Chapter 27 Molly
MOLLY
I’m still walking on a cloud the next morning, as much from another night spent in Chase’s arms as the success of the event.
I know my happiness shouldn’t be tied to a man, but I can’t help how Chase makes me feel.
I don’t want to. It’s more than just sex, although how am I supposed to go back to a nightstand drawer of toys after becoming spoiled by the way he insists on drawing every bit of pleasure from me before taking his own?
He makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the world when he looks at me. Like every little thing I do matters.
I know I should pull back. I have an appointment with the doctor on Monday. If all goes well, I’ll have the boot removed, which means I won’t need Chase.
Except I can’t imagine our lives without him.
But I have to stay grounded. There are bills to pay and kids to raise, and I won’t let myself get so caught up in this feeling that I forget my goals—my bucket list challenge.
“How’d things go?” Frank, the older man in charge of the rental company crew, asks me.
“It was perfect.”
“It’s a nice setup you’ve got here.” I follow his gaze around the property, which has never looked better. Even the barn looks like it got a fresh coat of paint. “Will you host other sorts of events? The flowers make it something special.”
“I hope so,” I say, then shake my head. “I mean, definitely.”
“I’d be happy to share your business cards with our customers.”
“And I’d love to return the favor by recommending you to my future customers,” I say as if I’m a businesswoman with future customers. It feels good to speak as though I’m already the person I’m working to become.
He nods. “Appreciate that.”
I start to turn away, then hear him suck in an audible breath.
“Everything okay?”
“Is that Chase Calhoun?” He gestures to where Chase is securing hail cloth to the posts around the far field.
“Yes. He’s a…um…friend of the family and has been helping me with the farm since my accident.”
“A hometown favorite,” Frank adds. “It’s hard to believe he’s retiring. I hoped I’d see his name on the entries for the spring exhibition.”
“The what?” I ask, trying not to sound like I have no idea what he’s talking about.
Chase hasn’t talked in detail about his career or his life before the accident. Or even after it. I’ve been so focused on my own problems that I haven’t asked enough questions, and that needs to change.
“It’s a charity rodeo they hold every year before the season gets going. It’s not a sanctioned event, but a lot of big names participate because it’s for a good cause.”
“I’m not sure about his future plans,” I say, and realize how true that is, especially if I manage to convince Linda to sell me the farm. Where does that leave Chase?
One of us is bound to lose. As much as I don’t want it to be me, I want him to win as well.
“I’m sure another rider will take his place on the leaderboard. But some people are unforgettable, you know?”
I breathe out a small laugh. “Yeah. I know.”
A gust of wind whips up, and Frank turns to the two teenagers working with him.
“Get everything strapped down, boys. We have a couple of other stops to make before the storm rolls in.” He points to the dark cloud forming above a far peak. “They’re forecasting a doozy.”
“I heard that. We’re counting on the hail cloth to protect the flowers from the worst of it.” My throat feels suddenly dry, and not from thoughts of the impending storm. There’s an unsettled feeling in my chest, like I’m missing something important about the man I’ve been sharing my bed with.
My kids are lounging on the sofa watching a movie when I stop in at the house to check on them before doing what I can to finish getting the property storm ready. They look content and comfortable, like this is exactly where they belong.
“I’m going to designate this as an official slow Sunday,” I tell them.
“Does that mean we can watch all the TV we want?” Laurel asks hopefully. “All the shows and no chores?”
“Maybe not all the shows,” I answer, wrinkling my nose. “But definitely no chores. Let’s ask Chase if he’ll drive us into town for pizza after the rain passes.”
“And ice cream,” Laurel adds quickly.
I smile at that. Someone inherited my sweet tooth. “As many scoops as you want.”
“I want twelve,” my daughter announces. “Or maybe two,” she amends when I raise a brow.
“Mommy, are you going to have a slow Sunday?” Luke asks.
The hope in his voice makes my chest feel tight. I don’t regret working so hard, but sometimes I just want to be their mom, not the woman always rushing to get everything done. “I need to make sure everything’s buttoned with the weather heading our way, but then I will.”
“You used to like bubble baths before we moved in with Nana,” my daughter reminds me.
“You’re right, sweetheart. My Sunday night treat after one scoop…” I hold up a finger. “Will be a bubble bath.”
“I really want to stay here.” Laurel flashes her new gap-toothed smile.
Luke sits up a little straighter. “Me too.”
“Me three,” I make my voice light, as if the thought of our future hasn’t been weighing on me. “I’m meeting with someone from the bank next week to discuss—”
The blare of several sharp horn honks in a row cuts through my words. Even before I look out the front window to the man climbing out of the beat-up pickup, I know the visitor isn’t someone I want here.
“Get your ass out here, Chase!” Malcolm Calhoun shouts, looking between the Airstream and the house. “You think you can ignore me? Is that how I raised you?”
“Mommy, what’s going on?”
“Stay here,” I tell my kids as I walk out the front door.
