Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Dylan sat on the steps of the house looking out of the ranch, Elvis asleep at his feet, the sky above him darkening to violet.
He’d been a whisker away from riding Thunder straight back to the Carter ranch and leaving her in their paddock.
It was only when he went to saddle her up that he found he couldn’t do it.
There she was, head over the stall, watching the birds bathing in the dust, a calm about her that he wanted to protect.
She showed too much promise, looked at him too expectantly to be given up on.
He’d gone about his work, trying not to think too much about Emmett Carter’s face, the expression on it, like Dylan was nothing better than muck from the barn. After all those years, and he could still make him feel like that.
He thought about Willow, how she’d hung her head and obediently climbed into the truck.
Emmett Carter despised him and everything that he represented. He couldn’t jump that hurdle. Not in this town.
He didn’t want to be somewhere where history defined his character.
So why was he still there?
He glanced down at the sleeping dog. “Why are we here, Elvis? We should be long gone.”
He let out a breath, looking down at the dry earth by the steps, kicking it with his bare heel. There was an untouched bottle of beer next to him. The air was cool, made him tuck his arms around himself.
He glanced over at the barn, quiet and shadowed. He’d said goodbye to horses he loved before now. Since he’d left Autumn Falls, he’d never once stayed somewhere he didn’t want to be. Tied himself to no one. So why was he still sitting here?
He thought of Willow riding out beside him into the mist.
He thought of her with her hair on top of her head, sweating and dirty as she shoveled out the horse stalls.
He thought of her with her hand on his chest under the willow tree as they hid from Brodie and his daughter.
Dylan stood up, irritated with himself. He paced the veranda, back and forth a couple of times, then stopped, arms braced against the railing, head hung, eyes closed.
You can help me by getting the heck out of my sight.
He smacked the wood with his fist. The whole structure shook like it might collapse.
Elvis barked.
Suddenly the entire place lit up in the glare of headlights.
Dylan straightened up, narrowing his eyes against the brightness, unable to see who it was.
Fear rose in his chest that it was Emmett, back maybe with his sons ready to really teach him a lesson.
He glanced around looking for something he might defend himself with but there were only a couple of old chairs. He wouldn’t fight anyone anyway.
Instead, he steeled himself to try and reason with them, but when the headlights cut out, he saw it was a black Mercedes with rental plates. He frowned, that wasn’t what Emmett drove.
Then the door opened and out hopped Willow. Hair sleek and straight and plaited in a loose braid, all dressed up in a short floral dress and boots.
Dylan could barely adjust to the change.
He’d been all ready to try and talk his way out of a fight and here was Willow Carter, slamming the car door and walking as quick as she could his way, her face shadowed by the dusk, her hair shining in the last remaining rays of sun.
She glanced furtively behind her as she approached.
Cautiously he pushed off the veranda where he’d been watching, his body caught by an unexpected shiver of interest.
She climbed the steps to meet him. “I can’t stay long. I’m not meant to be here.”
He wondered what she was going to say. That she was leaving for New York. Or even forewarning him that her brothers were on their way over.
She seemed awkward, nervous maybe. She said, “I got a new car.”
It was so unexpected, it made him laugh.
“One that doesn’t have a GPS app on my dad’s phone.” She smiled despairingly as she tilted her head and said, “Dylan, I’m really sorry about my dad.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” The simple fact of her being there made it all seem suddenly much less important.
“I do worry about it, though,” she said. “He didn’t even give you a chance to talk.” She sighed exasperated, ran a hand over her smooth hair to tuck a few escaped tendrils away. “I can’t talk to him. It’s impossible. I just—I’m sorry.”
He was half a head taller than her, always had been, and as he looked down at her as she spoke, he found his hands itched to reach forward and touch her hair, trace the line of her cheekbones. He put them in his pockets. He really should have left town. Maybe now she’d said that, he would.
“I’m meant to be on my way to The Firestone, I’ve literally only got a minute or two, I just didn’t want to leave it overnight, you thinking that I agreed with him, that I thought how he acted was okay.”
She was looking about her, wound up tight like a spring. He wanted to tell her it was fine, that it didn’t matter, that when it came to Emmett, he probably deserved it. Yet at the same time he wanted her to keep talking, liked hearing her fighting his corner.
“You probably don’t care, you know, you hate us, but well, I thought just in case…
” She seemed to lose her track of thought, bit her lip and looked up at him frowning in confusion, face all made up for a night out, hair sleek, wearing her beautiful dress, smelling of expensive perfume and a delicate chain hanging around her neck with a tiny ballet shoe on it.
He really should have got out of town.
He really should have just thanked her for the apology and sent her on her way.
Because then Willow wouldn’t have had the chance to reach up, place both hands on his face and, on tiptoes, kiss him with the spontaneity and quick abandon of someone doing something before their brain can stop them.