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.