Impulsion Read online

  He broke away and pulled a plastic square from his pocket. “Same deal,” he breathed.

  She took it from him and let it fall on the edge of the blanket, then moved back to claim his lips. He picked up her legs, wrapped them around him, feeling her use all the strength that he had tried to pull from her, then laid her down on the blanket. There was no caress in either of their touches; they were on fire, demanding to get as close as possible as fast as possible, knowing any distant sound would rip them apart.

  She had worn a dress again, on purpose. It made it past her chest with little effort from his strong hands. She struggled with his clothes, just wanting to touch him. Not long after she found him, after she heard his breath catch a time or two, she reached to find that plastic; both their hands landed on it at the same time.

  She didn’t look away this time. She didn’t have a doubt in her mind, but he still hesitated as he hovered over her. She pulled him to her. Wyatt eased them together, sensing every part of her body. She only winced once, but it was followed by a gasp. Taking her lead, they gained speed.

  Shocking him, she clasped her legs around him, nearly stealing his breath, then rolled him to his back.

  The position caught Harley off guard at first. A trace of that pain from before was there, but the sweetness was stronger. As soon as she relaxed once more, she found a rhythm, not caring that the blanket had been moved, that her knees were basically in the dirt. All of it felt empowering to her: the night stars blanketing her; the summer air causing their skin to glisten; the sound of his breaths; the deep moans; the way he would say her name, in that deep southern tone. When he leaned up, she tensed for a moment, felt that pain for an instant, but then it faded as soon as he moved.

  His lips were moving across her neck, and she could feel him mouth ‘I love you’ against her skin; that was her undoing. It felt like her entire body was shattering from the inside out. She felt a wave of energy vibrating through her body, throbbing against his. That instant, he moaned and lifted her at the same time, then fell back, catching his breath. All she could do was stare at his chest, every rigid muscle, the breath going in and out of his lips, which were still wet from her kiss.

  “It can’t get any better than this,” she breathed.

  “I have no problem testing that theory,” he said as his hands moved to her hips.

  He leaned up, stealing a kiss before moving her legs from around him and making his way to the creek side. Right as he was walking back to her, as he fastened his belt, he heard the dogs bellowing. He had heard them start to bark before, just as he and Harley started to heat up, but they stopped faster than he could manage to stop himself.

  The reason he felt his gut plummet now was that he was sure he heard his mother shouting his name.

  Harley was on her feet, looking like she had seen a ghost. He didn’t even bother to wrap the blanket in plastic; instead, he shoved all of it in the tree and they both ran to the golf cart. As they sped towards the main house, they couldn’t hear the sound of Camille’s voice, but they could still hear the dogs; they sounded fierce, like a predator was near or something.

  “You’re safe,” he said, knowing that one way or another he would make sure that were true; he would take any blame or shame his mother would dish out.

  When the house came into view, Harley was sure she was going to puke. A town car was out front, the kind of car her parents used to drive around. All the lights in the plantation home were on, even Harley’s bedroom light.

  “Go to your apartment. I will tell them I was out walking,” Harley said, nearly jumping out of the golf cart.

  Wyatt slammed on the brakes, then followed her. He knew that wasn’t going to work; not only were all his apartment lights on, but it looked like Harley had fallen down a muddy embankment. Her strawberry blonde hair was windblown, her legs had dirt on them, and her dress was wrinkled from where he had pushed it up. He didn’t look much better. He’d never tucked his shirt in, and Harley loved to run her fingers through his hair; no doubt, it looked out of control. Even if they were perfectly dressed, he would be damned if he let her face any of this alone.

  All at once, Wyatt heard his name bellowed from behind him at the same time the plantation door opened and Claire Tatum stepped out and glared in Harley’s direction.

  Claire took one look over her daughter and tensed with fury.

  Camille Doran was racing toward her house when she finally saw the look on her son’s face, the way he and Harley both looked. She was filled with humiliation, anger, and some kind of sorrow. She knew she was watching a tragedy unfold.

