Chapter 18 #2
Amelia walks back toward me, the worry still etched on her face, though it’s softened a bit.
“Please make sure my kid doesn’t break a leg or anything.”
“He’ll be fine,” I tell her as she approaches. “I promise.”
“I know.” She glances back at her son briefly before she sighs and brings her eyes back to me. “I should get going.”
“Knock ‘em dead at the market. We’ll be here when you get back.”
She stares at me for a beat, then nods before making her way to the car. When she finally drives away, I turn toward the paddock where Dylan’s waiting.
“Ready to meet Bluebell properly?” I call out, heading his way.
“This cornbread is awesome,” Dylan says between mouthfuls, his legs swinging beneath the porch swing. “Way better than the stuff Mom buys at the store.”
I chuckle, taking a long sip of sweet tea.
“It’s a dupe of an old family recipe. My grandmother was the queen of cornbread, and my Granddaddy was obsessed with hers.
After she died, he begged our cook, Judy, to recreate the recipe.
She’s gotten close over the years, but it still tastes like something is missing. ”
“Taste pretty good to me. Maybe the thing that’s missing is your grandma being the one who makes it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s some pretty wise stuff, kid. I think you might just be right.”
“What can I say? I’m a pretty smart kid.”
He pops another piece of cornbread into his mouth, and a laugh escapes me.
Not only is Dylan smart, but he’s funny too, and he did amazingly with his first lesson.
The kid’s got an instinct for it, knows how to communicate with the horse without speaking a word.
It’s something you can’t teach. You either have it or you don’t, and Dylan has it.
His father is a fucking fool for not wanting to spend as much time as possible with him.
“Hey,” I say gently. “You did really good today. I’m proud of you.”
Dylan beams at the compliment, brushing crumbs from his shirt. “Thanks, I had fun.” He glances away, his cheeks reddening slightly. “I like it here.”
“I’m glad. You can come by anytime.”
His eyes cut back to me. “Really?”
The kid has no idea that I want him and his mother here every day. That I’ve been dreaming of the day I can make it a reality.
“Really,” I confirm, my tone firm. “I just gotta convince your mom that she’s wanted here too. Got any tips for me?”
His brows shoot up, a crooked smile blooming on his face. “You like her.”
There’s no point in denying it. Dylan isn’t a little kid. He’s twelve years old and when I was his age, I hated when people talked to me like I was too young to understand anything. I suppose that’s why I confirm his suspicion.
“Guilty.”
He laughs. “I knew it.”
“Are you okay with that?”
He pops a shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I be? You seem like a cool guy and my mom can use someone in her corner. She’s always doing things by herself.” He pauses for a beat. “Remember when I told you she was bored?”
I nod.
“I think she’s more lonely than bored. But I don’t got any tips for you. She never listens to me. I’ve been trying to convince her that pizza rolls are one of the major food groups, and she keeps hiding broccoli in my pasta.”
I laugh, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “Hiding veggies in your food? That’s classic mom stuff.”
But his words about Amelia being lonely rather than bored stick with me. I’m going to fill her life with so much joy, she’ll never feel lonely again.
The distant rumble of a motorcycle engine cuts through our conversation. Dylan perks up, watching as the bike makes its way up the driveway, kicking up dirt in its wake.
“Is that Shadow?” Dylan asks
“Looks like it.”
The bike rolls to a stop near the porch steps, and Shadow kills the engine. He removes his helmet, running a hand through his hair before nodding at both of us.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little cousin and the cowboy who’s corrupting him,” he says with a grin, climbing the steps to the porch.
Dylan laughs. “I’m not corrupted. I’m a rider now.”
“No shit?” Shadow raises an eyebrow, accepting the glass of tea I offer him. “The lesson went that good?”
“Kid’s got talent,” I say. “Took to Bluebell like they’ve known each other for years.”
Shadow nods approvingly at Dylan. “Not surprised. Got good blood in him.” He takes a long drink of tea, then sets his glass down. “Mind if I borrow Maddox for a minute, buddy? Got some boring grown-up stuff to discuss.
Dylan shrugs, clearly disappointed at being excluded but too cool to show it. “Whatever. Can I have more cornbread?”
“Knock yourself out,” I tell him, then follow Shadow down the porch steps and around to the side of the house, out of earshot.
His expression shifts as soon as we’re alone, his easy smile replaced by something more serious.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I spoke to Amelia about Russell. Did you know he went by the bar and asked her for money?”
That motherfucker.
“No,” I growl. “The balls on him.”
“Yeah,” Shadow agrees. “The bastard hasn’t paid child support in God knows how long, and he has the audacity to ask her for money.”
Anger blooms in my chest. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone as much as I want to fucking hurt Russell Cain.
“Anyway,” Shadow continues. “After my conversation with Amelia, I did some digging into Russell.”
My shoulders tense. “And?”
