Chapter 14 – Dallas
Present Day
“Good morning, Stevie,” I say as I crate another full box of sweet potatoes and onions into the warehouse at Nourish Co-op.
“Is it a good morning?” she asks, arching a brow and taking in my disheveled appearance.
I haven’t bothered to look in the mirror since I woke up this morning, passed out in the living room of Cameron Ranch, but I’m sure I look like a mess.
After rereading all of the old letters Dove wrote me, while trying to remember what I'd said in response, I took it upon myself to get piss-drunk with Wylie—something I haven’t done since I finished my last tour months ago and moved permanently from Los Angeles to Texas.
When I finished my third and final tour, I did what any recently discharged Marine would do: try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do next now that I’m a civilian again.
Unlike most people who would tape a map of the world to a board and throw darts to see where they’d land, I knew exactly where I wanted to go.
My heart was set on a city described as quiet, peaceful, and with a "down-home" feel. And that’s exactly how I ended up in Lonestar Junction buying a farmette that I had no business managing.
I told myself it wasn’t about feeling physically closer to my old pen pal and one of the few friends that kept in touch with me while I was deployed, and unrelated to the persistent curiosity I've always had about who she was, but deep down, I knew that was part of it.
Still, I never planned on reaching out to her, even though I've passed her parents' ranch a handful of times now.
At least, I didn’t think I would.
She deserved to live the life she’d designed for herself without my interference. I hoped it was a happy one, but her letter last night, one where she professed that she was in love and sorry she’d ever written to me, well that set me off.
“Sorry if we kept you awake last night,” I nod at her in apology as she smiles and rubs the tiniest bump on her belly.
“These crazy hormones are doing enough of that. They say the hormonal shifts are even worse if you’re having a baby girl. I haven’t slept in months. It seems like you and Wylie had a fun time, though.”
I chuckle softly, “Something like that. Your husband’s a wild man with that weapon.”
She laughs, “You should have seen him with that thing when his dad told him he had to get married in order to inherit Cameron ranch.”
I shake my head because I can imagine. Wylie had entertained me until the late hours of the night as we recklessly used his father’s old rifle to shoot at the glass bottles that he’d set up in the back of Cameron Ranch while taking shots of liquor for each target we missed.
I rarely missed, my aim was still strong, but somehow, the tiny glasses full of sinful brown liquid kept ending up in my hand instead of his.
He was the kind of friend who didn’t ask questions if you showed up and said that you needed to shoot some shit and yell at the sky, and I appreciated that.
Especially when I wasn’t in the mood to explain why I was willing to get drunk on a Wednesday night at six o’clock.
I hadn’t fired a gun since I got discharged, and although the weight and recoil of his dad's rifle and the smash of glass bottles echoing throughout the ranch wasn’t the same, it had been surprisingly cathartic to let loose a little.
“You have any plans for the holiday?” she asks, gesturing to where I can place the sweet potatoes to be cleaned and peeled by the handful of employees moving around the warehouse busily.
“I thought about going back to Los Angeles to see my parents but decided last night to stay here instead. Trying to acclimate myself to the change in scenery, plus my garden needs a lot of work if I’m going to keep up with my commitment to the co-op.”
She nods. “Well, we’d love to have you for dinner over at Ashwood Ranch. Jovie and Nash will have the twins, our parents won’t be able to make it, but we’re still planning on cooking enough to feed fifteen, so there’ll be plenty for another person to join.”
“Fifteen?”
She grins, “Wylie loves leftovers.”
I’m not the type to impose, but a Thanksgiving meal with the Camerons does sound a lot better than what I’d planned—which was leftover pizza and working in my garden alone while I think about what to do about Dove’s last letter.
“That sounds great. Is there anything I can bring?”
She shakes her head vigorously, and it’s that same down-home charm, where every neighbor is like family, that pulled me to Lonestar Junction and reminds me why it’s unlikely I’ll leave despite the loneliness that’s followed me here.
My thoughts drift to Dove and the last letter she sent. For months, I’ve held off asking about her around town, careful not to seem too interested, wondering if she even lives here anymore. Maybe Stevie, who’s also relatively new to town, would recognize her name—but then again, maybe not.
The Camerons knew that I moved here from Los Angeles after leaving the Marines, searching for a quieter life, but what they don’t know is that Lonestar Junction isn’t just a random town I chose by pure chance.
If I revealed the real reason I knew about this town too soon, I was sure I’d come across as a stalker.
“So, I have a question for you…”
“Mm?” she asks as she sorts the onions into wooden crates that’ll be delivered to the families on the chart she’s reviewing. “Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…”
“Would you happen to know a girl named Paloma who lives in town?” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I realize how ridiculous they sound.
Paloma wouldn’t be a girl anymore; she’s a full-grown woman.
