Chapter 32
“It’s done.”
“Thanks Grey, I owe you one.” I sigh with deep relief.
“Don’t mention it,” he says, and I smirk thinking he means it was no issue.
“Seriously, Hayes. Don’t. Mention. It.” And now I’m afraid.
“We’ve all learned when Greyson says he’ll handle something, it’s best to leave him to his ‘Bruce Wayne by day—Batman by night’ persona, not ask questions, and pretend it never happened,” James jokes.
“Shut the fuck up, James. You’re already on my list,” Greyson snarls.
“Your list of best friends? Yea, I know. I’ve been in the top spot for decades.” James ducks in time to miss Greyson’s bitch slap.
Not for the first time since I joined Lucky Spurs Ranch, I laugh at men ten years my senior acting ten years my junior.
“What’d my asshole older brother do now?” Reid asks, coming in from the grill.
The smoky scent of hickory wafts in behind him and my mouth waters. The racks of ribs he slathered with barbeque sauce earlier smell irresistible.
“Ran his fucking mouth,” Greyson says.
“So, nothing new,” Reid jokes, pulling macaroni salad from the fridge. On his way to the dining table, he claps Greyson on the back.
“Thanks again, man. I might get some sleep now that Isabelle’s safe.”
Greyson waves a hand dismissively before disappearing out the front door. Sometimes I forget he runs his own business in town, since he’s here most mornings and some evenings.
“What happens now?” I ask the room.
James steps into lawyer-mode and gets serious.
“After the deputies hauled her off the ranch, they held her at the station until I got in front of the judge. She offered Ivy two choices. Voluntary rehab, or a luxurious overnight stay in jail, a trespassing charge, and a temporary restraining order.”
“Of course, Ivy didn’t choose the option that would benefit her or her daughters. So, for the next fourteen days she can’t come within five hundred feet of the ranch, or her daughters, no exceptions.
“Assuming she doesn’t show up to contest the order, the judge will likely grant my request for a six-month protective order,” James explains.
I can’t express the relief of knowing Delilah’s safe, at least for the next two weeks.
The front door swings open and Izzy walks straight into Reid’s arms and buries her face in his chest. Jealousy burns—not because of their embrace, I hug Delilah all the time—but because that’s all I’ll ever have, and watching Reid get all of Isabelle grates on me.
My focus shifts behind Izzy to my fallen angel, brighter and livelier than I would’ve expected after everything that went down this morning. Izzy kept Delilah busy while we handled the Ivy situation.
She gives me a soft smile and my stomach flutters. If you did an MRI, no doubt you’d see a swarm of butterflies, tired and tattered from a lifetime taking flight every time Delilah’s looked my way.
“Hey, doll, you doing okay?” I ask, folding her into my arms.
I’m enveloped by her familiar vanilla-jasmine sweetness and savor this stolen moment.
“I’m doing better than I thought I’d be. She’s needed help for a long time and if she refuses to accept it, I can’t hold myself responsible for her anymore,” Delilah says.
“I’m so fucking proud of you.” I kiss the crown of her head and release her from our hug, instantly hollow without her.
“Serve up,” Reid hollers
We sit around his small farmhouse table and as a blended family—Andersen, Tate, and now Hayes—to enjoy sticky sweet ribs, extra dill pickle macaroni salad, and smoky baked beans.
This is the first in a long time I’ve seen her eat so much, and so casually. She cleans two ribs to the bone, spears every last baked bean with the tines of her fork, has seconds of macaroni salad, and cleans her fingers with her tongue.
I stare at her tongue swirling around her delicate fingers for so long Reid catches me and clears his throat.
You’d think James would be the fifth wheel, with Reid and Izzy paired off, and Delilah and I being whatever we are. But instead, I’m the fifth wheel aside the two brothers and Irish twin sisters.
I know how much pain the Andersens have endured losing Sam, and how badly the Tate twins were treated by their parents. It’s not a competition, and irrational to compare, but I can’t help grieving the relationship I used to have with Quincy and my parents.
As soon as we started losing my dad to Alzheimer’s, we lost our mom along with him, because she devoted herself to his care and we got left behind.
I still had Quincy, even though she was married and living hours away with Sam. After Sam’s death, it’s like my sister died too.
Despite the bone deep sorrow over what I’ve lost, I’m grateful for my found family. All I’ve ever wanted is to build a family with Delilah—to give her everything she dreams of—the house, the kids, the nights rocking on the porch. But I remind myself this is enough.
It has to be.
Her small hand squeezes my thigh, and whispers, “You okay?”
“Yea, doll. I’m right where I want to be.”
