8. Danced
EIGHT
Danced
ASH
After dinner, I moved our chairs around the fire ring. Willow sat, taking in the pretty night. Ro and Eli roasted marshmallows on sticks nearby, giggling about something.
After seeing goosebumps along Willow’s skin, I grabbed my flannel out of the truck for her to wear. I handed it to her as I took the seat beside her and prepared to dive into my slice of pie.
“Thanks. Your church is definitely more accommodating than my father’s,” she chortled, putting on my shirt. She wrapped the long arms around her. I shouldn’t feel this way, but damn, I’d never been so envious of a shirt in my life.
“Is your dad still an ass—” I glanced toward Ro and lowered my voice. “I mean, a jerk?”
“Of course. We rarely spoke, only on Ro’s birthday and at Christmas.
After the layoff and my injury, I asked if we could live with him for a few months until I got back on my feet.
But his new wife and her three kids were there.
He said he didn’t have any room for us. He might have been talking about the house, but I knew he meant in his life. ”
With my hand in a tight fist around my fork, I felt so bad for the hand she’d been dealt. I wanted to call her father worse names, but not in front of the kids.
When she’d gotten pregnant with Scott’s baby out of wedlock, her father all but wrote her off, at least, from what I gathered over a few phone calls with Scott in the early years of my military deployment.
Jeez, she could just as easily call me names for staying away. Hadn’t I all but written them off as well? I swallowed down the guilt with another swig of beer.
“And my dad wouldn’t help?” I dared ask, but already knew the answer.
I hadn’t spoken to him since the morning I left for the army.
Even then, all he did was salute me as I left, like he was honored to have a son following him into the military.
While I’d hoped the military wouldn’t turn me into an angry son of a bitch like him.
Willow smiled as Anson approached her, holding out a bottle of wine.
“As the guest tonight, ma’am, I’d be honored to let you have the first taste of something special I’ve been working on all summer.
I made strawberry wine. And if it passes with your approval, then next summer I’ll double the strawberry field and make sure we make plenty for everyone. ”
“Oh, I’m flattered,” Willow gushed.
“Here you go.” He poured some into a red cup.
She sniffed it first, and moaned. “So far, so good.” Then, after a taste, her eyes grew wider. “Yes, it’s lovely. More, please.”
Anson chatted a few minutes with her about the process of making it. My attention faded from them to the conversation Ro and Eli were having.
“So, school starts this week?” Ro asked, poking at half of a burnt marshmallow with her finger.
“Yep, I’m so glad we have Mrs. Libby this year. Dad says she taught him when he was little, and she’s been at the school forever. She’s so nice, like a grandmother.”
“Oh. I never had one of those,” Ro admitted. My chest tightened at the vulnerability in her voice. “Are kids mean at your school?”
“Nope. We’re all ranch kids. Our parents would probably kick our butts if we were mean to anyone.”
“At my old school in California, some girls were mean to me about...” She glanced back at her mom, then back at Eli. “About stuff.”
I cocked my head to hear more, as I casually ate dessert.
“What kind of stuff?” Eli asked with the straightforward curiosity of childhood.
“My dad died when I was little. There was a father and daughter dance last year. Some girls said mean things to me about not having a dad.”
My forkful of blueberry pie froze halfway to my mouth.
“That’s rough,” Eli said simply. “My mom died. Some kids are stupid. My dad says not to pay them any attention.”
The simple acceptance in his voice made Ro’s shoulders relax, her expression settled. “Really? You don’t have a mom?”
“Nope. Just me and Dad. But it’s okay. We’re good at taking care of each other.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. Willow and I take care of each other, too.”
I hid a smile, but also covered up for something else. For not being there when Ro needed a father figure around.
Across the way, Knox had taken out his guitar, and another man had brought out his banjo.
They started playing old country songs, the ones most people knew the words to and could sing along.
Ivy kicked off her shoes and started dancing barefoot in the grass, pulling her sisters up to join her despite their protests.
Eventually, they even pulled Colt and some of the other guys up and danced under the stars.
