Chapter 1 #2
If she’s covered, I won’t be tempted to keep looking.
She clutches it to her chest. “I’m fine, but thank you.”
“Suit yourself,” I say under my breath. I lean forward, pulling my shirt off and tossing the wet clothing in the back.
She shifts, turning her body toward the window, and I smirk. I reach back behind me, grabbing another shirt and putting it on.
Before either of us can say another word, her phone rings, and she immediately answers it.
“Hello? Yes. I’m fine.” A pause. “I’m getting a ride with a neighbor.
” I snort a laugh, there’s a reason she doesn’t want to say my name.
“I understand that, but what did you want me to do? Sit out here all night? I thought you would at least try to come get me.” Another pause, and I can hear his voice getting louder.
Lark sighs heavily. “I get that it was raining, I was stuck in it—with a flat tire and I couldn’t get off the road because I was stuck in the mud. ”
The person I’m assuming is her deadbeat boyfriend is talking.
I can’t make out his words, but Lark clearly doesn’t like that response, as she damn near growls: “You know what? I’m not having this conversation right now because I’m going to say something I don’t mean.
I’m going home, Tristan is going to drive me, and we can talk tomorrow. Good night.”
She hangs up, then tosses her phone into her purse and stares out the passenger window.
I remember when my wife would do that. She’d get so angry that she couldn’t look at anyone, or she’d cry.
I learned the best way to handle it was to let her have her time, so I don’t say a word as I pull back out onto the road, heading toward the Gatlin farm.
It’s been nine years. Nine years without Emmy Jo. Nine years of raising Sadie alone.
Some days it feels like yesterday. Others it’s been a lifetime.
I don’t even make it a quarter of a mile before she shifts in her seat. “What is wrong with men? Are you all stupid?”
“Considering you’re in my truck after I just spent forty minutes in the rain helping you out, I wouldn’t lump us all together.”
“Fine, not all, but…seriously? He didn’t even make an effort. Who does that?”
“Assholes,” I answer.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Clearly that’s what I attract. He was just going to leave me out there. He figured when he didn’t hear from me, I called one of my brothers.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I knew what they’d say,” she admits.
I can’t wait to hear this one.
“Which is?”
Lark plays with the ring on her thumb. “That I should get rid of him. No one in my family likes Jeremy.”
I know that feeling. My sisters date some real winners—and by winners I mean fucking losers. Guys who would undoubtedly leave them out in the rain to possibly get hit on the side of the road. I know exactly what I’d say to them as well.
“But you keep him around,” I remind her. “Even though your brothers probably see something you don’t.”
She snorts. “Oh, now you’re siding with my brothers?”
“Not even a little. I think you should marry him. Be with a guy who treats you like garbage,” I lie. I may hate the Gatlins, but Lark isn’t lumped in with them most of the time.
She’s not out there trying to make my life hell.
If there’s one person who didn’t get the asshole gene, it’s her.
Lark has always been the kind one, trying to make peace between two families who have sworn to take the other down.
She was close with my wife, and I had to listen to her go on and on about how wrong I was about Lark.
“I have a hard time believing you’d give Harper, Veronica, or Fallon that advice,” she says with a huff.
“My sisters don’t ask me for advice.”
“I wonder why. You’re a veritable wealth of empathy and understanding.”
I grin. “I’m glad you see what I see.”
She lets out a soft giggle that causes my heart to sputter. “You know, you’re not half bad for a Stone.”
I’m not sure how to take that, but the way she says it, all soft and warm, makes me think she actually means it.
“And you’re not half bad for a Gatlin.”
I turn onto her road, and she shifts. “Well, who knew that the two of us could stand each other for even a few minutes? You can let me out here.”
I glance over at her as if she’s lost her fucking mind. “What?”
“Let me out here. I’ll walk to the front.”
“Lark, your driveway is half a mile—at least. It’s fucking pouring.” As if Mother Nature needs to put an exclamation point at the end, the thunder booms and lightning fills the sky.
“Yes, and you and I both know exactly what will happen if you pull onto my property. My brothers are probably home, and really, with all the trouble you’ve caused my family, the last thing we need is bloodshed.”