  Claire marched down the front porch and jerked Harley’s hand from Wyatt’s.

  “It’s not enough that you find it liberating to play in dirt, to have your hands covered in calluses, but you decided to go slumming with this trash.”

  “You wait just one damn minute,” Camille shouted from behind him as Wyatt pulled Harley back to his side.

  Claire lunged her hand forward, ripping Harley from Wyatt’s arm. “Did he force himself on you? Did he force you to your knees?”

  Harley gasped with wide eyes. “Mother.”

  “Don’t Mother me.” She pulled Harley in the house and marched her up the stairs, throwing a glare at Garrison, who was in the foyer. “I told you, from day one. I told you. She claimed her sons were not brood stallions, but they had no issues using your only daughter as a mare. Look at her, Garrison. Just look. You’re living in the wrong decade; clearly, you have forgotten that teenage boys only want one thing.” And with that, she jerked Harley up the stairs, calling her everything from a slut to wannabe trailer trash.

  Camille grasped the back of Wyatt’s arm and was pulling him back to the barn. Easier said than done; her son was taller than her at age ten, and now she looked like a rail dragging a man across the driveway - but she was furious enough to lift a building at the time. Every time Wyatt looked back, she pinched him harder. She ultimately marched him up the stairs to the barn apartment before slamming the door closed.

  “Have you lost your fucking mind?” she shouted.

  Wyatt was too busy trying to look out the closest window, trying to make sure they were not hauling Harley away. His mind was racing with a million different ways to stop them.

  “How long, Wyatt!”

  He gave his mother a hard stare. “How long have I loved her?”

  “Do not give me that bullshit, son.”

  “First sight. How long have we been a couple? The first July.”

  Camille stepped back as if he had struck her. Her mind was rushing back over the years, all the times she had missed this. Her husband had told her more than once that there was something there, but she told him Wyatt had more sense about him, knew the risk, would not put himself in a position where he would get hurt.

  “How long have you been sleeping with her?”

  Wyatt looked away, not willing to discuss this with his mother, or anyone for that matter.

  “You tell me now. You have no idea how much trouble you’re in.”

  He didn’t get that. She could ground him until she was blue in the face; he just had to know that Harley was okay.

  “Just now.”

  “Now? Like, tonight?”

  He shook his head.

  “Wyatt, you are weeks away from eighteen. If they had caught you then, do you realize they would put you in jail?”

  “Mom, seriously.”

  “I am serious, son. You cannot fuck with people like this. You cross them, and they will run you into the ground.”

  “That’s not how I was raised, to back down.”

  “I didn’t raise you to sleep with girls that are boarding here!”

  “She’s not some girl.”

  “Wyatt, Claire Tatum will do everything in her power to ruin our name.”

  “Fuck her!” Wyatt yelled. “So she takes a few boarders away, a few lessons. Those people are not in our world; this is some game to them. Horse people will always come
to the Dorans’.”

  “You know damn well this is not about boarders.”

  And it wasn’t. The Dorans were connected to several charities; most were with animal rights, but not all. Having a partner such as Garrison Tatum empowered foundations that Camille’s family had either started or been a part of her entire life. Her son had risked more than his own farm with this love affair, and right now she didn’t know how to feel about that.

  “I don’t give a damn about this farm!”

  “Well, maybe you should. Maybe you should think of someone beyond yourself.”

  “I am. Her.”

  “Wyatt, we could lose it all and I don’t care. I’ve been there before. I’ll be there again before my dying day - but I swear to God that I refuse to let you go to jail over this girl. It’s over.”

  “Go to jail, my ass. You’re overreacting. Nothing is over!”

  No, she wasn’t. Her son was only weeks away from eighteen, and if Camille didn’t figure out how to separate them until Harley was eighteen, talk some sense into her son, Claire Tatum would no doubt come after Wyatt in some legal way.