Chase is already jogging toward his father. “Go away, old man,” he says, his voice so cold it’s like a glacier just slid across the property.
“Not until you explain what the hell you think you’re doing.”
“What I’m doing is no business of yours.”
“It’s okay, Molly,” Chase says, meeting my gaze over his father’s shoulder. “He’s leaving.”
“The fuck I am,” his dad snaps, then turns to me. “Does your mother-in-law know you’re shacking up with my son?”
Normally, the kind of rage radiating from Malcolm would send me into a fit of stuttering and stammering to explain myself. Even though I’m still working on being an advocate for myself, I have no problem using my voice to defend Chase.
“Actually, she arranged it, and you aren’t welcome here, Mr. Calhoun.”
He blinks a few times, as if he expected me to cower in the face of his bluster.
“I won’t be long,” he tells me, then turns back to his son. “Why aren’t you signed up for the rodeo? It’s your chance to prove to everyone you’ve still got it.”
“I’m not interested, and I’ve got nothing to prove,” Chase says. His voice is calm, but I hear the edge of temper—and something more—lacing his tone.
“I wasn’t making a request,” his father says. “I’m telling you. Get your ass on that entry sheet.”
Chase shakes his head, running a hand across his neck. “No.”
“You aren’t letting one damn bull end your career,” his dad insists.
Chase steps back as if his father landed a physical blow. The wind whips dust across the driveway, and angry clouds swirl in the sky like they’re gathering for their own fight.
Malcolm jabs a gnarled finger at Chase. “I didn’t raise you to be a pu--.”
“I don’t give a fuck how you think you did or didn’t raise me,” Chase answers. “This is not about you.”
“It’s about you being soft and giving up when things get hard.” His dad steps forward until the two men are standing boot to boot. “I’m fucking telling you to man up.”
He shoves Chase hard, but Chase holds his ground like he was expecting it.
“You need to leave.”
“Maybe I’ll find a way to talk to your mother about this. See if she can—”
“Don’t you fucking go near her.”
“You think some banned visitor list can stop me?” His dad pushes him again. “Not going to fight back this time, huh? Because you know I can still kick your ass.”
“I’m not going to fight back because you aren’t worth it,” Chase says through gritted teeth.
I let out a little shriek as Malcolm’s fist lands with an ugly thwack on Chase’s jaw.
He staggers back but then rights himself. “Is that the best you’ve got, Dad? Felt like being punched by a toddler.”
I can already see a pink welt beginning to form on his cheek, so I know that isn’t true.
“You want more? I’ll give it to you. You know how much I can give.”
I take an automatic step forward, waiting to see what Chase will do, unsure of what I’m going to do. But before either of those things becomes clear, Luke rushes past me.
“Don’t touch him!” he shouts. “Leave him alone!”
He barrels into Chase’s father, knocking the man off balance. Before I can move, or Chase can stop it, Malcolm backhands my son, sending him to the ground in a crumpled heap.
“Luke!” Laurel and I scream at the same time.
“Gotta have a kid do your—”
Whatever Malcolm was about to say is cut off as Chase slams a fist into his father’s face.
Once, twice, then a third time.
The old man falls to his knees.
I gather Luke in my arms, tears streaming down his face. Laurel runs to join us, and I pull her close, too.
“If you ever—” Chase growls, “lay a hand on that boy—or any child—again, I will end you.”
His father’s face is a bloody mess. He flicks a gaze toward me and my kids.
“Fucking tears,” he mutters. “Weak.”
Chase grabs his father’s collar, lifts him off the ground, then punches him again with a swift uppercut to the stomach. Malcolm grunts and doubles forward.
“Chase.” I say his name softly, hoping he hears my voice. Rage rolls off him in waves, and I know what it means when that kind of anger is unleashed.
He pauses for a second, like he’s trying to rein in his temper, then yanks his father toward the truck. “Leave and don’t fucking come back.” He opens the door and shoves Malcolm inside.
His cowboy hat on the ground in front of us, Chase drags his hands through his hair and grips the side of his head. Luke, my sweet, sobbing son, crawls forward and grabs the hat as I lift Laurel to her feet.
“Back to the house,” I say.
His father is still parked, unmoving, and I don’t know what happens next. But I do know my kids don’t need to see it.
As I get to the top porch step, I hear the truck peel out, gravel spraying. The kids are already in the house, moving much faster than me.
I turn to see Chase standing there, a cloud of dust swirling around his legs, watching his father drive away. As if he can feel my eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder.
Although it’s nowhere near as bad as how his father looks, the mark on his face hurts my heart. For him and all of us. For what that man did today, and the violence I imagine he inflicted on his family for years. Does the violence end here?
Chase must be able to read the question in my eyes because he gives a slight shake of his head, then stalks toward the barn.
I don’t follow, of course. My kids need me, and I have to know they’re okay. There will be time later for Chase and me. I have to believe we still have time.