Her family is something else. They can’t even put aside their hate and pride for Lark’s sake. “It’s raining, dark, and you’re worried about your brothers or parents being mad someone didn’t leave you stranded?”
“No, I’m worried they would’ve preferred me stranded than to get help from you.”
I blink. “You’re serious?”
She nods. “It’s just better this way. I really want to keep the fighting to a minimum.”
That makes absolutely no sense. “You think they’re going to be happier that I dropped you off, in the storm, half a mile down the drive? No.”
I put the car back in drive, and she reaches across, her soft hand resting on my forearm.
“Please, Tristan, it’s…trust me, it’s better.
They’re not going to be mad. I promise, I’ll make sure they know it wasn’t your idea.
Ryan has been in a mood lately—something happened to the fence again, which I’m sure you’re aware of. ”
I tilt my head to look at her. “What does that mean?”
“We know it was you.”
I try not to feel the change in my heart rate when her hand drops away, and I tell myself it’s because she just accused me of doing something to her family’s fence.
“Me?” I ask, my voice pitching a little too high. I clear my throat and bring it back to its normal baritone. “I have no idea what the hell you’re accusing me of this time.”
“I’m not accusing you. It’s just that they spent all day trying to repair the fence, and the horses were in the wrong pasture because of it. I know you think it’s funny, but it’s causing us a lot of stress.”
I push out the air in my lungs. “For the hundredth time, neither I nor any member of my family is doing anything to your family’s fucking ranch. You know, there are other people who live in this town who don’t like you.”
Her jaw drops. “Who?”
“Oh, pick a name.”
“The Matthewses.”
Okay, they like the Gatlins. That didn’t work in my favor. “Sorry, pick another.”
Lark chews on her lower lip for a second. “Okay, the Yateses.”
This game is not working well. “You have two families in the town that do like you. All right, here’s a name. The Powells.”
She gasps. “Mrs. Powell loves me. She says I’m an absolute delight.”
“She doesn’t say that about your dad or your brothers.”
“Well, she’s old and crotchety,” Lark says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Anyway, you named one, and I named two. I win.”
Dear God. “What do you win?”
“The knowledge that other people in this town dislike us enough to cut fence lines that don’t even touch their property.”
Yes, when we settled here, the generational gods were not smiling upon us when they put us next to the Gatlins.
“I bet your brothers are doing it,” I say with disdain. “They’re probably going out there, cutting the lines just to have some reason to come after my family. Also, how the hell could I have cut your fence when I was in Wyoming for the last day and a half?”
Lark bristles, shifting in her seat as she digests that one. I can’t wait to hear this rebuttal. “We don’t know when it was done, just that we found it yesterday.”
“Right.”
Her head falls back, and she groans. “I don’t want to argue. Truly. I just…it’s tense at the house, so it’s better for all of us if you drop me off here. I promise I’ll sing you as the hero you are.”
I want to argue. I want to make sure she gets home safe and doesn’t break an ankle or have some other horrible thing happen as she tries to make it back to her house, but I’m exhausted and we’re getting nowhere.
“All right. I’ll let you out here. Under one condition,” I say quickly.
“What condition?”
“That you’ll at least text me when you get in, so I know you made it.”
Lark takes a moment before sighing heavily. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Her hand rests on the handle, and then she stops, turning back to me. “Thank you, Tristan. I really appreciate you stopping and helping. I just wanted you to know that it means a lot to me.”
The way each word feels like a shock to my heart, jolting it to come back to life, has me reeling.
I clear my throat. “You’re welcome.”
She smiles, and I resist the pull to say something else, but she does it anyway. “I’ll let you know when I get to the house.”
I nod, and she opens the door, hopping out into the rain. For some stupid reason, I speak: “Hey, Lark?”
“Yeah?”
“You should be with a man who would swim through a flood to get to you.”
Her lips part, and she blinks a few times. “Right.” She pauses and then forces a smile. “Thanks again.” She closes the door, and I see her jog down the drive, disappearing into the pouring darkness as I sit here, waiting for my chest to not feel like someone is sitting on it.
It’s been nine years. Nine years since my wife died. Nine years since I’ve felt alive, and it took one hour around Lark to suddenly feel something again.
It’s not right.
It can’t be her.
It won’t ever be Lark Gatlin.