22
E very head snaps up when I enter Dakota’s bakery. Conversation hushes. Eyes bug. Old Clyde, my father’s poker buddy, rushes to hold the door for us as I approach with my walker. “Still the fastest cowgirl in the west,” he says in a stage whisper.
I force a smile, even though I wish someone would punch me in the face before I scream. “Bang, bang,” I say dryly.
“Thanks, Clyde,” Dakota says, ushering me inside.
He gives a brisk nod and pats his pockets for his keys.
“Fallon, honey,” a voice chirps from behind a massive cinnamon roll. “You look worse for wear. How’d you hurt your leg?” Town busybody, Agnes Peebles, is eyeing my walker as she licks a piece of frosting from her fork.
“Well, Agnes, I think it was a goddamn bull,” I reply.
Dakota flinches.
Agnes’s eyebrows shoot up. “Will you ride again?”
“Fingers crossed,” I grit out. I force a wobbly smile at my sister as we weave around a table. “Why’d you bring me here, Koty?” Clearly, my sister’s determined to punish me for all the hell I’ve put her through.
“You can’t avoid the world. And you can’t avoid Agnes Peebles.” Clearing her throat, she helps me into a chair. “Sit here, try not to kill anyone.”
Pretty face flustered, my sister heads to the front counter to relieve her employee.
“No promises,” I mutter. My leg’s killing me.
There’s an echo of pain in my hip and lower back, made worse by today’s physical therapy session.
With Wyatt needing to be at the ranch for morning sessions, Dakota took me to my PT appointment.
Just another thing to feel guilty about.
Everyone has their own lives, and here I am cramping them.
Being babied, being chauffeured. I hate it.
I shift in my chair. My gaze stays fixed on the glossy countertop. I can still feel eyes on me. Judging. Smug.
This is what I am.
Fallon McGraw, Resurrection’s wild child who finally burned out. Who came crawling back—but can’t even do that right.
Stede McGraw’s daughter. Broken, busted, still a bitch.
Nostalgia sweeps me up as I scan the bakery, once the former Corner Store.
It’s a relief it’s not mine anymore, but keeping the ancient brick building in the family means everything.
My sister’s gone above and beyond to make The Huckleberry a jewel in Resurrection.
Decadent pastries, an old school country playlist, light-purple and white décor. It’s everything she’s wanted.
While Dakota wraps delicate pastries in purple boxes, I check my phone. Frown.
Except for a few texts after I left the hospital promising news of what’s next, I haven’t heard from Pappy. I’m not an idiot. I’m aware I’m worthless if I can’t ride. No sponsors, no endorsement deals. But Pappy sticking by me gives me hope. That all is not lost.
“Here. Breakfast is on me.” With flourish, Dakota sets a plate in front of me—a cinnamon roll on steroids—and joins me at the table. “You did good today.”
I snort and poke the mound of sugar with my fork. “Yeah, right.”
Today’s PT session started with me losing my grip on my walker and landing face-first on the mat. It ended with me telling my therapist to go fuck themself.
“You did. You’ll be running laps by Christmas,” she teases.
“Running laps right out of town.”
She gives me her trademark big sister frown. “Are you still sulking that you have to live with Wyatt?”
“Yes.” I groan. “It’s awful. He hovers. And fusses. And skulks in the night.”
And shares my bed. And cooks for me. And helps me dress. It’s like having a fun slutty sleepover with a cowboy I want to strangle on the daily.But I decide to conveniently leave out those parts. The warm, fluttery stomach parts.
Even I knew sharing a bed was a bad idea. Because with Wyatt and I, one time is never one time. The last seven mornings I’ve woken refreshed from sleep, no nightmares.
When Wyatt is close, everything stills. I feel like my body isn’t brittle and broken. I feel safe. I can actually fucking sleep without dreams. And being curled up beside a hard body is definitely a bonus.
At least one thing we’ve avoided is sex. So far, temptation hasn’t gotten the better of us. So there, stupid non-existent feelings.
Dakota presses her lips together to hide a laugh. “He’s practically a serial killer.”
“We’re divorcing,” I blurt, and Dakota startles. “After PT,” I say with more calm. “We’ll get a divorce.”
“Is that what you want?”
I glance down at my cinnamon roll, feeling the weight of my sister’s gaze. Something uncertain wobbles in my stomach. “It’s what has to happen.”
“And after that?” Dakota asks.
“I don’t know. I have to do something.” I prop my chin in my palm. “I’m bored.”
“Get a hobby.”
“I have horses, I can’t afford hobbies.”
“You don’t need horses right now, Fallon,” Dakota says, her voice tinged with pain.
I bite my lip at her chiding scold. It’s been a week since Wyatt promised to help me ride again.
I can’t tell if it was bullshit or bluff to keep me in line.
Either way, I’m restless. Aching. I want to get back on the horse.
