person just by breathing. Of course, his mother assumed that Wyatt had just grown out of his rebellious ways, just the way her husband had promised.
During the day, there were only brief moments Wyatt and Harley had alone, sometimes seconds. The time they cherished was just after dawn, when they would both be at the main barn alone, and then just after the farm went to bed. Sometimes, at least a few times a week, they would sneak out, find some nook or hiding place on the property, secret lovers that had never crossed that one sacred point of no return.
They didn’t always use that stolen time to steal a kiss, to push that physical barrier. There were also a lot of long conversations, deep ones. Ones where they saw the inside of each other, where they discovered a part of the other that no one else knew.
Wyatt’s hand brushed across Harley’s as he pulled Danny Boy’s halter off. Harley’s breath caught when she knew it wasn’t an accident, when she glanced up to see his bright blue eyes raining down on her. “Is he still pulling too hard?” he asked in a ghost of a whisper. Remembering the night before, when his calloused hands had moved across her shoulders easing the tension there, she replied in a whisper of her own.
“Not so bad.”
“Anything else hurt?” he quipped as his stare moved down her body.
He had watched Harley evolve into a woman. Even though she was only seventeen, her body indicated otherwise. Every day, Harley was in riding pants and a tight tank, a walking fantasy to him.
She elbowed him, daring to laugh before moving to take off Dan’s girth.
Wyatt moved behind her; she barely reached his shoulder. His long arms were over her, reaching for the saddle. Once again, they both hesitated, feeling the sensation of their bodies so near to each other. Harley had no idea how Wyatt had the power to stop time, but he did, at least in her mind; the world would stop when they were this close.
“There you are,” Ava, Wyatt’s fifteen-year-old sister, said causing both Wyatt and Harley to step away from each other a bit quickly. It was masked, though. He pulled away with the saddle in hand while Harley was whisking away the saddle pad.
“We’re ready to go to the creek,” Ava said.
“I already told you this morning I had chores. I still have to ride Boss Man,” Wyatt protested.
Ava and her friends were not allowed to swim in the back creek without Wyatt there. He hated that babysitting gig. It took him away from the barn, from the seconds he stole throughout the day.
“Boss Man pulled a shoe, and we unloaded the hay, dropped flakes in the pasture. Everything is done. Mom said so,” Ava countered.
Her two friends from school had come to her side, both repeating the same plea. All of them were drenched in the summer heat and looked exhausted, like they had earned some kind of escape.
“Is Easton here?” Wyatt asked one of the girls, Kate. Easton was one of Wyatt’s best friends, and Kate was his younger sister.