And she knew he was right.
Two hours later, Emily followed Wyatt into the staff room after a difficult case. He was quiet as he scrubbed his hands.
Emily met his gaze in the mirror over the sink. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because that had to be hard, waiting for the owner to make the difficult decision.”
Wyatt didn’t say anything. He just turned off the water and reached for paper towels to dry off with.
“You were really great with him,” she said to his back. “You let him make the decision without influence.”
“It wasn’t my decision to make,” he said simply.
“But he could have easily made the wrong decision, and elected to keep the dog alive, letting it suffer through to the inevitable end.”
He tossed the paper towels into the trash and turned to face her. She saw that he wasn’t blowing off the conversation as one he didn’t want to have, that he was indeed very seriously listening to her. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him so serious—with the exception of the times he’d been buried deep inside her body.
This brought an odd little quiver to her belly that she did her best to ignore, fascinated as she was by his expression.
“I don’t ever tell an owner what to do,” he said.
“Not even when they’re making the wrong decision?”
“I’ll give my opinion when asked,” he said. “Strongly, if it’s needed, but I won’t give an ultimatum. It’s not for me to do.”
“But . . .” This did not compute to a woman who’d spent her entire life making the hard decisions for everyone she loved, always. Her dad, her mom, her sister . . . “You’re the one who’s in a position to do the right thing for the animal,” she said.
He looked beyond her for a moment, as if he was thinking about something extremely unhappy, then he brought his gaze back to hers. “I believe in giving a person all the information they need in order to make an informed decision, and then trusting them to make the right decision.”
“And if they don’t?” she pressed.
“They usually do.” He looked at her for a beat. “You don’t agree.”
“I don’t.”
“Why?” he asked.
Since he wasn’t being a smartass or making a joke, she decided to answer honestly and hope it didn’t come to bite her on the ass. “All my life, I’ve had to make damn hard choices,” she said. “And I’ve learned from each of them. If I can pass on some of that hard-earned knowledge and save someone the agony of a tough decision by making it for them, why not do it?”
“What hard choices?” he asked.
The question took her back. “They’re . . . personal.”
“More personal than you climbing me like a tree?”
She opened her mouth, saw the flash of good humor in his gaze, and sighed. “My dad was pretty occupied with his rescues most of my childhood,” she said. “And my mom was often sick. My sister . . . she had her own problems. She coped the same way my dad did, by being busy, too busy. So any decisions, all decisions, from what was for dinner to how to handle my mom’s medical care, were on me.”
He was quiet a moment, soaking that in. “You know that our life experiences couldn’t be more different.”
“I’m getting that,” she said.
“I never had a say in my own life. And now I don’t believe in taking away someone’s choices.”
It was a stark reminder of why they’d made a great one-night stand—okay, a two-night stand—and yet it couldn’t be more than that. At heart, they were two very different people. “I told you about me,” she said softly. “Now maybe you can tell me about Caitlin?”
He looked at her.
She met his gaze, trying to look like the question was as simple as something like, So, what did you have for lunch?
He didn’t buy it. Nor did he speak.
She let out a breath. “I’m just surprised,” she said. “Seeing as we’ve discussed my love life.”
“The almost, maybe, sort of boyfriend,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his face.
Feeling defensive, she crossed her arms. “I’m just saying, you might’ve mentioned that you had a fiancée.”
“Did you miss the ex part? Ex-fiancée,” he said.
“You two still talk.”
“No.”
“She called you,” she reminded him.
“Yeah.”
Like pulling teeth. “She called you from Haiti,” she said. “What does she do?”
“Caitlin’s a doctor. Works for Doctors Without Borders.”
Pulling teeth without Novocain . . . Emily couldn’t have said why the idea of him having been engaged was so fascinating.
And compelling.
And . . . making her a little jealous. “Did she . . . break your heart?”
“We have patients,” he said, and walked out of the room.
Twelve
Bout time.”
Wyatt ignored Darcy’s snark and looked at AJ, who was standing in the doorway to his office, big arms crossed over his chest.
Clearly Wyatt had interrupted a standoff, a tense one.
“How is she?” Wyatt asked him.
“Crazy,” AJ said, smiling grimly when Darcy sputtered, and then flipped him off.
“Right back atcha, sweetheart,” AJ said. He looked at Wyatt. “She needs ibuprofen, a long, hot bath, and rest. I kicked her ass.”
“And I’m going to kick yours,” Darcy told him. “Just as soon as I can move. You should sleep with one eye open.”
“Already do.” And then he vanished into his office.
“Bastard,” Darcy muttered. “Sadistic bastard.”
Wyatt ignored this, as there was no real heat behind the words. He scooped her out of the waiting room chair.
“Seriously,” Darcy said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “You’re late. Again.”
“Had an emergency.” Nodding to Brittney, the receptionist, he shouldered Darcy out of the office. He knew better than to make her walk after an hour with AJ. In fact, she was still trembling from the work out. “What was going on with you and AJ?” he asked.
“Absolutely nothing.”
She was pale, eyes shut, unusually subdued, so he let it go as he set her on the passenger’s side of his truck and buckled her into her seat belt.
“You’re driving like Grandpa,” she said a few minutes later.
Wyatt turned off the highway with more force than strictly necessary, and she banged her head into the side window.
“Hey,” she complained, putting her hand to her head.
“Careful. You don’t have the brain cells to spare.”
“What the hell crawled up your ass today?”
“Nothing.”
“Something’s got you all pissy,” she said.
He might have asked her the same question. Except Darcy, for all the things that drove him crazy; her wildness, her need to prove said wildness, her absolute drive to make sure no one ever loved her . . . could still do the one thing that few others could.
Read him.
And yeah, fine, she was right. He was pissy. That the reason for it lay at his own feet didn’t help.
He was doing exactly what he said he wouldn’t—he was falling for a woman who was just putting in her time. And he’d been there. Hell, he’d bought the fucking T-shirt. He had to be seriously messed up in the head to be even thinking of seconds—and thirds, and fourths, and whatever he could get—of Emily. He’d grown up with parents who’d chosen their careers over him. He’d then fallen for Caitlin, who done the exact same thing.
And now Emily was giving him that same vibe, and he was trying to play it cool, but inside he was wondering if maybe he was just the type of guy who women left.
“Earth to Wyatt,” Darcy said. “Where did you go, Disneyland?”
“Maybe I was just tuning you out,” he said.
She laughed. “You’re incapable of tuning a woman out. It’s why they all love you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s true. You’re just too chickenshit to pick the right one.”
He glanced over at her. “You are not giving me love advice.”