Chapter 21
It is always one more job. Then one more still. I am the dark cloud over my own family, and I don’t know how to be different.
—Austin Wilder’s journal, December 15, 1865
M illie felt as if she was drifting in a lavender haze over the next couple of weeks. She was planning things, doing the work that needed to be done to get Gold Rush Days up and running. She had decided to set up a board of directors and bring in a couple of long-standing members from the historical society, including Heather and her brother Jonathan, along with their friend Alana and her father Martin, a recognized historian of the Takelma people. She didn’t want to repeat the same mistakes the town had made for over 150 years. She didn’t want mythology. She wanted the truth.
And one thing she knew for certain: You couldn’t have the truth as long as only one perspective was given on history.
Together they all worked on writing programs and informational plaques they would recommend as permanent installations in town.
They also discussed displays for the future museum.
It was definitely the most exciting time of her life.
She had never felt so complete.
Things were going well at the library, they were going well in town.... And then there was Austin.
Of course, rumors were starting to fly.
There was no hiding it. Every other night, his car was at her house.
It had gotten to the point where she had started getting sideways glances from people at the library.
The other day, after Alice had been staring at her for an hour, Millie had asked if the older woman had any romance novels to recommend. She didn’t think she would find the scenes quite so unrealistic now.
Alice had lit up like a beacon and produced a stack of books that Millie read in bed beside Austin. While he was reading about explosions, she was reading about fireworks of a different variety. Usually after they had created their own.
But then they would set off some more.
She could never have imagined that she would find someone so compatible in . . . him.
When he wasn’t working the ranch, or spending time with her, he was working on his book. And sifting through all the new information they had found out about Lee Talbot.
And that was when she was treated to the greatest privilege of all. He had finally produced his reading glasses in her presence.
“I only need them at night,” he grumbled. “And when the text is this small and the writing is in cursive.”
She hadn’t been able to keep her hands off him. It was the hottest collision of tropes she could have imagined.
She had made him leave the glasses on while he took everything else off.
She would say she didn’t know herself. But she did.
This was who she had always wanted to be. She felt more confident with every step she took. In every area of her life.
She didn’t feel that she was just the sheriff’s daughter. She didn’t feel that she was just a Talbot. She felt like Millie.
And it was a triumph.
She was humming as Austin drove her home one morning, because she had to open the library before ten, even though part of her wished she could stay up on the ranch.
“Do you want to grab coffee?”
A little skitter of electricity went down her spine. “Yes. I would love to. We have time.”
“Yep.”
He didn’t seem to be making a big deal out of it. But that was the thing. They spent every night together, but they had never addressed their feelings or the future or anything of the kind.
They never ran out of things to talk about. They talked about history, they talked about the ranch, they talked about books. They mutually worried about Carson. Austin worried quite a lot about Cassidy.
They talked about his book.
He had set a self-imposed deadline, and she was helping him stay on track.
Though sometimes staying on track turned into sexual games.
She couldn’t complain.
Still, the future was beginning to loom, like a dark, low-hanging cloud. Could they go on like this forever?
She wanted to. She wanted to freeze time. She just wanted everything to be okay.
She was in love with him. She wasn’t confused about that.
She knew what it was like to be with somebody and not be in love.
With Michael she had imagined a generic life. The sitcom version of happily ever after. With a generic sort of house and children. With Austin it wasn’t like that. He was one of a kind.
She had never known anyone else like him. He was her friend. Someone she loved talking to. He cared about all the same things she did. And a great many things she had never cared about before. He had introduced her to new thoughts. And she liked to think she had done the same for him.
They had made each other bigger, more expansive people.
His guard was lower now. Maybe it always had been with his family, but it was with her now. He was still Austin Wilder. He still had that air of danger.
But he wasn’t dangerous to her.
And now they were going to walk into the coffee shop together.
He parked his truck against the curb, and they both got out, heading into the adorable little building with the raccoon decal on the window. It was like a small house, at the end of the street. And inside was the best coffee and pastries the town had to offer—in her opinion.
“I just make my own coffee,” he said as they approached the door.
“But they have pastries,” she said.
He patted his rock-hard stomach. “I’m not the biggest fan.”
“Well, this is the first thing you said that makes me think we might not work out.”
She regretted those words the minute they came out of her mouth, and his smile faltered for a second, and then fixed itself firmly back in place. “If that’s the first thing, I’ve been on disingenuously good behavior.”
She let out a nervous laugh. “I think you’re fine.”
He reached down and took her hand in his. Then they walked into Scallywag’s hand in hand.
It was packed, and every single face inside was familiar.
And all those familiar faces turned toward the two of them.
Heads turned away quickly—people were clearly trying not to be caught staring. But there was just so much to stare at.
She lifted her chin, keeping hold of his hand as she got in line. Right behind Danielle.
She realized that the sleek blond ponytail she was staring at belonged to her nemesis a beat too late.
She tightened her hold on his hand.
He looked at her, and there was concern in his eyes.
It was just awkward. She wasn’t jealous of Danielle. Not even a little. Her betrayal didn’t even have the power to hurt Millie anymore. She didn’t feel like the same person.
It was just.... She didn’t exactly want to run into this person who irritated her so much while she was getting coffee.
Austin shifted, let go of her hand, and put his arm around her waist.
She sank into him. They looked exactly like what they were. Lovers.
And she felt giddy, and a bit dangerous displaying their connection like this. In this bright, clean space that was very much her element. The bar had been his. They had danced there. He had brought her into his world, shown her that she was welcome there. She was determined now to do the same thing for him.
The teenager behind the counter looked up, recognized Austin, and her eyes went round. In response, Danielle turned around.
“Oh,” she said, sounding as if she had spotted a roach in the corner. “This seems out of character.”
