Chapter Six #2
Ruby dipped her chin. "We'd work around your daughter's schedule. Whatever you need."
Dixie stilled. "You know about Daisy?"
"Honey, we've known Della Lane for forty years." Ruby's voice softened. "We know everything. And we think you're exactly the kind of person we want carrying on our legacy."
Dixie blinked hard, fighting back the wetness in her eyes. She squeezed my hand once, then turned back to the sisters.
"Yes," she said, voice steady despite the emotion underneath. "Yes, I'd be honored."
Pearl actually clapped her hands. Ruby pretended she wasn't getting misty-eyed and failing.
"Good," Ruby said briskly. "Monday morning. Eight sharp. We'll discuss details over coffee and cinnamon rolls."
"Thank you," Dixie managed. "Thank you so much."
AFTER brUNCH, WE SAID our goodbyes — Hudson and Kendall heading to the airport for their honeymoon, my parents returning to the ranch with promises to "have dinner soon, all of us." My mother actually hugged Dixie before leaving, which was basically a Massey endorsement.
We packed quickly and checked out. In the truck, I pulled the envelope from my jacket.
"Dixie."
She saw it. Her face shuttered immediately.
"No." She was already shaking her head. "Hunter, no."
"It's what we agreed on. Five thousand dollars for—"
"For being your fake girlfriend." She pushed the envelope back toward me. "That's not what this is anymore. You know that."
"I know. But the money—"
"I can't take it." Her voice was steady, certain. "If I take five thousand dollars after what happened between us, I'll feel like I sold myself. And I've worked too hard to respect myself again to throw that away."
"Dixie—"
"I'm not saying this because I'm noble. I'm saying it because I need to know this is real." She met my eyes. "If I take the money, there will always be a part of me wondering if you stayed out of obligation. I can't live with that question."
I took her in — this stubborn, incredible woman who'd rebuilt her life from nothing and refused to let anyone make her feel small.
"Okay," I said. "No money."
She sagged with relief. "Thank you."
"But I want to meet Daisy."
"Today?"
"Right now. If that's okay."
She hesitated. Then nodded. "Okay. But Hunter — she's just a little girl. She's not going to understand who you are or why you're there. And if this doesn't work out—"
"It's going to work out."
"You can't know that."
"Watch me."
DELLA LANE'S HOUSE was a modest bungalow on the outskirts of Bitter Root, with a chain-link fence and a yard full of children's toys. Wind chimes hung from the porch, and a hand-painted sign by the door read "Della's Daycare — Where Every Child Blooms."
Dixie's hand trembled as she reached for the doorbell.
"Hey." I caught her fingers. "It's going to be fine."
"What if she doesn't like you?"
"Kids love me. I'm basically a giant playground with better snacks."
That surprised a laugh out of her. "You're ridiculous."
"But in a charming way, right?"
The door opened before she could answer.
Dixie’s mother was a sturdy woman in her mid-fifties with Dixie's eyes and flour dusting her apron. She took one look at us — at our joined hands, at the way I was standing slightly behind her daughter like a nervous teenager — and her features went knowing.
"Well," she said. "This is a surprise."
"Mama." Dixie's voice wobbled. "This is Hunter. Hunter Massey."
"I know who he is. Town's been buzzing about you two since May Tidwell started posting pictures." Della's gaze assessed me slowly, head to toe. "You'd better come inside."
The house smelled like cookies and crayons. Children's artwork covered the refrigerator. Somewhere in the back, I could hear the theme song from a cartoon playing.
"She's in the living room," Della said. "Just woke up from her nap. Fair warning — she's got opinions."
Dixie led me down a short hallway. We stopped in the doorway.
A little girl sat on a rug surrounded by stuffed animals, her curly blonde hair wild around her face. She was deep in conversation with a threadbare rabbit, explaining very seriously about whose turn it was to have the purple crayon.
"Daisy, baby." Dixie's voice went soft. "There's someone here to meet you."
Daisy turned. Her brown eyes — exactly like her mother's — landed on me.
"You're tall," she announced.
"I am," I agreed solemnly. "It's a condition. Very serious."
She considered this. "I'm short."
"That's okay. Short people have more fun. You're closer to the ground, so you don't fall as far."
A giggle escaped her. She covered her mouth with both hands, eyes bright.
I crouched down to her level. "I'm Hunter. I'm a friend of your mom's."
"Mommy has friends?"
Dixie made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.
"She does now." I held out my hand for a shake. "Nice to meet you, Daisy."
