The credits to Iron Man 2 start rolling, and I get up from the couch. Time to start Iron Man 3.

I decided when I got home this afternoon that I was going to consider Bridger’s advice. It’s an admitted fact on my part that I’ve carried a torch for Woolf Jennings for years and I have feelings invested. It’s also a fact that he desires me, and well duh… I’m hot for him too. That experience the other night at The Silo, from the moment I walked in until the moment Woolf was stuffing my semen-soaked panties in his back pocket, was the most exhilarating experience of my life. Woolf… inside of me… the most sensuous, erotic, naughty, and sinful thing ever. That one experience almost wiped the slate clean for me. It’s like no other sexual encounter has ever counted. It’s like I was a virgin and he made me new.

What I don’t know, though, is whether my heart can take the beating that Woolf would be sure to hand it if he’s really only wanting a sexual relationship. Or even worse yet, that the other night is all there will ever be. I would hope not. The mere fact that Bridger sought me out to tell me that told me something else.

It told me that Woolf must have some type of feelings for me or else Bridger wouldn’t be pushing this. That gives me the confidence to sit back and wait.

I slide the DVD out and put the next one in. Nothing makes me feel better than some super hero action and it will keep my mind occupied. I hit Play and then walk toward the kitchen to make some popcorn while the opening credits roll. My mom and dad are back in residence in Cheyenne so I have the entire house to myself. It’s not as grand as Woolf’s home, but at six-thousand square feet, it’s more than big enough to hold our family. My mom tried to talk me into coming with them, but I hastily declined. Part of it was because of Woolf, but the other part? Well, Jackson is my home. There’s no finer place in the world to be, and I never felt settled at the Governor’s Mansion. My goal, however, is to find a place of my own, but only after I find a more stable career than working as an assistant for a man that doesn’t bother to show up for work.

The doorbell rings just as I hit the kitchen and for a few seconds, I consider ignoring it. But then I think to myself… maybe, just maybe, it’s Woolf. He’s come to apologize. With flowers and to tell me that he misses me.

To tell me he wants me.

To tell me he needs me.

To beg me to make love to him.

I snicker to myself as my thoughts turn romantic and sweet, which is ludicrous. Woolf Jennings doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body and he’s about as sweet as a rattlesnake. Still, the prospect that maybe it is him has me walking toward the door, Iron Man and popcorn forgotten.

When I open my door, the heavy feeling of disappointment fills me so quickly, I almost buckle under the weight. The black-haired, blue-eyed devil I was angry at but was still hoping to see isn’t standing on the porch.

“Hello, Callie,” Will says softly with pleading eyes.

Soft, brown eyes I once thought were the answer to my broken heart, now begging me for something.

To forgive him?

To come back?

“What are you doing here?” I ask in surprise. Never in a million years would I think Will would have come here. He’s an incredibly busy and important man at his law firm. We had to plan vacations and trips at least a year in advance, and outside of the ten days he allotted himself every year for a vacation—on which I will point out he still worked—it practically needed a papal decree to get leave approved.

Will Tynnick simply didn’t drop everything and hop a plane to fly across the country.

“Can I come in?” he asks politely.

I automatically step back to give him entrance. While I didn’t think I was ready to have this conversation, the fact that he’s here and confronting me has sort of changed the game plan. Giving myself a silent pep talk, I shut the door behind him. I walk into the family room, and he follows me. After I pick up the remote control from the table and turn off the TV, I take a seat in one of the single armchairs done in thick blue leather.

Will looks around and murmurs, “I still can’t get over the amount of animals hanging in here.”

My eyes do a brief sweep of the room, taking in the various mounted heads. Typical western flare, the big, bad hunters showing off their skills. Elk and moose heads dot the walls with a large bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, all mementos of animals killed through the years by my mom and dad. There’s not one stuffed mount up there killed by me, because even though I’m a Wyoming girl to the core and a meat eater to boot, I just can’t harm an animal. I can’t even kill the trout I catch and have to turn my head from my father as he breaks their necks after he takes them off the hook. My father thinks it’s adorable, my mother just shakes her head, I think slightly disappointed I’ve apparently not inherited that caveman strand of DNA that makes our people bring home sustenance.

Will takes a seat on the matching blue, leather couch which is overstuffed and cushy. It’s my favorite place to lay and watch TV, which is something I should be doing right this very minute.

He’s nervous. His gaze fluttering all around, until he finally gets the nerve up to look at me. Will swallows hard and says, “I’m so sorry, Callie. And I’m embarrassed and humiliated. I don’t even know quite what to say to explain what you saw.”

“I think I understood what I saw,” I tell him, not unkindly, but to speed this up. I don’t need a play by play.

“I don’t think you did,” he says urgently. “That was only the second time I’d done that and I was just—”

“Did you wear protection?”

“Yes,” he says quickly. “Of course I did. I would never put you at risk like that.”

I’m not surprised by this answer. I had assumed as much and I did, in fact, go see my former OB/GYN yesterday to get tested. The office called me just this morning that the results were all negative, and I almost broke down and cried. I don’t know what I would have done if I had put Woolf at risk. Probably murdered Will, but that’s moot now.

Woolf and I were both so stupid the other night. Thinking with those anatomical parts below our waist and not with our heads.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But oh, so damn good.

“Callie, I swear that will never happen again. I was doing it out of curiosity, and Judge Lane… she came on to me. You have to believe me, I didn’t initiate that. She came after me.”

“Will,” I say carefully… making sure he hears the sincerity in my voice. “I don’t think—”

“Please,” he wails and surges off the couch to drop to his knees before me. He takes my hands in his and squeezes them desperately. “I’ll do anything to get you back. I love you so fucking much and I made the biggest mistake of my life, but I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

“Will, I can’t—”

“Callie,” he almost barks at me hysterically. “I’ll do anything. I’ll even move here to Wyoming if you want. I know you hated Connecticut—”

“What?” I ask in astonishment.

“Yeah… I’ll move here. We can make it work.”

“Wait. You knew I hated it in Connecticut but weren’t willing to make me happy before, but you are now.”

“Well,” he says hesitantly, realizing just how moronic that sounds. “I mean… I’m sure I would have offered to do that before—”

I stand up from the couch, pulling my hands from his. “Will, I’m sorry. But I just can’t go back. I can’t unsee that and the trust is broken. I just don’t think I could ever let that go.”

Will rises up from the floor and steps up to me. His brown eyes are swimming in misery, and I feel a tiny spear of hurt punch into me. The first time, really, that I’ve felt the loss of what we had. While I may have had all kinds of doubts, clearly, there was some part of me that loved him. And I think I’m feeling the weight of that now.