Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Willow didn’t see Dylan in the morning. He’d left with Thunder by the time she got up and went to the track to find them.
Foolishly, she’d imagined them breakfasting together, nudging his foot playfully with hers under the table of the local diner.
The entire drive back to Autumn Falls she kept cringing at where she’d allowed her imagination to take her.
When she arrived at Silver Sky Ranch, her return from New York was overshadowed by Thunder’s win at the track.
She had to act like it was the first she’d heard about it when Noah came striding across the yard as she drove in, Rocky trotting next to him, and the first thing he said was, “My horse crossed the line first.”
Willow wanted to say, “She’s not your horse, she’s my horse.” Feeling super protective of Thunder. But really, she was Dylan’s horse, whatever any of them said. She imagined Dylan would say that she didn’t belong to anyone.
It didn’t matter ’cause Willow couldn’t say any of it, just feigned surprise and smiled. “Did you go?” she asked, hating the fact she was lying.
Noah shook his head, walked with her toward the house. “No, not this time. I’d like to see her race, though.”
Willow imagined Noah driving past as she was kissing Dylan in front of the motel.
How could she have been so impulsive? And why hadn’t Dylan waited for her that morning?
She wondered if he was kicking himself for telling her that snippet about his past. She wanted to ask Noah if he knew what life had been like for Dylan and Tyler, but then she’d have to admit to having been at the track.
And the information seemed too precious to blurt out to her brother, even one as discreet as Noah.
When they went inside the main house, the kitchen was empty. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”
“Dad had an appointment at the doctor,” Noah replied, going to the fridge to get a Coke.
Willow frowned. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing, it’s a check-up. I think they check his medication, that kind of thing. He hates it.”
She sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, gave Rocky a stroke, torn because she was still mad at her dad, but she hated to think of him weak and vulnerable.
Noah flicked open the can. “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”
“I’m fine,” she replied.
He huffed a laugh. “Always fine.” Then he strolled back out to the yard and the dog followed.
Willow sat forward, her head in hands, hair falling forward hiding her face. She hated the lies. She was meant to be back in Autumn Falls relaxing, not living with her stomach in knots.
She put her head on the table reliving that moment back at the racetrack, the shared elation of Thunder crossing the line first, the darkened bar, the spontaneous line dancing. The dusky walk, the kiss outside the motel.
Why didn’t he wait for her?
She went and put her bag away in her bedroom.
For the first time as she walked in the room, she noticed how many of the items remained from her childhood.
There was a selection of dance trophies on the shelf by the window.
On the walls were framed prints of art she liked when she was fifteen and had never considered whether it was still to her taste.
There was a box of jewelry that she never wore, winning dance outfits vacuum-packed for posterity under the bed, old T-shirts in the dresser, books that she loved as a teenager.
Even a windchime a school friend had given her hanging on the window latch.
In the past, it had all given her a burst of nostalgia, whereas now, walking in, it seemed to reflect how little she had changed within the family, memories of a role she couldn’t let go.
She changed into her trackpants and a vest and headed out to the studio, felt perhaps if she spent more time in there alone it would be easier to concentrate on the work she needed to get done.
She hadn’t been in the studio on her own for a long time.
Despite the sun streaking in through the dusty windows, there was an eeriness to the place, a quiet like she was stepping into another life.
It made her remember how, not so long ago, all she wanted to do all day long was practice; the hours that slipped away unnoticed as she lost herself in the music.
Whatever was going on in her life, it all disappeared when she stepped into character, shedding the skin of herself.
She chose some music on her phone—then turned it off because it was annoying—and took her place at the barre, in front of the mirror.
She started with a couple of exercises, but the more she tried to concentrate, the more she kept seeing Dylan’s face.
Saw their evening together in snapshots.
Remembered what it was like to sit opposite him in the bar, listening to him talk about his life; words like gold dust that she had ached to hear in the past—back in a time when all her thoughts were consumed by Dylan Hawkins.
When every time she tried to get closer, he’d slip through her fingers like sand.
She paused at the barre, remembering how bereft and bewildered she’d felt standing at Thunder’s empty stall that morning. How could he do this to her again?!
It was okay, she was different now. She would leave soon enough, resume her old life and things would carry on as they always had done.
But as she started her exercises again, staring straight at her own reflection she wondered who she was looking at. Who this person was with the long loose curls, the perpetual flutter in her stomach and the darting, distracted eyes.
She was saved from her own thoughts by her mom popping her head around the studio door. “I saw your car! What are you doing back?”
Willow was asking herself the same question. She tried her best to play down her return and said with a shrug, “I think I can get better here quicker.”
“I agree.” Her mom came over to her and tucked her hair behind her ear. Willow tried not to think of when Dylan used to do the same in their teens. “Although, you look better to me than you did when you left. Your face looks more radiant.”
“Country air,” Willow replied cringing, uncertain if she’d ever lied so deliberately to her mom before. “How’s Dad?”
“Oh, he’s all right.” Martha looked around the studio, brushing dust off the window ledge. “He just hates getting old, you know that. Doesn’t like resting, doesn’t like doing nothing. Like someone else I know.” She raised her brows pointedly in Willow’s direction.
Willow raised her eyebrows back in defiance, but then smiled. “I’m done out here, anyway,” she said, and they walked out the studio together.
At the house, she saw her dad sitting on the veranda before he saw her.
He had his eyes closed, sun on his face.
It was hard to see him look tired and older.
He had always filled the screen in her life.
Looking at him in his familiar patchwork shirt now looser around the collar, leather vest and old jeans that were pulled in an extra notch on his belt buckle, she suddenly realized how much she’d missed him, how awful it made her feel that he wasn’t talking to her when she left.
She went hesitantly over to his chair, felt the wariness of rejection as she said, “Hey, Dad.”
He opened his eyes, looked her up and down for a moment then he nodded. “Couldn’t keep away?”
She shook her head.
He huffed, but there was an infinitesimal glimmer of pleasure on his face, then he closed his eyes again and said, “You’re blocking out my sun.”
Willow smiled and bent over to hug him hello. He smelled like the ranch and childhood.
He patted her arm without opening his eyes.
She pressed her cheek against his rough one, trying to forget about all her deceptions just happy for the chance to be his little Willow again.