Chapter Twenty-Nine
I hadn’t noticed it before, but he and Cash have the exact same eyes. I’m on a black-and-white paint horse and the barn is behind me. When I turn, I see the white writing on my saddle – Daisy.
“Daisy?” Joaquin asks. It’s perfectly clear to me now that he’s Joaquin. I remember his face, his voice. He’s the man with the brown felt hat, the man who stood by the photographer.
“Joaquin?” I say. “How did we get here?”
He looks me up and down. “We’ve been here this whole time, Daisy. We’re on your ranch.”
I take my hands off the reins and rub my eyes. I pull at my curly blonde hair; the pain of each strand grabs at my scalp. I shake my head and try to see the barn, try to see Cash and the documents.
I turn my horse round and round. The cliffs are to the north, but they’re tan and white, not crimson. The house is down below and the barn, its paint a fresh bright red, is just up from there. “Am I imagining this?”
Joaquin rides up next to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “He’s getting to your head, Daisy.”
“What? Who?” Panic rises in my chest.
“Earl and his cattlemen,” he says. “They want you to feel like you’re a lunatic. The threats, the blackmail… I promise you, mi flor. I’ll protect you. I’m here.”
I’m here. The words reverberate in my head. And then the scene begins to melt away.
I wake up to a soft, cool breeze gliding over my skin. Cash and I are lying under the Peruvian blanket on the barn floor, folded up like a taco.
Cash caresses my cheek. “Dahlia, it’s OK. I’m here.”
We’re both still in our underwear. Lying side by side.
“Cash?” I whisper.
“You were talking in your sleep.” He runs a finger over my earlobe. “You sounded upset.”
“I was? Sorry. I was … dreaming.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, OK?”
I tip my head down, ashamed of my habit. It’s the workings of my childhood, rearing its head again. Saying sorry means keeping the peace. “OK, thank you.” My shoulders relax and I blow out a slow breath.
“Welcome.” When he leans back, his gaze moves to my mouth. He straightens a leg, pushing it out of the blanket, then wraps it round me and pulls me closer.
I’m breathless, and weightless, and my stomach flips.
My heart beats fast enough to fly out of my chest. Cash does the same things to my body as anaphylaxis.
His dark hair falling over his forehead, he tips my chin up with his thumb.
Then he runs his thumb across my bottom lip.
My head gets dizzy and my heart won’t stop thrumming.
He leans in further. Heat surges through my body as our noses touch.
Delicately, he runs his hand down my arms to my waist until he finds my bare thigh.
My insides tingle with a delicious heat.
He keeps his hand there, lightly moving from my knee to my hip and down again.
I’m tempted to slap him because it tickles.
I push my fingers through his hair and pull his face closer.
He moves his lips over mine, teasingly, barely touching. My eyes close as he runs his hand across my cheek and grazes his thumb over my temple. I play along and nip at his swollen bottom lip. Finally, he takes my mouth in his.
Our heavy breaths fall into each other and it’s just like the kiss in my dream when my hair was blonde.
I run my palm down his back muscles and find the edge of his boxer briefs.
I trace the elastic back and forth as we kiss.
His rough hand moves to my back and he slides a finger under the clasp of my bra.
He doesn’t go any further, doesn’t unhook it, but runs his palm across my ribs and holds me tight.
“I’m not sure we should be doing this,” I say with an impish grin.
“Why?” he asks, pulling my hair to the side. He looks like he wants to nibble off the middle of my lip.
“You kind of work for me,” I tease.
“Not technically,” he draws out. “I haven’t signed any contracts.”
He gives me a small, sweet kiss, not the ravenous one I expected, the one I’m craving.
“Does that mean you don’t want to pick with me any more?”
“Are you serious? If I can kiss you like this, boss, I’ll work for you morning, noon and night.”
“We’ll see,” I say, trying to be serious.
He walks his fingers up my ribs, up my neck, behind my ear and then down the middle of my chest. He makes circles round my belly button, lingering on the edge of my skin.
He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “Back to work?” He smirks.
“Absolutely,” I say, and kiss him like my life depends on it.
My curls are a matted, frizzy mess when we come up for air, so I braid my hair before sorting through the pile of our clothes on the swivel chair.
“I could watch you for ever.”
I turn back. Cash is propped on an elbow, watching me.
“For ever, huh? Wouldn’t you get sick of me?” I ask, getting to my knees and leaning over him.
