Chapter Twenty-four
Daisy-Mae
The ride to West’s is quiet and thankfully uneventful, but I’m wracked with guilt.
I can’t help but wonder if both Cash and Lemon blame me for this mess we’re all in.
West may have pulled the trigger, but Eddie and those men were there for my house, and my thoughtlessness with hiding the deed makes them all an accessory to murder.
Fifteen minutes after turning onto ranch land, Cash takes an unmarked dirt road, and we crest a small rise and pull up to a farmhouse.
I’ve never been to West’s property, but I recognize the festoon lights from our late night facetimes.
Right now, they sway in the chill autumn breeze, and the porch light is on, but so far, no one looks to be inside the one-story barndominium.
Something on the porch moves. At first, I thought it was just a piece of furniture, but then it steps into the light. There’s a highland cow sitting on the doorstep.
“Holy shit. Is that thing going to let us past?”
“Who Ham?” Lemon asks. “He’s harmless. Of course, he should have been taking up space in my freezer, but my brother is a sucker for helpless things.”
“Like me?”
Lemon turns in her seat to look at me. “Daisy, you are far from helpless.”
I wish I believed that as much as she seems to.
“Stay here,” Cash says gruffly. He pulls a pistol from the glove compartment and flicks off the safety.
“Be careful.”
“Now, have you ladies ever known me to be reckless?” Cash winks and turns toward the house.
“Not helping,” Lemon says, as she cracks her window. I close my eyes and relish the cool air on my face, all the while resisting the urge to open my door and jump out of the vehicle the way my heart is trying to jump out of my chest.
We wait with bated breath for what feels like an eternity, and then every light in the house flickers to life and Cash appears in the doorway.
“All clear.” He slides the gun into his holster and opens Lemon’s door before helping her down.
I breathe a sigh of relief and set about unfastening Waylon’s baby carrier from the seat beside me, but it gets stuck.
Tears of frustration spring to my eyes. Waylon begins fussing, and Lemon opens my door and places a gentle hand on my arm.
Cash moves around the vehicle and accomplishes what I couldn’t in a few short seconds. This makes me cry harder.
“Hey, come on,” Lemon says. “Let’s get you settled inside.”
“This is all my fault,” I sob into her shoulder.
“No,” she says, as she hugs me tightly, her firm belly flush against my much softer one. “Daisy, none of this is your fault. It’s your dipshit ex-husband’s fault.”
“Your family has been so kind to me, and I just made you all an accessory to murder.”
“I hate to break it to you, Miss Daisy, but we’ve been through rougher times, and done much worse than this.”
“Still not helping,” Lemon says brusquely.
He shrugs one shoulder—his hands firmly gripping my son’s carrier like it might detonate. “I’m just sayin’.”
“Cash, have you ever thought of just not saying?” Lemon laughs and then takes my hand as she leads me toward her brother’s house.
***
The sound of cars pulling into the drive wakes me and several sets of headlights beam into West’s open-plan living room. I wince and rub my eyes, and then my heart races as I reach for my baby.
“He’s okay, he’s here,” Lemon says, gently patting his bottom as she cradles him in her arms.
“Oh my god. Thank you.” I press my hand to the middle of my chest and flop back against the couch.
I’d fed and changed Waylon earlier, but I couldn’t bear to set him down in his bassinet in West’s spare room, so I’d laid him on the couch beside me in a makeshift bed Lemon and I had constructed of blankets with elevated edges in case he decided today was the day to start rolling over.
He was far too little for that, all the baby books I’d read said he shouldn’t be lifting his head until one to two months, so we were a long way from rolling, but that didn’t stop my panic.
“He’s just starting to get fussy.” Lemon smiles down at him. “Probably ready for another meal.”
“When is he not? I swear, all I do these days is feed and pump.”
“Annd that’s my cue to leave,” Cash says, jumping up from the armchair beside Lemon as if his ass is suddenly on fire.
“Cash,” I call to his back. He stops and turns to look at me. “Thanks for everything.”
“Don’t sweat it,” he winks, giving me that devilish grin. “Anything for the family.”
Lemon turns her attention back on Waylon. “That binkie’s just not doing the job, is it, little man?”
“You’re so good with him.”
“Well, I had a lot of practice with Wyatt.”
“You’re gonna be an amazing mama, Lemon. I’m all left feet and the wrong steps. Waylon’s dancing a tango and I’m over here muddling my way through a twostep.”
“Now that is just not true, is it, baby Waylon? Mama is the best, isn’t she?” My son fusses, squirming in her arms. His head cants toward her, seeking milk. “I don’t have what you’re looking for just yet, but Mama does.”
“Here, I’ll take him.” I scoop him from her hands and settle in to feed, but I’m suddenly self-conscious knowing West and the others are right outside those wide glass doors.
I don’t like the fact that we can’t see out but they can see in.
It makes me wonder who else might be out there.
Is Eddie still in the land of the living, skulking around the ranch, or did he meet the same fate as the guy on my rug—in a mess of bloodied bone and brain matter?