  “You stay in this room. You don’t move. You don’t make one sound until I tell you to.”

  Wyatt didn’t say a word.

  Camille stepped up to her son, glared up at him as she poked her finger at his chest. “You’re my son. I will not lose you over this.” Her voice dared to crack, almost quiver; that broke Wyatt’s heart, and his gaze said as much, but he didn’t move. Camille stormed out of the apartment.

  Wyatt watched her walk to the main house through his window. Her head was held high. He knew his mother was walking into a battle zone, that Harley was in the middle of one and there was nothing he could do about it.

  He felt like an ass for doing this to his mother. Both his parents had taught him long ago that your name, your integrity, were worth more than any dollar. Do right by others, and you will never go hungry.

  He could see Harley’s room, her silhouette sitting on the bed, her mother pacing back and forth before her.

  Downstairs, he saw his parents both talking to Garrison. They were not yelling, but their body language alone told him it was a stiff conversation.

  Just before dawn, he dozed off at that window. He had seen his parents go to sleep, Garrison move to the guest room, the lights in Harley’s room go out an hour or so before, but he was watching for any signal from her, making as many deals and bargains as he could with the Man upstairs. He felt the weight of this hell fall on his shoulders.

  Harley’s mother had spent the night berating her. She asked Harley a million times over if Wyatt had forced himself on her, almost demanded that Harley say such things. For the first time ever, Harley lost her temper with her mother, stood up and yelled that she loved him, not caring who in the house heard.

  Her mother spent the rest of the night telling her that she was nothing more than a notch on Wyatt’s bedpost, that boys would sleep with anyone, that she was a fool if she thought he gave a damn about her, she was just another girl, a fast ticket to Easy Street, along with anything else she could think to insult Harley with. It was almost 4 A.M. before Harley was granted permission to shower, to wash the dirt from her legs. Harley dressed for the barn after that, prepared to run at any moment. She didn’t know where she was going to run to, what to do at this point, but she didn’t trust her mother.

  She was terrified of facing her father. He wouldn’t yell at her, wouldn’t dare say any of the cruel, hateful things her mother had said. Garrison Tatum didn’t need to raise his voice; his hard stare was enough to make some of the most powerful men in the U.S. cower. Harley was holding on to the slim hope that he had heard her say she loved him, but she had her doubts that would win her any favor with her father. Harley doubted he had loved anyone in his life beyond her.

  Her parents were far from faithful to each other; they played some kind of silent game of cat-and-mouse, silently pushing each other’s buttons. It had become even more apparent as Harley grew up. She knew that once she was eighteen, away at school, her mother would no longer have anything to pin her father with; the divorce would not be half as messy, if there ever was one.

  Harley was more than sure her mother’s plan was just to wait out the lifespan of her father.

  Neither one of them would understand how she felt about Wyatt, she knew that. Neither one of them would understand that right now she couldn’t care less about any family name or fortune. She would live on the streets if she had to. She had said as much in her outburst to her mother - which earned Harley a slap across the face.

  “You think this family is going to take you in?” Claire said through gritted teeth. “That you’re anything but a paycheck to them? What is your plan? To crawl into that overpriced stall with your horse—shovel horse shit for your keep? You know what will happen if you do that? You will watch Camille Tatum sic her son on the next rich girl that dares to come to this farm - and I promise you, as long as I am alive this farm will never have another client that is worth a dime. I will run it into the ground.”

  That threat was the last words she heard her mother say before dawn. Those words were stirring her gut, making her sick to her stomach. She wasn’t exactly sure what damage her mother could do to this farm, but she knew not to underestimate her either.

  She woke the next day to the sound of a diesel engine. She flew from her bed and looked out her window to find the same private transport company that had brought Danny Boy to the farm backing in.

  She didn’t even dare to open her door; instead, she climbed out her window like she had done a million times over.

