28. Dallas
DALLAS
The plague has struck me down. I’ve never felt so sick in my entire life.
I roll over in bed, my head pounding. The urge to check on the boys overcomes me. The instinctual feeling that they might not be breathing or something could’ve happened to them forces me to my feet.
Now that I think about it, I don’t even remember going to bed or anything from last night. I trudge down the hall, my panic starting to build.
When I push open the door to the boys’ room, my body relaxes. They’re sound asleep on the queen-size bed. They kicked the covers off, and they’re dressed in clean pajamas.
Hmm, okay. Go, me. Zombie mom still got it.
I make my way into the kitchen in search of a glass of water. It’s pitch-black, so I flip on the lamp by the sofa.
My heart jumps into my throat when I see the dark shape of a large man on the sofa.
Duke’s eyes pop open, and he leans up. “Hey, you okay?”
“Uh, I was just getting water.”
What is he doing here?
The memories of the night before flood through my mind.
Duke came over, cleaned up the house, fed me chicken noodle soup, and must have put the boys to bed for me.
Duke, my unbelievably hot cowboy neighbor. Orgasm master.
Possible murderer.
I take a step back. “I’m good now. You can go back home.”
He blinks at me, his brows lowering in confusion. I’m sure it’s odd for him, considering we were screwing on the open lawn in broad daylight only days ago.
But I’m still processing everything Eden told me.
If what she said is true, I don’t actually know how safe the boys and I are here at Redford Ranch.
She didn’t tell me many details about her ex or what had happened that could justify such violence.
Maybe there’s more to the story, but I’m too tired to think about it right now.
Duke swings his legs over the side of the sofa and rises to stand. I don’t remember what he was wearing before, but now he’s in a pair of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that’s molded to his biceps.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I nod.
He studies my face for another few moments before slowly nodding and heading for the door.
Both of our attention is redirected when one of the boys starts crying from the bedroom. I rush toward the door and swing it open, the sour stench of vomit meeting my nostrils instantly.
“Oh, baby.”
Dutton is sitting up, vomit coating the front of his pajamas and his side of the bed on the sheets. He’s crying and hiccupping, his tiny arms reaching out toward me.
I move over to him, nausea rolling through me. I hold my breath to avoid the smell.
“Honey, it’s okay. Mommy’s here. Let’s get you into the shower to clean up.”
I take him into the bathroom, noticing Duke lingering out in the hallway. I quickly undress Dutton in the shower and rinse his clothes off before giving him a shower. He whines the whole time, but I make quick work of it, nearly regurgitating the soup Duke made me for dinner more than once.
When I finally finish, I wrap him in a towel and carry him to my bed.
“I’m going to get you some clean jammies. Wait right here.”
I kiss him on the forehead and go back out to the hallway, mentally preparing myself to clean up the puke from the sheets.
When I enter the room again, expecting to see Dawson still sleeping on the bed, I pause, gaping at the scene.
The bed has been stripped and remade with clean sheets and a new blanket. Dawson isn’t in it anymore. I grab Dutton’s clean pajamas from the drawer and wander back into the living room, finding my baby in Duke’s arms as he rocks him back and forth on the rocking chair.
My mouth dries up.
“Did you—”
He lifts a finger to his lips, but doesn’t make a sound. Dawson’s eyes are half closed, and he looks completely content in Duke’s arms. Moisture builds up on the lower rim of my eyes.
I turn around, hurrying back to Dutton. I dress him and lay him down on my pillow. He curls up, grabbing my hand.
“Mommy, stay.”
I sigh, lying down beside him and wrapping my arms around him. “Sorry you’re sick, bubba.”
“Why do I throw up, Mommy?”
“Your tummy is just upset.”
“I don’t like my tummy anymore.”
I laugh, kissing his cheek. “Go to sleep. You’ll feel better soon.”
After a few minutes, his breathing evens out.
I slowly get up. His body heat, combined with my fever, is making me feel lightheaded.
I exit the room just in time to see Duke carrying Dawson back into his room.
He walks out empty-handed, and we both pause to stare at each other for a few tense seconds.
“Why’d you do that?” I finally say.
“Do what?”
“Clean up that mess.” I swallow, thinking about how he took care of the disaster in the boys’ bedroom so I wouldn’t have to.
Matt would never do that. He despised cleaning up vomit and refused to do it.
Maybe I’m an idiot for not seeing the kind of man Duke is until now and not considering a relationship.
When I look back at everything that’s happened and where we are now, even if he did murder Eden’s baby daddy, I don’t think it would be a deal-breaker.
My gut tells me he must’ve had a damn good reason to.
But my instincts aren’t trustworthy. My gut has been extremely wrong before.