“Never.” He lifts me up and pulls me on to his lap. “Are you doing OK? Before, it seemed like you were having a fever dream.”
“Well, I had this dream … where I was Daisy.”
“Interesting. Tell me more.” He stops and laughs at himself. “I sound like some creepy psychiatrist – Dahlia, tell me about your dream while I lay here naked under a blanket,” he says in a monotone voice.
I tell him everything I remember. We sit quietly for a while until he gets up with the blanket round his waist. I sneak a peek at his bare butt as he pulls off his damp briefs. After tugging on his clothes, he sits down next to me. He puts his hand round mine and rubs my fingernail with his thumb.
I pull the bronze horse from my pocket. “This was on the desk, and I’ve been carrying it around the way you do your rosary. I love it.” I lean into him and he touches the horse’s back.
“Maybe Daisy loved it too,” he says, putting his chin atop my head.
“Probably. It does say this…” I flip it over and show him the engraving.
“J. It was from Joaquin?” he says, breathy with disbelief.
“Yeah, but I started carrying it with me before I knew.”
Cash looks at me. “There’s an unfinished story here. Let’s look through more of the letters.”
We slowly begin looking through more of the materials from the desk, and then I find a letter that makes me gasp.
“Oh no – Cash, look at this.”
October 8, 1925
Daisy,
Mama is gone. Cattlemen shot her last night in a raid. I’m sorry about my messy handwriting, I’m still shaking after what happened. It was horrific.
Joaquin is unharmed. He was bringing the larger flock home from sheep camp. He and I will make preparations for Mama.
Earl came to see if one of his young colts made its way over here after running from his place yesterday. After seeing what happened, he offered to buy the ranch. He said we could continue living here, we’ll be safe, and he’ll take care of everything.
But, Daisy, I know he didn’t lose a horse yesterday. Those were his men who raided us. He came to see how they did. I’m sure he’s disappointed most of the flock wasn’t here.
If this is how it’s going to be, we need to sell – even if it’s to him.
Daisy, I can’t do this alone. I need you.
Love,
Dot
Blood drains from my face. We read the next diary entry together.
August 1, 1926
When I was at the Mercantile bringing Mr Goodson jars of cherries to stock, Earl came up next to me, stroking my arm like a long-lost pet. He told me I made a big mistake turning his proposal down years ago, but it doesn’t have to be over yet.
I looked to Mr Goodson, wide-eyed and visibly shaking. He turned away, busying himself with grinding coffee. No one wants the onslaught of torture the Drake family will rain upon them.
If it’s the last thing I do, Dottie and I will keep this ranch. I hope I die here some day, resting in Joaquin’s arms.
“Dahlia?” Mom calls from the barn door. I jump.
“Back here.” I wrap the leather strap around the journal and set it on the desk.
She appears round the tractor and looks at the scene around us – the blanket, the documents strewn all over the floor, and the desk’s belly opened up and empty.
“Looks like you’ve been busy,” she says.
She takes the blanket off the desk chair and runs her hand over the colourful threads. “I loved this thing when I was little. I used to wrap it round me like a dress and dance around the barn. Anyway, Dahlia, Emery says she needs you to call her.”
“Hey,” I say when Emery answers after one ring.
She’s crying. “Dad and I got in an argument. He’s such a jerk.”
“Yeah, he definitely can be. What happened?”
“I planned a small birthday party for myself this weekend,” she says sadly.
Dad has forgotten my birthday more than once, but never hers.
“My friends and I were going to have a fire in Dad’s fire pit, play horseshoes, that kind of thing, but at the last minute he told me I couldn’t do it any more. Can you believe that?”
To be honest, I can. “Did you ask why?” I say.
“He said his friend, Maria, is coming over, and he doesn’t want her to be bothered by us.” She sighs. “Dahlia?”
“Huh?”
“Do you think he’ll ever change?”
I walk round the kitchen in circles. “I wish I could say yes, but I doubt it.”
She’s quiet and my heart goes out to her.
“I’ve been trying to think of something special to make for your birthday,” I say. “Will you let me throw you a party instead? I’ll make an ice-cream cake, if that’s what you want, and we can have a fire and play horseshoes here.”
Before I finish saying it, dread washes over me. I’ve been in this position with her before. She hates Dad for the moment, but ends up defending him the next. I don’t have time to get in the middle of it.
But she’s thrilled. “Dahlia, that would be amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”