  She ran across the lawn as fast as her legs would carry her. She saw her mother standing with the driver of the town car, her father speaking with the driver to the rig. She ran right past them with only one goal in mind.

  When Wyatt opened his eyes, he saw a rig backed into his barn, saw Danny Boy’s tack trunk being loaded, could have sworn he heard him being loaded. He took off toward his door as fast as he could. Right as he opened it, Harley fell into his arms and they both gasped on contact. His lips found hers; the kiss they gave each other was desperate, a gallows kiss, one that you poured every emotion into. He broke away, only to hold her as tight as he could as he buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, telling every sense he had to burn her even deeper into his mind.

  “I love you, Harley. You’re safe. I’ll fix it.”

  She was crying too hard to say a word. Clenching him, her nails dug into his back. Wyatt’s eyes were burning, and he squinted them closed, only to beg whoever was listening upstairs to stop this, to give him some kind of power to stop this.

  He opened his eyes when he felt a presence spill into the room. Garrison Tatum was standing in the threshold of his doorway. Wyatt couldn’t read the look on his face; it was somewhere between fury and agony.

  “I love you, Wyatt. Always, no matter what,” Harley was saying over and over between her desperate crying.

  Wyatt leaned back, looked in her eyes, did his best to brush away the tears. “This is too real, too deep, too powerful for them to stop us. I love you.”

  “Harley,” Garrison said.

  The sound of his voice made Harley tremble in Wyatt’s arms. She shocked him when she reached up and kissed him anyway, right there in front of her father.

  The next instant, Beckett had made his way into the room. Garrison had taken Harley’s arm, and Beckett had no choice but to use his entire stout build to hold his son back.

  Wyatt was screaming her name, and Harley was crying hysterically, even stopped walking because her legs would not carry her. Garrison hesitated at her side. In truth, he had never seen any emotion come from his daughter, not even as a child. Harley never asked for anything, never fought for anything; the closest she had come to either was the presentation she had made to purchase Danny Boy in the first place.

  Before he could even consider another avenue that would save both family’s face, Claire
Tatum charged up the stairs, grabbed Harley, and pulled her to the waiting town car.

  Wyatt had overpowered his father, made it to the barn aisle, but Beckett caught up to him, and he along with Truman and Johnnie, the farm hand, tackled Wyatt. Wyatt made it past them with nothing but pure rage and desperation. It wasn’t enough, though; the town car was long gone, the rig was pulling away. He ran as fast as he could down the driveway, seeing Harley’s hand flesh against the window of the car in the distance.

  He only stopped to catch his breath. His chest was ripping apart, his very being was shredded. There was no air.

  He glanced over his shoulder to see his mother staring at the last sight of the rig, the pain in her eyes, before she turned and drove her golf cart off into a distant field. She was too strong to show any emotion in front of anyone, but Wyatt knew she was going somewhere so she could cry.

  Wyatt’s father made it to his side. Wyatt was expecting to get punched or cussed, one of the two, but all Beckett said was, “Get on up to your room, son.”

  Wyatt went. His first notion was to pack a bag, pull the cash he had tucked away in his mattress together, but as he was doing that Truman came in and started packing up his clothes.

  “They took your truck keys. You need to calm down and get your head right. Momma’s sure you’re gonna end up in jail if you don’t.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Moving back into the house. She said you were going to be bad company for a while, thinks you might slug me for the hell of it.” Truman dared to edge a smile. “You wouldn’t do that, now would you?”

  Wyatt didn’t offer an answer.

  “You and her? For real? Those tight asses were not just making a mountain out of a molehill, were they?”

  “Shut your mouth, or I will slug you.”

  Truman left minutes later, not daring to utter a word.

  Wyatt collapsed on the couch in the living room. His eyes burning, his body burning. A million ideas were running through his mind. He just needed Harley to call him to tell him she was all right; if she did that, he could make it through the next breath, find a clear head to make a plan.