On top of that, I don’t even know if I’m capable of loving a man again—ever. That part of me feels broken beyond repair. My heart feels tender and bruised, like it’s barely started to heal.
If it didn’t work out, I couldn’t withstand that heartbreak. It would shatter me.
“I feel like death. Do you know what time it is?”
“Four a.m. I’m gonna head to the pharmacy to get your meds when it opens in two hours. I’ll pick up breakfast.”
“Thank you for your help.”
He nods, studying me.
“What?”
He sighs, shaking his head. “Nothing. Let’s talk more tomorrow before you pass out. Go back to bed.”
“Who is this guy?”
“He’s just my neighbor. He got my meds for me and helped with the boys while I was sick, Dad.”
“I don’t know if I want some stranger around my grandkids.”
“He’s not a stranger. I’ve been friends with his sister-in-law for years now.”
“Just be careful, pumpkin.”
“I will, Dad. I just got to work. I have to go.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up the phone, releasing a deep exhale. I’m at work earlier than usual because I have bar prep tonight.
After slicing up the limes and oranges, I start stacking up new glasses.
“Hey, Dallas! You wanna come practice with me? I need to warm up.”
I look over at Steve, the guy who leads the line dancing on Saturdays. It’s a new thing they started implementing recently because of the upcoming spring showdown.
“I’m doing bar prep tonight.”
“Come on. Just a few songs! I’m working on leading.”
I sigh, shoving the cash drawer closed before exiting the bar. “Fine, two songs.”
He claps and runs over to the DJ booth to start the music. He’s a great instructor, so I’m not sure why he thinks he needs to practice.
The music for the “Cha Cha Slide” begins.
I start tapping my foot to the music. He stands a few paces in front of me.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen, let’s get down to the “Cha Cha Slide.” Let me see how smooth those soles are.”
His upbeat tone contrasts with my sour mood.
Matt has the boys again this weekend, unsupervised at his home. It’s all I can do not to spiral, thinking about it, so I’m glad for the distraction of work and line dancing.
The Swing Dance Showdown is less than a month away. I’m not competing, but I’ll be bartending and hopefully making good money from the extra onlookers it’ll bring in.
“You’re a great dancer, girl! Move those hips!” Steve claps with the beat and instructs flawlessly, grinning widely.
He’s wearing a bedazzled red rhinestone cowboy hat and a matching shirt with fringe. He’s always in a great mood, and he’s been a fun addition to Lucky’s team. He brings in a less seedy clientele than we had before with his personality and dance instruction nights.
“All right, that was fun, but I need to get back to it,” I tell him after the third song.
The bar opens in a few minutes, and I know it’s going to be a busy shift.
He pats my shoulder. “Thanks, dear. I really think you should consider competing in the showdown. I bet I could find you a partner.”
I shake my head, walking back to the bar. “I wish, Steve. I have way too much going on.”
The night races by over the next three hours. Scott comes and sits at my bar, making conversation between patrons. I’ve unfortunately realized that I’m not attracted to him. I tried to imagine having sex with him on the front lawn and him using the sprayer to get me off, and it made me cringe.
I don’t bother checking the time, but finally, Harper taps my arm and leans in to my ear.
“It’s your break.” Her red pixie cut has fresh dye on it, making it so bright that it’s almost neon in the black light.
“I like the hair.”
“Thanks.” She smiles.
I exit the bar and start walking toward the side door, only to get distracted when I see Duke on the dance floor, Madi Wright spinning out from his hand.
I’m mesmerized for a moment by the sheer smoothness of his moves. I know exactly what those hips look like on top of me, and if I let myself think about it, I know what they feel like too.
“Damn. I’ve heard he’s an absolute monster in the sack. Wish it were my turn.” A female voice speaks to my left.
My eyes flicker over to look at the brunette who spoke.
I’ve seen her around the bar a few times.
I shake my head, spinning around to escape out the back door as a cold wave of jealousy rises inside me.
Duke can do whatever he wants. He can dance with Madi and her perfect, perky boobs that haven’t gone through the physical trauma of breastfeeding.
He can dance with and screw every girl here. I’m dating other people. I told him I didn’t want any type of commitment right now.
And I meant it.
I lift my chin, finding the hallway toward the back of the building.
Do not cry. Do not cry.
I pass by the restroom line and a couple making out in the shadows. I’m reaching for the metal bar to push the door open when someone grabs my hand and pulls me back.
I flip around, slamming into a hard chest.
“Hey,” he says.
My eyes travel up the white button-down shirt, open at the top, to the hardened jawline and bright blue eyes.
“What?” I breathe out, wishing it sounded angrier and less horny.
“Where are you running off to?”
“Break.”
He licks his lips, still holding my hand. “Dance with me?”
I suck in a breath, shaking my head. “I’m at work.”
“Just one song.”