“Got himself a fancy new job.” Shadow’s expression darkens. “With Landry Oil.”
“You’re shitting me.” I glance back at the porch to make sure Dylan can’t hear us. “What’s that asshole doing working for them?”
Shadow shakes his head. “That’s the thing—I can’t figure it out. Man’s got no skills that would be useful to an oil company. No education, no experience in the industry.”
“That can’t be a coincidence,” I say, clenching my jaw.
“Definitely not.” He lowers his voice further. “Think about it—Russell suddenly takes an interest in Dylan again, starts calling him non-stop, and now he’s working for the company that tried to take your land?”
“You think they’re using him to get to me somehow?” The thought makes my blood boil. “Using Dylan as leverage?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’m gonna find out.” Shadow’s eyes narrow. “Got one of my guys tailing him. We’ll see where he goes, who he talks to.”
I don’t like this one fucking bit.
“One more thing,” Shadow adds, his expression serious. “I’m not telling Amelia about any of this. No reason to drag her back into Russell’s bullshit unless we know for sure there’s something to worry about.”
“Agreed.” The last thing Amelia needs is more stress from this motherfucker. “We keep this between us until we know more.”
Shadow claps me on the shoulder. Dylan bounds down the porch steps toward us, cornbread crumbs still on his shirt.
“Are you guys done with your secret meeting?” he asks, eyeing us suspiciously.
Shadow chuckles, immediately shifting back to his carefree demeanor. “All done, buddy.”
“Cool.” Dylan turns to me. “Hey, Maddox, can I ride Bluebell again? I want to show Shadow what I learned today.”
I exchange a quick glance with Shadow, who nods subtly.
“Sure thing, kid,” I say, ruffling his hair. “Let’s go saddle her up and show him what you’re made of.”
Dylan takes off toward the barn. As I follow him, I can’t shake the uneasy feeling in my gut. Russell working for Landry Oil can’t be a coincidence. Something’s up, and I need to figure out what it is before it causes trouble for Amelia and Dylan.
“Mom’s back,” Dylan says as Amelia’s car rounds the bend.
“Looks like it.” I straighten up, patting Bluebell’s flank. “Why don’t you go grab your backpack from the porch while I talk to your mom?”
Dylan nods and jogs off as I make my way toward Amelia’s car. She steps out looking tired but beautiful, her hair slightly windblown and cheeks flushed from the heat. Our eyes meet, and for a brief moment, I see something soften in her expression before her walls go back up.
“How’d it go?” she asks, glancing past me toward the barn.
“I’m happy to report all his limbs are intact. He’s a natural. Kid’s got an instinct with horses that can’t be taught.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “You should stay for dinner.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Dinner?”
“Judy’s been cooking all afternoon. Made enough food to feed an army.”
Amelia hesitates, and I can see the conflict playing across her face. “I don’t know, Maddox. It’s been a long day...”
“All the more reason not to cook tonight.” I take another step closer. “The kid had a blast today. Let him end on a high note with a good meal. He’s already a big fan of Judy’s cornbread.”
“I’m exhausted,” she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “The market was packed, and I was on my feet for hours.”
“Perfect. Sit on my porch, drink some sweet tea, and let someone else worry about feeding you and your boy tonight.”
Let me take care of you.
Her lips quirk up slightly. “You’re persistent.”
“One of my better qualities.”
She shakes her head. “Thank you for the offer, but we should really get home.”
I want to press her, but I know pushing too hard will only make her retreat faster.
“Rain check, then.”
“Maybe.” She glances toward the house. “I should get Dylan.”
“He’s grabbing his stuff.” I step back, giving her space.
She turns toward her car, then pauses. “Oh, I almost forgot.”
She reaches into the back seat and pulls out a brown paper bag, then extends it toward me. Inside is a rustic loaf of bread.
“It’s the jalapeno cheddar sourdough that Dylan offered you the other night,” she explains, a small smile playing at her lips. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest. “You got me my own load of bread.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Don’t read too much into it.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I close the distance between us, one hand cupping the back of her neck as I pull her into a kiss. It’s not gentle or tentative. It’s hungry and demanding, my tongue sliding against hers as I back her up against the car.
For a few seconds, she kisses me back just as greedily, her fingers clutching my shirt. Then, just as suddenly, she pushes against my chest, breaking away.
“Maddox,” she hisses, her eyes darting past me. “Dylan is right there.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Dylan standing on the porch, backpack slung over one shoulder, watching us with an amused expression.
“Dylan approves,” I tell her, turning back to meet her flustered gaze. “You’re the only one that needs to get on board.”
Her cheeks flush even deeper, but she doesn’t argue. That’s progress.
“We’re leaving,” she says firmly, though there’s a tremor in her voice that betrays her. “Thank you for today.”
“Anytime,” I respond, still close enough to feel her breath against my lips. “I mean that.”
Any time at all.