She studied my hand with the gravity of a judge examining evidence. Then, very carefully, she reached out and shook it.
"Nice to meet you," she echoed. Then, without warning: "Do you like dinosaurs?"
"Love them. T-Rex is my favorite."
"T-Rex is boring. Triceratops is better. They have THREE horns."
"That's a solid point. I stand corrected."
She gave a satisfied nod, pleased I'd accepted her superior dinosaur knowledge. Then she picked up the well-loved rabbit and held it out to me.
"This is Mr. Bun-Bun. He's my best friend. You can hold him if you're careful."
I took the stuffed animal like it was made of spun glass. "I'll be very careful."
Daisy smiled — a huge, gap-toothed smile that made my chest ache in a way I'd never felt before.
This. This was what I'd been missing.
Not success or respect or my family's approval. Not the next deal or the next party or the next woman who'd look past my surface and see nothing but dollar signs.
This little girl, with her wild curls and her dinosaur opinions and her complete willingness to trust a stranger with her most prized possession — she was a gift.
The kind of gift I'd spent my whole life taking for granted because I'd been too busy feeling sorry for myself to see what was right in front of me.
I'd had a loving family all along. Opportunities most people would kill for. Everything except the wisdom to be grateful for any of it.
And now here was this little child offering me her rabbit and her trust, and I understood — really understood — that being worthy of that trust was going to require becoming the man I'd always wanted to be.
Not someday. Right now.
I turned to Dixie. She was watching me with hope and terror warring on her face. At the edge of the hallway, Della had her arms crossed, taking my measure with the quiet intensity of a woman who'd seen too many men disappoint her daughter.
"Mrs. Lane," I said, standing up with Mr. Bun-Bun still in my hands. "I know this is sudden. I know you have every reason to be suspicious of some guy your daughter met four days ago. But I want you to know — I'm not going anywhere."
Della's eyebrows rose. "That so?"
"Yes ma'am." I handed the rabbit back to Daisy, who immediately began introducing him to another stuffed animal.
"I don't have the best track record. I've spent most of my life avoiding responsibility and pretending I was fine being the family screw-up.
But your daughter—" I glanced at Dixie. "Your daughter makes me want to be better.
And your granddaughter—" I watched Daisy staging an elaborate tea party on the rug.
"She deserves someone who's going to show up. Every time. No excuses."
Della was silent for a long moment. Then she uncrossed her arms.
"Dixie's been hurt before," she said. "Badly. I won't watch that happen again."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Her eyes were sharp. "Because if you break her heart, Hunter Massey, your family's money won't protect you from me."
"Mama—" Dixie started.
"I mean it." But Della's voice had softened slightly. She considered me for another long moment, then sighed. "You seem decent enough. And Daisy likes you, which counts for a lot — she's got good instincts." A pause. "Don't make me regret giving you a chance."
"I won't."
Della gave a single nod. "Good. Now — you staying for dinner? I've got a pot roast in the oven and enough mashed potatoes to feed half the county."
I smiled. "I'd like that."
Later, after pot roast and mashed potatoes and Daisy showing me every single one of her stuffed animals (I'd been promoted from "okay hugger" to "pretty good hugger," which was apparently high praise), Dixie walked me out to my truck.
The evening had gone cool, February reasserting itself after the warmth of the afternoon. Somewhere down the street, kids were playing. A dog barked. Life went on, ordinary and unremarkable and somehow exactly right.
"So," Dixie said.
"So."
"You passed the Daisy test. And the Della test."
"Your mom's scarier than mine. I respect that."
She laughed. Then her face went serious. "Hunter, are you sure about this? Really sure? Because once Daisy gets attached—"
I pulled her into my arms. "I'm sure. About you. About her. About all of it."
"It won't be easy."
"Good thing I'm not looking for easy." I kissed her forehead. "I'm looking for you."
She buried her face in my chest. I held her there, breathing her in, feeling like I'd finally stopped running from my own life and started actually living it.
"Dixie?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I'm going to like Sundays from now on."
She pulled back, confused. "Sundays?"
"Sunday brunch at your mom's house. Sunday mornings with you and Daisy. Sunday dinners with my family — all of us, including you two." I smiled. "I'm claiming Sundays. They're ours now."
She laughed. "You can't just claim a day of the week."
"Watch me."
I kissed her — right there in Della's front yard, where anyone could see, where May was probably already composing a blog post about it.
Let the whole town talk.
Hunter Massey had finally found something worth holding onto. Something worth living for.
And I’d never let them go.