Chapter 35 Dakota
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Dakota
The morning feels… twitchy. Like the whole world’s holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Or maybe it’s just me.
I’ve been watching the clock since breakfast, trying to act like I’m not watching the clock.
Spoiler: I’m failing miserably.
Clint said he’d come by around ten. We were gonna head out for the day. His idea, actually.
But now it’s ten-fifteen, and there’s still no knock on the door.
Charlie’s on the floor with his crayons, humming some cowboy song he made up, drawing horses that look like lumpy potatoes with legs.
He’s happy. He doesn’t notice that I keep glancing out the window every five seconds, pretending to check the weather.
Ten-thirty.
Still nothing.
“Mom, can we bring snacks when we go?” Charlie asks, looking up at me with his big blue eyes.
“Of course,” I say, forcing a smile. “Always snacks.”
But my chest feels tight. There’s a rubber band pulling tighter and tighter around my ribs. The longer I sit here, the more that old, familiar ache creeps in. The one that whispers, “you should’ve known better.”
It’s ridiculous, right? Clint’s probably just busy. He runs a ranch, for crying out loud. There are cows to wrangle and fences to fix and… whatever else ranchers do before noon.
Sawyer mentioned a fire yesterday. Maybe Clint still has to— No, he knew that already when he promised to come.
The part of me that’s waited before, the part that remembers, is wide awake now.
When I was little, I used to sit by the front window every Saturday morning with my backpack ready, waiting for my dad. Thinking that he’d finally come for me.
And wait.
And wait.
And the gravel road would stay empty, and Mom would stop pretending to keep busy and just sigh that soft, tired sigh that said it all.
After a while, I stopped waiting.
Except… not really.
Because apparently, some habits die hard.
And then my phone dings.
Excitedly, I snatch it up, thinking I’m about to get answers from Clint, but it’s not him.
It’s an email from a client I’ve worked with many times before. I get a lot of illustration work from him, so the words I see cut deep.
I’m sorry, Dakota, you just aren’t very easy to reach anymore. We’ve had to go with someone else.
I drop my phone onto the counter. The words burn my eyes, and my stomach flips. Great. Just… great.
The shitty Internet in this place… it hasn’t bothered me much until now. I’ve never had a signal so bad before. Bad enough to actually lose me work.
Shit.
Everything is too much. Clint not showing up. Charlie humming. My missed job. The past tugging at me like a leash I can’t break.
The house. The town. The feeling that somehow, no matter what I do, I’m always a little too late.
Now it’s five past eleven, and my heart’s doing that stupid heavy thing again. The “you got your hopes up, didn’t you?” thing.
I open the curtains again and glance out toward the road. Nothing but dust and sunlight. My reflection stares back at me in the glass.
Hair pulled into a messy bun, a mug of coffee gone cold in my hand, trying so hard to look casual.
I don’t feel casual. I feel twelve again.
“Mom?” Charlie says softly. “Who are you looking for?”
The question catches me off guard. Kids notice everything, don’t they?
I swallow the lump in my throat and turn toward him. “Just checking if the mail came, buddy.”
He grins like that’s the best answer ever and goes back to coloring. But I can feel my heart twisting anyway.
Maybe Clint got caught up with something. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he changed his mind.
Maybe I was stupid to think this was anything more than a moment. One good night tangled in heat and hope and bad decisions.
I press a hand to my chest, as if that’ll stop the sting.
I promised myself I wouldn’t be that girl again. The one waiting by the window for someone who might not show up.
But here I am.
And damn it, it hurts just the same.
The clock ticks louder now, mocking me. Every minute that passes sounds like “he’s not coming.”
Everything feels too still. My throat too dry. I start pacing, my arms crossed tight over my chest, trying to hold myself together.
Maybe he’s hurt. Maybe something happened at the ranch. Maybe he forgot what day it was.
But then another voice in my head, sharper and crueler, cuts in. Or maybe he just didn’t want to come.
The thought hits me like a punch.
And once it’s there, it’s everywhere.
The panic sneaks in first. A flicker of heat under my skin. Then comes the shaking. The restless, pointless kind.
My hands can’t stop fidgeting, my breath feels wrong, too shallow.
It’s stupid, it’s so stupid. But that old rejection, it’s not logical.
It’s muscle memory. It’s the part of me that still believes if someone doesn’t show up, it must be because I’m not worth showing up for.
I pace from the window to the counter, then back again. My heart’s racing, my mind spiraling.
He probably saw me for what I really am. Messy. Complicated. Not the kind of woman a man like him sticks around for.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Stop it, Dakota.
But the thoughts keep going, a flood I can’t dam up. I remember the way Clint looked at me yesterday, soft, almost tender, and the way he’d said he’d be here. As if he meant it.
But maybe that’s what I’m always falling for. The words. The gestures. The little moments that feel safe until they’re not.
I’m back by the window before I even realize it, my hand gripping the curtain so tight my knuckles go white. The road’s still empty.
That’s when something inside me snaps.
It’s not anger, it’s survival. The same stubborn, scarred part of me that’s had to pick herself up too many times.
Fine. If he doesn’t want to come, if this is how it is, then I’m done waiting. I won’t let Charlie grow up thinking people are supposed to let you down.
My fingers shake as I grab my phone. My reflection on the screen looks unfamiliar. Tight-lipped, pale. Determined.
Thomas Buck.
I stare at the name for a long moment, stomach churning. I hate him. Hate his smarmy tone, his pushiness, the way he made me feel cornered before. But right now, hating him doesn’t matter. What matters is control.
And control means selling this place and getting out before I make the same mistake twice.
I hit call.
It rings twice before that familiar, oily voice answers. “Buck Realty, Thomas Buck speaking.”
“Hi, it’s Dakota Fletcher.”
“Well, well, Miss Fletcher,” he drawls, smooth and patronizing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The sound of his voice makes my skin crawl, but at least it’s predictable. At least it’s business.
“I need to sell the house,” I say before I can talk myself out of it. “Now. I’ll work with your company. Even if it means taking a lower offer.”
There’s a pause. I can almost hear the smirk in his silence.
“Of course,” Thomas finally says, all charm again. “I knew you’d come around. We’ll make this as easy as possible for you, Dakota.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. Just… get it done.”
“Consider it handled,” he purrs. “I’ll come this afternoon. You’ll have all the paperwork ready to sign.”
I hang up before I can second-guess myself. The silence afterward feels deafening.
Charlie hums quietly to himself, still drawing, still safe in his little world. I wish I could stay in that world with him. Where promises are kept, and love doesn’t sting.
Instead, I pace again, my pulse still erratic. I can’t tell if I made a brave choice or a desperate one. Maybe both.
I glance at the clock again. Eleven-forty-five. Clint still hasn’t come.
My throat burns. My eyes sting.
“Mom?” Charlie says softly, holding up his drawing. “Look, this one’s you and me riding horses.”
I swallow hard and kneel beside him, brushing a hand through his hair. “It’s perfect, baby.”
He grins. “You look happy in it.”
I manage a smile. “I am.”
But inside, I feel hollow. Like I’ve just made a deal with the devil.