37
WYATT
River stood close to six feet, a willowy woman with perfect curves and stunning, feminine beauty. Even without a stitch of makeup and dressed like a flower child in some billowy dress, she drew heads when she walked into the diner we’d agreed to meet at for breakfast.
Our gazes clashed, and we both grinned like a couple of dorks even though part of my heart lay dead in my chest.
I stood up from the table I’d been wallowing at with a cup of coffee, and she let out a silly squeal, arms opening wide.
She launched herself at me in a clatter of jangled bracelets and hippie-like gauze material, and I held my sister up against my chest, hugging her hard. But she didn’t allow me to enjoy having what I didn’t know I’d been missing wrapped in my arms.
River pulled back as quickly as s
