Aaron turned to another station, but it was just another cartoon. “God, the channels suck here,” he muttered. And yet he kept watching.
Shaking her head, Harper made her way around the tossed blankets all over the floor where the boys had slept last night and onto the porch.
Clack.
The slap of a baseball against leather gloves was what she’d been hearing. Wyatt was playing catch with Ryder from an insane distance apart. The ball blurred through the air, barely visible it was so fast. Ryder caught it and hissed. “Damn, James, you haven’t missed a step.”
Wyatt had been the pitcher for their little league team when they were kids. Weston’s dad and Wyatt’s dad had coached the kids from Damon’s mountains until they outgrew the sport. Harper sat down on the top porch stair since it was the only one not broken from the vampire attack that first night. Someone had hosed the vamp ashes from the porch, thank goodness.
She ate her cold oatmeal and smiled shyly when Wyatt gave her that sexy wink and crooked smile he used to be known for. Whew, he always drove the girls in the crews wild. He was the oldest—the chill, smart, confident one who had the biggest, baddest bear inside of him. He was destined to be alpha, like his father before him, and there had been something so sexy about barely harnessed power like that.
Harper had crushed on him for years before he wised up and held her hand at a homecoming dance.
“Remember when your dad and Mason took us on that road trip for that baseball game?” Ryder called across the clearing.
“Which one?”
“Montana.”
Wyatt snorted and threw the ball back in a blur. Clack. “Yeah, Clinton went with us as a chaperone. He was supposed to help Dad and Mason wrangle us, but instead he gave us a bottle of whiskey, and we all got wasted on the hotel balcony the night before the game.”
“Harper was the worst.” Ryder nodded his chin to her and shook his head. “Sloppy then, sloppy now.”
“Rude,” she teased around a bite of breakfast.
“You did get us caught, though,” Wyatt said, catching the ball. Clack.
“See, you all blamed me, but it was really Weston’s fault. He was puking in the hotel bathroom half the night, and Mason busted him way before I admitted anything.”
“Thanks a lot, Harper!” Weston called from inside.
“Wait, what?” Wyatt asked. “I didn’t know that. Why did you let us give you so much shit over it?”
“Because I was a good friend,” Harper said lightly.
“Was,” Weston called. “Was a good friend.”
Mmm, mmm, mmm, Wyatt was a tall drink of water on a hot summer day. It was chilly this morning, and he was wearing one of those V-neck gray cotton shirts under a blue flannel he’d left unbuttoned. The color made his eyes look inhumanly bright. And with each throw, his movement emphasized his trim waist, long, powerful legs, and biceps bulging against the fabric. He sure grew up right.
“Dude, do you not work?” Ryder asked in a judgmental tone. “Is this your life? Just fighting vampires and sitting around at your cabin?”
Wyatt let off a single laugh. “Well, I was letting the Queen of the Asheville Coven drain my neck every few days for money, but now I’m out of that job.”
“On account of you killing your employer?” Aaron asked from behind Harper.
Wyatt twitched his head as a dark look took his features. “Yes, sir. Other than that, I work at the gem mine hauling dirt for tourists and rock stores that sell it.”
“Why would stores sell bags of dirt?” Weston asked from the open doorway.
“Because you never know. There could be a precious gem in there. Beryl and Corundum are guaranteed in every bag.” Wyatt blasted the ball into Ryder’s glove again. “The pay isn’t great, but my bear needs it. I get to work heavy machinery—”
“An excavator?” Aaron asked.
Wyatt nodded and caught the ball. Clack. “Yeah, and I haul a lot of weight, which sates my bear. Kane works with me out there, and between the two of us, the owner doesn’t have to employ a ton of labor. I asked for a couple days off, and my boss gave them to me. I’ve never taken any sick days before, and this week has been slow. The cold weather slows down tourist season.”
“Sooo,” Aaron drawled. “That’s cool that Kane is your friend and all, but I saw his eyes after the fight last night when he didn’t have his sunglasses on. Am I the only one freaked out by the fact that there is an unregistered dragon with fucking out-of-control lizard eyes in this town?”
Harper raised two fingers. “I’m bothered. He’s a Blackwing.”
“Whoa,” Weston said. “Blackwing as in Marcus’s line?” And now he was glaring at Wyatt again like Kane’s existence was also his fault.
Wyatt threw the ball up in the air and then caught it easily with his glove. “Trust me when I say this—Kane isn’t a threat.”
“He beat me at arm wrestling,” Harper argued. “And he eats peanuts out of the community bar bowl. Huge threat.”
Wyatt’s chuckle was interrupted by the ring of his cell phone. “Oh crap,” he murmured as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He frowned at the screen. “I have to take this. Harper, toss the ball with Ryder.”
“Neeeeew,” Ryder whined. “She throws like a girl.” He looked at her scowl and muttered, “Just kidding, don’t eat me.”