Asshole. I know he never cared for me the way he claimed, but Waylon is his son.
How could he risk his own flesh and blood like that?
I’ll never know how he can look at himself after abandoning us, but maybe, he won’t have to for long.
***
I put Waylon to sleep in West’s bed. He might have three bedrooms in his barndominium, but only one has a bed. Which begs the question, how comfortable is his couch?
Everyone already left twenty minutes ago and it’s eerily quiet as I walk outside and join West on the porch.
“How you doin’, mama?”
“Rattled. Overwhelmed. Slightly terrified about the future, but mostly, I’m just so grateful. Thank you. I mean it. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“Nah, come on. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, West. It’s something. A big something.”
“Well, you and Waylon are welcome to stay as long as you need.”
“I don’t know what I would have done without you. How did I get to this point, a single mother of an infant, homeless, barely two pennies to rub together? How am I gonna provide for my son?”
“Hey, come ’ere.” He holds out a hand. I take it, wondering how it’s so steady when I’ve been shaking like a leaf all night.
West pulls me down onto his lap and lays us back in the lounger, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, his lips at my temple.
For the umpteenth time tonight, tears prick my eyes.
My throat is scratchy from all the screaming at my house, and at any moment, I feel as if my world is going to cave in on itself.
“It’s gonna be all right. I know it seems scary as hell right now, but one day you’ll look back on this and smile because you’re strong Daisy-Mae, and you’ve one hundred percent got this.”
A helpless chuckle escapes me as I shake my head and sniffle back my tears.
“You do. And if you don’t, I’ve got you.
” He cups my chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilts my head up to his.
I search his gaze, glancing at his lips and wetting my own.
He presses his mouth to mine, softly, as if he’s not sure how I’ll react.
I’m tired of feeling like I need to hold myself back.
I’m tired of being afraid of the future, of Eddie, of being left behind.
I’m tired of worrying West will reject me, so I shift in his lap, throw my arms around his neck and kiss him like it’s the only chance I’ll ever get.
For a heartbeat, my whole life seems to hang in the balance as I wait for his reaction.
West deepens the kiss, his hands threading into my long blonde hair as he tips my head back.
I moan, the need muffled by his mouth. His calloused hand slides from my hair down to my throat, squeezing lightly.
His deft hands are capable of so much destruction, I’ve witnessed it firsthand on the men who tried to hurt me and Waylon, but I’ve never felt a gentler touch. I break the kiss and search his gaze.
“Sorry,” he whispers, smoothing his hand away from my neck and down my body. He rubs my shoulder and looks out over the pasture, unable to meet my gaze.
“Don’t apologize for kissing me, cowboy.”
I could certainly get used to this—nights with West on his porch, his arms locked tight around me, the scent of his warm spice and the fresh dew falling on the fields, just as sure as my heart is falling for him.
I could get so used to this I never want to leave, and for just one night, I lie back against his chest and let myself get caught up in the fantasy.
“Come on, you’re dead on your feet,” he whispers against my ear.
I close my eyes, because every conversation with him feels loaded with tension and anticipation.
What do I do now? I can’t sleep alone tonight.
I doubt I’ll be sleeping at all, but I’m not sure I’m safe on the couch.
Still, I can’t take his bed, and I don’t want to give him the wrong idea.
“Hey, I’m not gonna force you to do anything you don’t want, Dais.
It’s just sleep, darlin’. I’ll even take the couch if it’ll make you feel better? ”
“It won’t. I don’t ... can I stay in your bed tonight? Just tonight. I’m not sure I’ll be able to turn out the lights if I’m on my own.”
“You can sleep in my bed with the lights on all night if that’s what you want.”
I nod and climb off his lap. West gets to his feet and takes my hand in one of his and leads me inside. I let go once we cross the threshold and I wait for him to lock up.
“Lemon said the best place to set up Waylon’s bassinette was in your room, since there’s only one bed. I hope that’s okay? He and I can take the couch tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t want him anywhere else, Dais. We need to be able to keep an eye on him.”
My eyes glass over again, and I bite my lip as this ruggedly sexy man walks toward me. I’m so tired of crying, but tears roll down my cheeks anyway. West hugs me to him and I try, and fail, to keep it together.
“Come on, baby mama. You’ve been through enough heartache tonight. Everything will seem a lot brighter in the mornin’.”
I nod and close my eyes as he kisses my forehead. He laces his fingers through mine and leads me down the hall. Lemon helped me get Waylon settled in here before.
Exposed beams and floor-to-ceiling windows run the length of the room.
West’s bed is huge, hewn from oakwood and promising security and coziness.
The plaid, dark-green comforter is soft, sun bleached, and smells like him.
Furry blankets decorate the foot of the mattress, and I’ve never wanted to dive into a bed so badly in my life.
This room is all him, sandalwood and cedar, the familiar eroticism of a well-loved leather, and the excitement of the outdoors.
Everything about West is rough and wild, comfort and safety, and as he pulls me into his warm embrace beneath soft sheets, I think I’m in far too deep with this man already.
What I don’t know, is if my beat-up heart will survive it.