Twenty-six years young, with a name so damn recognizable that anyone who knew her will know exactly who I’m asking about.
She raises her brow as she continues to sort without making eye contact with me.
“Do you mean Dove?”
Dove? I don’t respond, taken aback that Stevie’s using the name I always called her by. I remember her mentioning she’d started embracing that nickname but didn’t expect her to still be using.
“Dove Hart?” she asks me again.
I never knew Paloma’s last name, so I wasn’t sure how to respond, but that would have to be her. How many other people could be named Dove in this small town?
“She goes by Dove now if that’s who you’re talking about, and I’m guessing it is, since I’ve never heard of anyone else named Paloma in Lonestar Junction.
Her older sister is one of my friends, Millie Hart.
She mentioned that Dove has been going by Dove since…
eh… maybe fourteen years old? Told everyone to start calling her that or she wouldn’t answer them. ”
I nod, “That sounds right.” Because from what I remember of the teenage Dove I used to write to, fiery spirit, unapologetic, I could absolutely see her saying something like that—and fourteen was right around the age when our letters first began.
She pauses her sorting, places a hand on her hip, and shifts to face me, her eyes locking onto mine.
Shit.
I know Stevie can have a temper as fiery as Wylie's, and both of them have a knack for seeing through people's bullshit better than a priest, but I’ve yet to be on the receiving end of it, and I wasn’t interested in finding out how it feels.
“Why are you asking about Dove Hart? You’re not some creepy fan boy, are you?”
Fan?
She continues, "Even though I’m an outsider to this town like you, you should know that the people here protect each other more fiercely than anywhere else I’ve ever lived.
She might be a big rock star now, but when she visits home, her privacy is respected.
We don’t bring any of that celebrity energy here or treat her any differently.
This isn’t like Los Angeles. We don’t have paparazzi. ”
What?
“I’m sorry... I think I’m missing something.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to unscramble the words she’s saying. Celebrity? Rock star?
She rolls her eyes and continues to sort the vegetables into the last few boxes, then brushes her hands on her jeans. When I don’t respond, she turns to face me again.
“Why are you asking about Dove?”
“It’s a long story.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and raises a brow.
“We were sort of pen pals back in the day. Accidentally. When we were teenagers.”
Her eyes narrow before she throws her head full of blonde curls back and laughs loudly. “I'm sorry. What? Pen pals? People do that?”
“I said it’s a long story.”
She shakes her head again. “How old were you when you were pen pals? Wouldn’t she have been younger than you?”
I’m painfully aware. Though now, that four-year gap that made me think of her as a child didn’t seem so large.
“She was fourteen years old when she first accidentally wrote me.”
She’s curious now, leaning forward. “And have y’all ever met before?”
I shake my head no, as she raises another brow in response.
“It was a mix-up, and we just kept writing. She said she needed a pen pal for a school assignment, and I didn’t want her to fail..." I sound ridiculous with my excuses but I knew in my heart, I also enjoyed our friendship, even if it was a bit unorthodox.
Stevie hums as she continues to watch me, likely trying to figure out if I’m being honest.
"What did you mean when you asked if I was a 'fan?'” I probe.
She laughs, “Where have you been?”
My lips form a thin line as she stops and turns to me again.
“I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget you were out of the country for almost a decade.
Dove is a rock star now; she’s a part of the band called Dove & the Valor, and occasionally, crazy fans show up in Lonestar Junction expecting her to be here.
They’ve gained a lot of popularity on social media.
I think she’s had three albums go platinum now. ”
Dove & the Valor?
My jaw tightens as I stare at Stevie, unblinking. I think my reaction is subdued, but the look she’s giving me indicates I’m not handling this news well.
“Hey,” she touches my arm gently, “she doesn’t live here anymore, though her siblings still do. She’s on tour most of the time."
I let out a breath, trying to process the news that she isn’t even in the same town I’ve been living in.
"But the night before Thanksgiving, everyone goes out to Rex's Rodeo House Bar to drink and catch up. Dove always comes to town for the holidays to see her family, so I’m sure she'll be there with her siblings, though I’m not sure how she’ll feel about you showing up unannounced. Does she even know what you look like?”
I shake my head no. "I don't think so. I mean, we never exchanged photos or anything."
Stevie chuckles softly again and turns away. "Meet Wylie and me there tomorrow night. We'll try to soften the blow if you’d like to finally meet her, but I can't make any promises. She may think you’re a stalker."
Yesterday, running into Dove felt like an avoidable encounter until I was ready. Now I’ve realized, she doesn’t even live in the same town anymore, but she’ll be here visiting. Temporarily.
If I want to finally meet my old pen pal, I have a narrow window of opportunity. Suddenly, I’m not so sure that Dove, the rock star, will be as eager to see me as I’d hoped...