Throwing off his seat belt, he opened the door and swung out of the pickup. As he walked toward the steps, bypassing the county truck in the driveway, he kept his gaze riveted on Erin. She still didn’t glance his way. Okay. She’s pissed at me, he decided. Not that I blame her. When he’d closed the distance between them to about ten feet, he saw a glistening of tears on her cheeks, and his stomach clenched. He also saw her lips moving, but he wasn’t at the right angle to determine what she was saying. Was she talking to herself? Wyatt knew hearing people sometimes did that, but it wasn’t an activity that he normally engaged in. He couldn’t decide if she was ignoring him or just didn’t know he was there.

“It looks like you’re on a mission,” he called out to her.

Still holding a small flowerpot in her right hand, she startled and whirled to face him. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and her nose was as red as Rudolph’s. She dropped the container at her feet and clamped a palm over the center of her chest. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I have something I need to tell you.”

“I have no interest in anything you have to say,” she retorted. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve said more than enough already.”

Wyatt couldn’t deny the charge. He’d totally messed up yesterday, and he needed to repair the damage if he possibly could. He climbed the steps and sat sideways on the landing with his back braced against the roof support post so he could still see her. How, he wondered, did a guy lead into a conversation like this? She was too upset for any small talk. But he decided to try, anyway. “Why are you throwing everything away?”

“I’m getting rid of all these stupid decorations.” She gestured at a lineup of wind chimes that dangled from the overhang and then at what few plants remained. “Everything’s going, and if you don’t get your sorry ass off my porch, you’ll be next.”

Wyatt glanced at the large pots that flanked her front door. They held what looked like half-dead petunias, one of the few flowers he recognized by name because his mother loved them. “That seems hasty. They’re a hardy species. You might be able to revive them.”

“Me?” she asked, jabbing her chest with a grubby forefinger. “They were fine when I brought them home, and I’ve watered them every single day without fail! They’re dying right and left.”

“Maybe you’re overwatering them. You need to moisten the soil around them daily, but you don’t want to drown them. It’s a balancing act.”

“If you know so much about them, you take them and work your magic. I’m done!”

Wyatt had a really bad feeling that her attack on the flowers was somehow connected to what he’d said to her yesterday. Oh, how he wished he could go back and undo every word, but that was impossible. “Erin, I came to apologize for the things I said yesterday. I had no business ripping into you that way. Will you sit down for a moment and let me tell you how sorry I am?”