Page 8 of Wild and Wrangled

“See ya, Dusty and…” He looked at me, waiting for my name.

“Cam,” I said with a smile.

“Dusty and Cam.” Stan rolled our names around in his mouth, and I rolled them around in my head. I forgot how…easy they sounded together. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“And, Stan, I’ll come back up as soon as I can, and we’ll get that fallen tree out front taken care of, all right?”

“Appreciate it, kid,” Stan said, and Dusty gave him a nod before we went out the door.

“How often do you come here?” I asked.

“Once a month, probably.” Dusty shrugged. “Stan’s a good guy—gas station has been in his family for generations.” When we got to the Bronco, Dusty leaned up against the side of it, arms folded across his chest. “He actually retired a few years ago, and his son took over, but his son passed away last year, so he had to come back. He’s the only person left in his family.”

“Oh,” I said. I wasn’t expecting all of this information, but I guess I should’ve. Dusty liked people. He could talk to anyone.

“He has a hard time managing this place, so I help when I can.”

“What happens to it when he’s gone?” I asked.

Dusty looked sad as he shrugged. “Places like this—the ones that are tucked away and outdated—usually die with the people who love them.” He said it like he’d watched it happen before.

“That’s…depressing,” I said.

“Better enjoy them while we can, eh?” I loved that grin. That mischievous and devilish grin. I nodded. “I’ll start the truck and get the heater going, and then the dressing room is all yours.”

“Thank you,” I said, realizing then how freezing I was. I got in the passenger seat right as the Bronco roared to life. God, this thing was so loud.

“I’ll get your boots and coat out of the back.”

He opened the driver’s-side door and was about to get out when I said, “Wait.” I couldn’t believe I was going to have to ask this, but I couldn’t do it myself. The back of the dress was too high. “Can you…” I paused, stumbling over my words a bit. “Can you, um, unzip me?”

I didn’t look at him, but I heard him swallow.

“You know what,” I said. “Never mind, I can figure it out.” Even though I knew I couldn’t. It had taken three people to get me into this dress, so it was going to take at least one other person to get me out of it.

“It’s fine, Cam,” Dusty said. His voice was strained. “It’s just a dress.”

Just a dress. Right. If you would’ve told me ten years ago that Dusty Tucker would be unzipping my wedding dress, I would’ve probably said, “Duh.” I never could have imagined it would be a wedding dress I was wearing to marry another man who didn’t show up to the altar.

Back then, the future I saw for myself was intertwined with his. Now, we were basically strangers. I always thought it would hurt less over time.

It hadn’t.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Thank you.” I turned my back toward him. When his fingers came to the clasp between my shoulder blades, goosebumps rose on my skin. I felt him grip the fabric on each side of the hook-and-eye closure to undo it. I closed my eyes, telling myself it was because I didn’t want to think about Dusty touching me, but really, I was basking in it.

His fingers moved to the zipper, and I heard him take a deep breath before he started pulling it down—achingly slowly.

A noise came from Dusty’s throat when he saw what I had on under my dress—a powder blue lace bustier. It was the only thing I’d picked out myself for today. I had thought that if I could just make this one choice, maybe I’d feel more confident as I walked down the aisle and married a man I didn’t love. Now, it felt stupid.

My wedding dress started to loosen around my ribs and waist as Dusty dragged the zipper down until it stopped. One of the straps slipped off my shoulder.

“A-all good,” Dusty said. His voice was shaky and low. “Knock on the window when you’re done, and I’ll grab the boots and coat out of the back.”

“Thank you.” The inside of his truck was completelydevoid of air, and my heart was beating in my ears again. Suddenly, I felt one of his knuckles dragging up my spine and stopping at the nape of my neck. I wanted to turn to him, see his face, but I didn’t. I stayed where I was and kept my eyes closed.

I felt his breath on the back of my neck, so he must’ve leaned in, and before I could give in and let my head fall back on his shoulder, he said, “I’m sorry,” got out of the truck, and shut the driver’s-side door.

Chapter 5

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