Chapter 12
[Taxi]
It’s hard for me to define myself. With my humble beginnings and nomadic upbringing, I can’t say I’m a country girl or city woman, but I embrace the part of me that works with urban communities.
However, Stone Sylver put a light-colored cowboy hat on his head at some point during the day to shield his face and neck from the sun, and I realize I might have an inner cowgirl streak down deep.
He’s still wearing the hat at night, and I might be a teeny-tiny bit tipsy from Mary Haven’s extra special lemonade.
My head is a mess, but my body is screaming: Save a horse, ride the sheriff.
“What?” Genie giggles beside me. Her head turns from me to Stone and back, causing her short curls to bounce around her head. “You got the hots for Stone?”
Shit. Did I say my thoughts aloud?
Genie knocks her shoulder into mine as we share a blanket again, watching Stone and Knox set off fireworks a safe distance from the party.
I simply hum in response to her question, keeping my gaze fixated on the man who is hard to make out in the dark except for that cowboy hat.
But I know him. In the sense, my palm is still tingling from where I touched him earlier, feeling the firmness of his chest, heart racing beneath shower-fresh skin.
“He’s the best,” Genie adds, as if that word encapsulates everything when it sums up nothing.
I don’t know what the best even means, but the more I stare at Stone, the more I want to find out.
“Meaning?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Well, first, there’s the fact he raised his siblings while his dad was deep in the bottle.” Genie makes a sign with her hands, tipping her thumb toward her lips while her pinky rides up in the air.
“Then, you’ve got him giving up his future to raise the younger set after his dad died.”
“What?” I whisper, staring into the darkness around Stone, watching a flame flicker from a long-necked lighter as he sets the firework container alight.
“Yeah. After Judd went to college. Guess that makes it around the same time you were in art school,” Genie adds, because we’ve already traded our paths. Both art school attendees. Both artists in our own right.
“Stone came home to raise Knox, Ford, Sebastian, and Vale.” She tilts her head, questioning me.
I pause a second, continuing to watch Stone, holding my breath when a firework pops into the air with a woosh. But the real reason my breathing falters is that I hadn’t known this fact in Stone’s history. As Genie said, it happened after I’d left Sterling Falls.
Another similarity between us.
When our mother was taken away, I felt responsible for Sedona and Jolene.
Not that a ten-year-old had the wherewithal to be accountable to a one- and three-year-old, but I’ll never forget huddling in the back of a police car, holding my sisters to my side, frightened about what was happening, while at the same time wondering how I was going to take care of them.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry long. Trudy Wallace was our next of kin. At least for them. Their daddy and mine were two different men.
“I . . . I didn’t know,” I say weakly, keeping my gaze fixed on the man, lit up by the explosion overhead. The burst of incandescent yellow. A crackle of rusty orange behind it.
“Anyway. Stone is just a really great guy.” She chuckles. “Well, he’s more like a good man. There’s a difference.”
Strangely, I know what she means. Some guys are just guys. Fun to be around, great for a good time, easy to hang with. But a man . . . he’s different. He’s sturdy and confident, compassionate and playful. He isn’t just a good time but a rock when things go bad.
The day has been full of surprising bursts of information, like a firework dangling overhead before disappearing into the dark.
Stone had been engaged. Stone lost his best friend. There’d been mention of both his parents being dead. He’d raised his siblings.
And another plot twist, he’s the town sheriff.
I guess I knew this information as well, but had somehow placed it aside in my mind, blocking anything that involves law enforcement. My relationship with the law leans toward a distrust of the system. A lack of enforcement resulted in a loss of faith in them.
But those thoughts are heavy for a brain already weighed down by the other things I’ve learned about Stone Sylver as I’ve observed him throughout the day.
He loves his family, first and foremost. You can see it in the subtle smiles he gives to them, or without them noticing. When he dips his eyes, but curls his lips, at something they said, either to tease him or each other.
He has grace for those who have done him wrong, as I’ve surmised from the snippets I’ve gathered about Cortland Haven and Stone’s past friendship. The loss of that relationship. And the patience he’s offering his sister, who is so obviously in love with his former best friend.
Stone is also kind. He doted on Trudy and Mary throughout the day, even giving in to their slightly tipsy behavior, letting them tease him about how handsome he’s become and what a fine partner he’d make for any woman.
There was even a jab or two about Emerson Milton and her loss. How she was a fool when it came to him.
And all these tidbits had me questioning myself even more.
I’m not staying.
But—for hypothetical sake—what would it feel like to be involved with a man like him?
A man who cherishes family, lets two old ladies flirt with him, and offers gentle tolerance to a complex situation.
A man with a beautiful home and a steady job, albeit that employment conflicts with something deep-seated inside me.
That last one might be the hardest to overcome, and I weakly use it as another excuse not to get involved with Stone Sylver.
I’m not staying.
My what-if scenarios are as devoid as a spent firework.
Shortly after the finale of the celebration in the sky, everyone starts packing up. Blankets are folded. Chairs collapsed. Trash picked up. Exhausted little ones have fallen asleep.
Eventually, with Trudy’s arm looped in mine, I assist her to the car, which she’ll need to drive because I’ve had an extra Mary-Haven-lemonade my mixed-up emotions didn’t need.
Simon climbs into the back seat.
As I hold open the driver’s door for Aunt Trudy, an electric ripple crackles down my spine. The sensation rivals the firework show and has me standing straighter, hyperaware of his approach before Stone reaches the side of the car.
“I want to thank you all for coming.” His voice is low, quiet and rugged, and I close my eyes for a moment, allowing the sound to wash over me, imprinting itself.
How would he speak if he were over me? Under me?
I shake the thought and spin toward him. Trudy gives Stone another easy hug before slipping into the driver’s seat, leaving us alone.
Stone and I face off. His eyes are on me in a way that’s steady, assessing, almost measuring, but there’s heat in those soft blues, barely contained, and easily discernible, even in the pale moonlight.
His jaw tightens, shoulders broad and still, a quiet tension in his stance that makes my stomach twist.
My pulse spikes and I realize I’m pressing my weight slightly forward, wanting on . . . what? To see him better? To challenge him? My fingers twitch against my leg, and I can’t prevent the faint heat creeping up my neck.
Eventually, he holds out his hand. The movement is stiff, business-like, controlled.
“Taxi.” He pauses on my name, and anticipation builds, stealing my breath as if I’m hopeful of what he’ll say without knowing what I want that hope to mean.
“It’s been a pleasure,” he finally adds, but his eyes tell a different story.
“Same,” I say, forcing my hand to meet his.
His skin is warm and firm, and the contact sets additional sparks through me.
My knees feel oddly weak, but I plant my feet.
Conflict rises like a tide. I don’t regret his touch.
I want more. My mind protests, but my body betrays me, leaning slightly closer even as I try to remain aloof.
“You ever need anything . . . ” He exhales softly. “I’m always here for you.”
We pause another beat, one matching the skip in my chest.
He’s here for me?
Then Stone nods once, releases my hand, and steps back, calm, composed, cracking the tension between us.
“Y’all drive safe.”
Instantly, I want to reach for his hand again.
Instead, in my head I whisper, Goodbye, Samson.