Millie couldn’t tell which of them Danielle’s comment was directed to.
“In order for something to be out of character, you need to understand the character of a person. And I don’t think you understand either of us,” Millie retorted. How dare that woman?
“Settle down, Millie. It’s just that some people have the good sense not to bring their bit of rough into public.”
Bit of rough? Bit of rough . As if he was just some . . . hired penis or something. Not a human being. As if Danielle was some outraged Gilded Age lady and not a woman in the modern era acting like an outraged aristocrat.
It wasn’t that Danielle was a hypocrite for judging Millie’s affair when she was having her own illicit relationship with Michael. It was that she dared judge the sex Millie was having when Millie knew full well Michael was mediocre at best.
Danielle couldn’t glare smugly at Millie as if she had a secret. There were no secrets here.
“What would you know about a bit of rough?” Millie asked, stepping forward. Austin was staring at her, not saying anything as she stared down Danielle. “I know exactly what you’re getting, Danielle. And I’ll tell you. I feel sorry for you. You can’t act high and mighty with me. It must’ve been fun for you to steal my fiancé. But now that you have him, you’re stuck with mediocre sex and a small penis. But far worse than either of those things is the personality that goes along with the skills and the anatomy. I should be thanking you. Because ‘greener pastures’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“You’re disgusting,” said Danielle. “And you’ve forgotten how to behave.”
“Maybe, but you never knew how to behave. All of you people in this town who pretend that you’re the good guys, and the Wilders are the bad guys, while you do hideous things to the people you’re supposed to care about. I don’t have to talk about who’s good and who’s bad, because I know. I am well aware.”
And she didn’t storm out. She simply stood beside Austin, while he stood silent. And she made Danielle stew in it. She made her decide to get out of line and walk out of the coffee shop in a wave of rage.
“What the hell?” Austin asked.
“Nobody gets to talk about you that way. Nobody.”
“Millie, I’ve been getting that kind of shit my whole life. Getting called a bit of rough by that woman doesn’t bother me.”
“It bothers me. Because somebody should say something, Austin. Because the whole town stood by when you were a little boy getting thrown out of places, getting treated like you were a second-class citizen. They all just stood there.”
“Not your mother.”
And suddenly, something filled her. A certainty, a glow. The nicest feeling she’d ever had.
She was her mother’s daughter. Not just because she sat behind the desk at the library.
She was her mother’s daughter.
The kindest woman Austin had ever known. And it wasn’t weakness. It was strength. Kindness had the power to change lives. To get a little boy a library card, and to shape what he became, to give him a safe place to be. Her kindness had turned him into the man he was.
And she would do the same. She wasn’t small or insignificant. Because kindness could be everything.
Her mother’s kindness had led her to this moment. It had brought her this man.
That was how powerful it was.
Her father was seen as the hero. Her mother’s position had been secondary. Millie had absorbed that judgment and applied it to herself.
But it wasn’t true.
“What do you want to drink?” she said, fighting back tears. She didn’t want to dissolve into tears now.
“Just a coffee,” he said.
When they ordered, she got herself a chai, and pastries.
And defiantly took a seat at a pink table by the window.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” he said again.
“Can’t you handle the attention?”
He chuckled. “It’s not about the attention.”
“I know. I . . . I just can’t stand it. I can’t do it anymore. All these people up on their high horses because of good deeds they didn’t do. While they ignore all the bad things that happened. Because Michael is never going to take any ownership of the fact that his father charged extra interest for people of color to use his bank. They’re never going to think they owe Native people their land back. They ride on this idea of reputation. But you cannot pretend to be good while you’re actively doing terrible things to the people around you.”
She took a sharp breath and took a sip of her chai.
“Agree with all of it. But they don’t care. Because at the end of the day, they don’t care if they’re genuinely good people. That’s actually the story of Lee Talbot, Millie. He cared that people thought he was good. He didn’t care if he really was. And I know it doesn’t make sense to you, because you do care. About doing the right thing. About helping people. About correcting the record. You care about honesty and truth, and not because it benefits you. You just do. There are other people like you. Just worry about them. Danielle is never going to see the error of her ways. She thinks she deserves all the good things she has, and that the bad things are unjust. She has to believe that I’m bad so that she can believe she’s good.”
“I just can’t understand.”
“I know you can’t. That’s why you didn’t have friends in school.”
“Hey,” she said, looking up. “I had Heather.”
“I know. But I mean . . . people were worried about appearances, and that was never you. You wanted the inside to match the outside. Even when you weren’t a particular fan of mine . . . you were never unkind.”
“It’s not that I wasn’t a fan,” she said. “I think I was afraid of you because I was fascinated by you. Some could say I did have a crush on you.”
Now that she said it, the truth clicked into place inside her, like a key turning in a lock. She took a deep breath. “I think I’ve been scared of myself this whole time. Because you’re right. I’m not mousy. I was just desperate to conform. But at the same time, I also had to honor my convictions. And I have a lot of those.”
“I like that about you,” he said.
He couldn’t have said anything better. He couldn’t have said anything more wonderful.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I don’t need you to defend me, but it is really sweet that you did.”
“I know you don’t,” she said. “That’s the thing. But now that I’ve gotten to know your family, now that I’ve gotten to know you, I know that you are strong. In ways most people can only imagine. Part of me is sad that you had to be. I wish you’d been given more. More help, more care. I wish so many things, and I can’t fix them. But I wanted to be the one to stand and defend you, because you deserve it, and you’re worth it.”
“You’re always going to do that, aren’t you, Mouse?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling a shift in the name. Feeling a shift inside herself. “I always will.”
“God help anybody that ever stands in your way.”
“I’m formidable.”
She smiled, because she was sort of joking.
But he looked at her, long and steady. “That you are. That you are.”