Adrenaline, addiction, sheer stupidity, I’ve never shied away from any of them.
But I already know what will happen if Dakota finds out I’m riding again. Total lockdown.
I can’t bear to hurt my sister. But I also can’t bear to give it up.
Straightening in my seat, I dare a glance at my sister. “I’m sorry, Dakota.”
“For what?”
“For giving you so much shit when you came back.” I exhale. The irony isn’t lost on me. The way I treated Dakota when she returned after escaping Aiden. And now here I am, broken and battered, stuck in Resurrection to lick my wounds. “I didn’t make it easy on you.”
A sad smile ghosts Dakota’s lips. “I didn’t want you to come home like this, Fallon.”
“Yeah, well, I’m proud of you, okay, so take the damn compliment.” I rove my eyes around. “You have sweet babies, a bossy, if not semi-amazing husband, you have it all. You’re kicking ass and killing it on the daily.”
“Because I got away from Aiden.”
The name, Dakota’s abruptness, has my stomach twisting in knots. “What are you talking about?”
She leans in, reaching for my hands. “Did you leave town because of him?”
Yes. Because he tried to kill us. He tried to kill us, and it’s my fault.
I swallow. Not ready. Not for this conversation.
Her serious gaze sears mines. “We haven’t talked about it, Fallon. And I think we have to.” She bites her lower lip. “I’m so sorry. You need to know that I don’t blame you. None of us do—”
I rear back. “I don’t want to do this right now.”
Her voice drops. “Then when?”
Never.
Panic has its fingers around my neck, making it hard to talk. To breathe.
I’m saved by the jingle of the door chimes. But when I glance over, I’m anything but saved. It’s my father. He shakes hands with a fishing buddy then heads our way.
I groan and bury my face in my hands. This fucking day. “Shit.”
I’ve only seen him a handful of times since I’ve been home. Whether it’s him keeping his distance, or me, I can’t tell. We’re both stubborn.
“He’s mad at me,” I tell Dakota.
“He’s not mad at you, he’s—”
“Disappointed.”
That’s even worse. The thought of letting my father down when I’ve worked so hard to make him proud of me.
And maybe that’s my mistake. I’ve been doing it for him when I should have been doing it for myself.
But that’s a lie, too. Because I love being a cowgirl.
I’d never give it up. Not for anything. My whole life, it’s been a balance that kept me in check, made me happy.
One thing I’ve never had any doubt about.
The rodeo.
Dakota shoots me a look and then stands.
“Hey, Daddy,” we both say together.
“Girls.” He gives Dakota’s arm squeeze, nods my way. “I need a few honey buns for the guys down at the legion.”
“A man after my own heart.” Dakota gives me a play nice look. “One second.” With that, she hurries to the pastry counter.
“How’ve you been?” my father asks me. His gaze drifts. “Leg healing like it should?”
Using the bars of my walker as leverage, I push myself up. “Making some progress in PT.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Hoping to be back on a horse by fall.”
“Ain’t sure that’s a good idea.” But he says nothing else, just looks to the counter where Dakota’s boxing pastries.
His cold shoulder, his avoidance, triggers anger in me.
I hobble forward without my walker, trying to meet his eye. “Do you want to talk about it? Me and Wyatt?”
My father blinks at my straightforwardness then sighs. “Not sure what there is to talk about.”
“Clearly there’s something, Dad. I mean…” I lift my hands, let them fall to my side. “You’re mad at me.”
“He’s a cowboy, and he ain’t for you.”
“But who decides that?” Not sure why I’m pushing this. Why I’m bothered that he’s bothered that I married Wyatt Montgomery.
“I just thought you had better sense, is all.”
I flinch as if struck.
“Oh, Dad.” Dakota stands behind us.
Tears stinging my eyes, I grab my walker. “I have to go.”
Dakota extends a hand. “Fallon, wait—”
Before they can stop me, I’m outside, stalking down the sidewalk as fast as I can.
Halfway down the block, I stop. “Fuck,” I swear, remembering I don’t even have my own truck to speed away angrily in. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Between PT, Dakota’s broached conversation about Aiden, and my father’s anger, my chest is tightening. Tightening.
Grimly, I glance along the road. When I spy Dakota’s car, my eyes narrow. A long-stemmed red rose is tucked into the passenger side window. As I get closer, I see the card is addressed to me. On a growl, I reach out and rip it away.
I’ll wait forever if I have to.
Goddamn. The last thing I need. Another man getting in my way.
Footsteps behind me make me freeze.
For a split second, I think it’s Aiden. Creeping up from the depths of my nightmare to claim me in broad daylight.
“Fallon?”
I turn, willing my pulse to slow. It’s only Tripp, bumbling his way out of the Zeke’s Hardware.
Tripp smirks at the flower. “Secret admirer?”