“James, oh my god!” Livy scolds playfully.
The idiot’s been tossing tiny balls of smashed bread at her for the past five minutes. He’s acting like a middle school boy with his first crush.
“Pull her pigtails, they really like that,” Izzy says.
“That’s what she said,” Delilah pipes in.
I love her so happy and carefree.
We’ve gathered for this not-a-triple-date at The Flying Pig. It’s such a joke. Anyone with eyes can see something’s going on between James and Olivia—they’re shit at hiding it. And Delilah and I are what we’ve always been—not just friends, but nothing more.
It’s late, so instead of ordering six entrees, we opted to load the table with dishes to share.
I’m picking at the last bits of hatch green chili nachos.
Delilah and Izzy thumb wrestle over who gets the last soft pretzel bite, and Reid nearly stabs the back of James’s hand with his fork when he reaches for the last jalapeno popper.
I raise my hand and snag Frank’s eye to get a refill of my cola and Delilah’s lemonade.
“Everything sounds perfect, Izzy. The wedding’s going to be out of a storybook.” Livy claps her hands together, bouncing in her seat.
“I hope so, but even if it isn’t, it’ll be perfect to me and Reid. As long as we’re married at the end of the day, that’s all that matters,” Izzy says, mooning at Reid.
I’m a prick for being jealous, but all I’ve ever wanted is for Delilah to see me that way—to want to marry me.
She shines her light on each person at the table, none of them realizing how lucky they are to bask in her glow.
The fact she’s been eating better than ever has added color and fullness to her cheeks. I’ve loved her at every stage of life, every awkward phase, at her best and at her worst—but I love to see her thriving.
This fall has been transformative for her in more ways than one. Her internship has given her purpose and direction. Delilah’s drive is inspiring, and she’s going to help countless people with her equine therapy education.
Being out from under Ivy’s influence has made her self-confidence soar and damnit if that isn’t attractive as hell.
The screech of Delilah’s chair being shoved back startles me; before I can ask what’s wrong, she’s up from the table and rushing off to the restroom.
I was lost in my head and wasn’t paying attention to what was being discussed.
Four sets of yes ping pong between each other’s and mine. I raise my eyebrows and jut out my chin like, what the fuck happened?
Izzy breaks the awkward silence. “She was gushing over how beautiful the wedding’s going to be, and I said hers will be beautiful someday too.”
She bites the corner of her mouth and Reid massages the base of her neck glaring daggers at me.
Is Delilah embarrassed or sad she isn’t getting married? Despite my desperation to be her husband. Izzy’s broken-up over inadvertently hurting her sister, and Reid’s furious because my dumb ass is at the center of the problem.
He knows how I feel about Delilah. I’m getting some real ‘shit or get off the pot’ vibes, but there’s no right move for me to make.
I can’t make her want me.
I can’t make her fall in love with me.
I’ve long accepted these facts. Why’s she sad about it not being her wedding? It can’t possibly because of me…right?
When Delilah returns from the bathroom, she’s folded in on herself. We need to get out of here. “Hey doll, would it be okay if we take off early?”
Brows furrowed, she says, “Of course, are you okay?”
“That second plate of nachos was a mistake.” I rub my stomach and feign a grimace.
I toss some cash onto the table, and we say our goodbyes. I help Delilah into the truck and have a silent meltdown cursing the stars as I walk to the driver’s side. The only sound in the cab of the truck is my head repeatedly knocking against the headrest.
“Do you want me to drive?” Delilah asks, voice laced with concern, gently rubbing my thigh.
“No, I’m not sick.” Her brow pinches with confusion.
“Something upset you and I wanted to get you out of there.”
Delilah looks down, and a ghost of shame mixed with anger passes over her delicate features.
She says nothing, and we drive home in charged silence.
I suffer walking behind her up the stairs, her pert ass swaying back and forth in denim cut-off shorts that’ve always driven me wild.
Her crop top hangs loosely off one shoulder, her trim waist twisting with each step.
She stops at our front door forcing me to reach around her body to unlock the door.
Our boots go onto the rack by the door, and she plops down on our couch, dejected. Kneeling, I remove her socks and gently rub the balls of her feet—her dressier cowboy boots don’t fit as well as her everyday boots.
I sweep the curtain of white gold from her face and tuck the priceless strands behind her ear.
“I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, but if I did something to upset you, I’ll fix it, I promise. I’m going to take a shower and give you some alone time.”
I grab her socks from the floor and remove my own. I stand and walk towards the bedroom, stripping off my shirt as I go.
“Connor.”
I whip around and find tears in her crystalline eyes.
I’m on my knees again in front of her in a heartbeat.