He’s big. I mean, bigger than Woolf, and Woolf is like a giant. Huge¸ muscled arms and a massive chest. It’s clear he works out seriously. He’s a little intimidating because there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t quite set right with me. Not in a dishonest type of way, but it’s more like he knows something about you that maybe even you don’t know yourself. Bridger also looks like the type of man who gets whatever he wants, and if it’s a challenge to get it, he’s going to knock you on your ass while he plows over you for the win.
What interests me the most about Bridger is actually my reaction to seeing him with Woolf. It’s clear that they are more than just business partners. You can tell they’re friends. Very close friends. It’s the natural way in which they talk with each other; it’s in the way in which they laugh together. Hell, I can even see it when they just sit there in silence with each other as they watch all the happenings going on around them.
I thought their friendship might make me a little bitter, seeing as how my brother used to be Woolf’s closest friend, but I found myself actually filled with a peaceful happiness for Woolf that he found someone in whom he could trust and bond like he had with Richard.
I busy myself at one of the many long tables covered with red checkered cloths and laden with food, starting to place some tinfoil over the bowls of side dishes as the first wave of people have gone through. While Woolf is having this party catered, I feel compelled to do actual work since he’s paying me. But so far, he’s not given me much to do so I’m trying to act busy.
I sneak another peek over at the picnic table, and both Woolf and Bridger are looking at me, their heads inclined toward each other. It’s clear they’re talking about me and a warm flush creeps up my neck. Never taking his eyes off me, Bridger murmurs something to Woolf and the look in Woolf’s eyes becomes focused with intensity. His eyes seem to be glittering across the way at me, and his jaw sets in a hard line. He even bites down roughly into his lower lip while Bridger continues to talk quietly to him, all while they are both staring at me.
I hastily avert my gaze, not able to handle the way Woolf is… eating me up? And what in the hell could Bridger have said to make him look at me like that? It’s like he was encouraging him… saying something to incite Woolf. I grab some napkins and start wiping up spills around the serving bowls, my pulse skipping madly for some reason.
The band Woolf hired starts tuning their instruments, causing my gaze to slide over there. I can see down past them to the branding paddock; the ranch hands are working on a few more calves, but most everything is done for the day. Everyone has plates of food and beers in their hands. People are laughing in celebration for a good, hard day’s work and a traditionally important rite of passage for the animals. I can remember coming to the Double J brandings all the time growing up. I’d watch Woolf, Tenn, and Richard help wrestle the calves to the ground, and I wanted to help too but my mother wouldn’t let me. It didn’t befit a young lady.
Or so she said.
The party afterward was always so much fun. Chasing fireflies when the sun set, listing to music and eating homemade ice cream until I was sick. Not much has changed, although I don’t intend to overindulge on the ice cream, but I do intend to enjoy the fireworks that will start up probably within the next hour.
I sneak one more peek over at the picnic tables, curious if Woolf and Bridger are still watching me. I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m actually disappointed they’re both gone. I scan my eyes around, but I don’t see either of them.
Sighing, I decide to go ahead and get a plate of food and a beer. My entire day of non-working has actually been quite tiring, and I’d like to get off my feet for a bit. Some barbeque, a little bit of pie, a little fireworks, then I’m heading home for a nice hot bath and maybe a good book.
As the fireworks start, I loop my purse over my shoulder and make my way toward the makeshift parking area. I drove my father’s truck, because even though he’s the governor, everyone in Wyoming has a truck and it just felt good to drive it. It made me feel like I was truly back home, and fuck the little BMW convertible Will had bought me to drive around in back in Connecticut. Those days were over.
I want to make a quick getaway as soon as the show is over, but I can’t resist watching the sparkling lights, so I pull the tailgate down on my truck and hop my ass onto it. Just as I shrug the strap of my purse off my arm, the first rocket goes off. I hear the boom first and then the rocket splits apart into a million fragmented blue and white crystals against the night sky. I can’t help the exhale of pleasure that escapes over the sight.
“What are you doing hiding back here?” Woolf says as he hops onto the tailgate beside me.
Startled, I jump slightly and cast a quick glance at him, but then pin my eyes back to the sky. I don’t want to miss a thing.
“I’m going to head out as soon as the fireworks are over so I figured I’d just sit out here,” I tell him as three more rockets go off.
Boom, boom, boom.
Three huge flowering displays pulsing outward. Man… these are spectacular and I know Woolf must have paid a fortune for this.
We sit in silence for a bit watching the show, and I can’t help but smile as I hear little kids oohing and aahing over the fireworks. I angle my body to look at Woolf, just briefly to see if he’s enjoying this as much as I am, but I’m caught off guard when I find his gaze is settled on me and not the sky.
I tilt my head at him with a curious smile. “What?”
He smirks at me… reaches out and grabs the end of one of the pigtail braids I have just barely hanging over each shoulder. Giving it a tug, he says, “Wyoming suits you, Callie.”
I hold his gaze for just a moment, and then turn my face upward again, causing him to let go of my hair. “I’m really glad to be home.”
Woolf bumps his shoulder against mine, vying against the fireworks for my attention. “Are you here to stay?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe. I need to figure out who Callie Hayes is first.”
“You know who she is,” he tells me in gentle admonishment.
I leave the glow of sparkles behind and turn to look at him again. “You’re actually right, Woolf. I do know who she is. What I should have said is that I don’t like who Callie Hayes is… what she’s become. I need to figure out who I want to be, and I need to make those changes.”
I start to incline my face back upward, but I’m stopped by Woolf’s hand grasping my jaw. He holds me in place so I have to look at him. “You don’t need to change a damn thing about yourself.”
His voice is soft and soothing, almost as if he’s talking to a child. It pisses me off, and I jerk my face away from him. My words are calm but tinged in ice. “You have no idea what I do or don’t need. You try living in someone’s shadow for years, completely bending and twisting your life to fit his. You try giving up all your dreams to let someone else get theirs. You try to be what everyone expects, even though it tears you up inside. You do all that, Woolf, and tell me you don’t become someone you don’t like.”
My voice cracks… falters.
Woolf narrows his eyes at me.
“I’m so pathetically dull,” I say with a quiet but sure voice, “that my fiancé can only get his rocks off by having another woman gag and whip him. Try being that person and tell me you won’t want to change.”
I expect another admonishment from Woolf. Maybe a snort of disbelief. A look of pity.
Instead, his hands shoot out and take my face, jerking me toward him. He meets me halfway, putting his lips against mine and giving me a blistering kiss. Tilting his head, he pushes my mouth open with his own and then his tongue becomes a part of me. His fingers grasp me tightly as he kisses me deeply.