Willow clapped along to the music, her face lit up with genuine enjoyment. Beckett, who had started working for us earlier this summer, dared to come up and offered her his hand for a dance.
What the hell was this? My gut clenched with jealousy.
She declined with a gracious smile, mentioning her still-tender ankle. I relaxed my shoulders, but my eyes sent the guy the glare of death. I’d be sure to assign him to shit duty, mucking out the stalls for a month.
The music changed to something slower, familiar. “There’s an oldie.” She glanced at me. “Remember when we were sitting on the dock at the lake together, and this was the song playing on the radio? Every time I hear it I think of that night.”
I recalled that moment, but not the music playing. If memory served, as we were about to kiss, the only sound I’d heard was the blood rushing to my cock.
Suddenly the air charged between Willow and me. We seemed to lean in closer to each other as the song played on, our elbows touching with an unspoken current running between us. My palms itched, dying to touch more of her.
Earlier in the cabin, we had been so close to kissing. So very close. Chris’ phone call had interrupted before anything could happen. Before I could claim Willow for myself. Before I messed everything up between us.
I wrestled with all of it, imagining Scott scowling down from above. The guilt hit me hard again. Sorry, brother, but your wife and daughter just showed up here out of the blue. I’d kept her away for so long. What the hell was I supposed to do about all these emotions surfacing now?
Ro suddenly squeezed in between our chairs, breaking our elbow connection, sadder than sad, mouth in a frown. “People are dancing, Mom.” Was that a sniffle I heard from her?
All at once I jumped up, and I knew what I had to do. I offered her my hand. She looked up at me with those big hazel eyes that were too much like her mother’s.
“Hey, Little Miss, will you dance with me?” I offered.
Ro’s smile split her face, and she grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the improvised dance floor where others were swaying to the gentle guitar melody.
Dancing with a little one her size required some creativity, though.
I placed her feet on mine and held her hands at first. She giggled as I maneuvered us around, despite my clumsiness.
Usually, I’m all hands on a woman’s ass swaying in place and that’s about the extent of my dancing abilities.
Obviously, I needed PG-rated dancing lessons for my niece.
“Pick me up! I want to be tall like the grown-ups,” she demanded.
So I lifted her, wrapping my arms around her waist to keep her steady. She squealed with delight as I moved, her hands clutching my neck for balance. With each step, she laughed harder, the sound bright and infectious in the evening air.
“Faster!” she announced. With a huge grin on my face, I spun us around, watching hers light up with pure joy.
“More!” This time I dipped her, then tossed her a little in the air and caught her. Her squeals echoed around us. If this helped give her peace inside, then I was here for it.
More than just uncle duty or being polite to a child, as Ro’s face flushed with happiness, a fierce, protective vibe spread through my veins. Immediate and overwhelming and terrifying, I realized bone-deep that I would do anything—anything—to keep this little girl safe and happy and loved.
Because Scott should be here doing this. He should have taken her to the second grade dance, made her laugh, and been the steady presence she could count on all her life.
But Scott wasn’t here anymore. I was.
For years I ran from the guilt of surviving when Scott didn’t.
Blamed God for taking him away from us too soon when a deer had run out into the road in front of him, causing his fatal crash.
But looking down at Ro’s trusting face, her small arms wrapped around my neck, I understood something I’d been too afraid to acknowledge.
This wasn’t about replacing Scott or filling some impossible void. This was about being present for the people who mattered. About choosing to show up instead of running away.
“Thank you, Uncle Ash.” Ro’s tiny words muffled against my chest as she hugged me.
My throat tightened. “Anything for you, kiddo.”
I made a silent vow right then to Scott and to Ro and to myself that I would be here for her.
Whatever that looked like, however complicated things got with Willow, however much the situation scared the crap out of me—I would be the man Ro needed me to be.
The father figure Scott would have wanted her to have.
I searched across the way for Willow. She sat there staring at us, her hair beautifully aglow in the firelight. When I locked my gaze with her teary eyes as she watched me dance with her daughter, she pressed her hand to her heart and mouthed thank you .