Chapter 8 Dallas
The hell is wrong with me? How do I tell a stranger about Ellie’s grandmother before I tell my daughter? Especially a stranger I need to get out of my head—and my house.
It’s not like it’s going to come as a surprise to Ellie. We knew it was coming, but that didn’t make it an easier call to get. Deep in my heart, I’d hoped to spare my girl from the all too familiar pain of losing someone you love.
Maya’s been in treatment, but last time I talked to Cole—Ellie’s grandfather—they were planning on moving her to a facility. Doctors said they’d be surprised if she made it to Christmas.
I avoid Willow’s glassy eyes. Evidence of her compassion. I don’t need to know that side of her. “So if you’d please just go grab your stuff—”
Frowning, Willow turns on her heel, but she doesn’t head for her bags. She marches to the living room and starts pulling on the cellophane and tarp-covered furniture. Starting with the loveseat.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my tone worn with fatigue and frustration.
“Unwrapping the furniture.” She sniffles, and I’m relieved to find myself immune to it—too consumed by my annoyance.
“I can do that,” I snap uncommittedly.
She spins. “And the floors? The heat? The lights? What about Ellie’s clothes?
You want her to live out of boxes? They need to be hung up and neatly stacked in that fancy dresser up there.
You have less than two days. Let me help you.
” She swallows, eyes flicking around the room and voice dropping.
“Like you said, I’ve got nowhere else to be. ”
My chest falls and I growl. “Walked into that one.”
“It’s fine.” Her head snaps back to the piano like it keeps calling her. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything until I tune this for you.” She pulls out the bench from under the piano and settles onto it.
Now you really do need to go.
A vision of Willow sitting at the piano in the bar in New York hits me all too aggressively. A vision that took days to get off my mind. Only for her to singe another one into my brain from my own home?
Over my dead body.
“I can’t let you do that.”
She runs her finger over the black top, it’s a little dusty but she doesn’t comment on it. She doesn’t even look at me. A flash of excitement and determination is in her eyes as she lifts the fallboard. “I’m not asking.”
Pushing up her sleeves, she wiggles her fingers and twists something gold and shiny on her ring finger. It looks a hell of a lot like an engagement ring. When she lets go, I get a better look at it. It’s a fancy-sized emerald sitting atop a gold band.
Sure doesn’t look like anything from this day and age. The back of my teeth clench as I berate myself for wanting to know. “You didn’t tell me you were going to marry the guy.”
Her eyes snap to mine. Then to her ring as she adjusts it again. “This was my grandmother’s. I recently had my jewelry stolen but I always keep this one with me.”
Anger coils in my chest before I can remind myself it’s none of my business—and I’m certainly not about to make it my business. So I don’t let myself linger on the relief that washes over me that she managed to save this piece—or the fact that it wasn’t a ring he gave her.
“Why you here?”
She lifts her eyes to the ceiling as if to come up with something. “To watch the sunset. I hear they’re incredible out here.”
They’re out of this world, actually. But I’m not about to give her a reason to stay. Especially when she’s bullshitting me.
I push my hands in my pockets. “They’re all right. Someone threatenin’ you?”
She rolls her eyes. “Are all you cowboys looking for a damsel to save?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a damsel, but I sure as hell know you’re not one.” If the way she tackled me the other night gives any indication.
“Got that right,” she mutters.
Stepping closer, I close the piano shut as she jerks her fingers back.
“I could have—”
“You’re too quick for that. Now you want to help me? Fine. Whatever you see fit—dusting, tuning, maybe unpacking Ellie’s boxes from her grandparents’ old house—go nuts. But on one condition.”
Her brows snap together. “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’”
I clench my jaw and dip my head. “Tell me why you’re here.”
She hesitates as if measuring her options.
Then gives in with a low sigh. “No one’s threatening me.
My ex. The man I thought was the love of my life—” she rolls her eyes like the idea of it is a joke now, “had a little bit of a jealous streak. Would make it a habit of stalking me at work. I thought it was sweet he was coming to see me play. But he’d just cause a scene when I got too much attention.
Got me fired from some of the best gigs in the city. ”
“Guy sounds like an insecure ass.”
She scoffs. “He was.”
I rake my eyes over her as I reluctantly put together another piece of her puzzle. “Take it he’s the one who put his hands on you?”
“Yeah,” she says tightly, like she hates to admit it. “Anyway, he moved out months ago, even though it was technically his apartment. But . . . a few days ago—”
“He kicked you out.”
She doesn’t deny it and I curse under my breath.
“It was a blessing. The place had all kinds of building violations.” She looks up at me and shrugs. “I’ve sort of got this last-resort place I can stay in the city until I find an apartment. But the woman’s having a photoshoot of half-naked men there today, so I can’t move in until Sunday.”
There’s a resentment in her voice that makes me ask. “This . . . ‘last resort’ is . . .?”
“My mother.”
I give a small nod, then lift the piano lid. “Fine-tune away.” A spark flickers across her face and I hold up a finger. “But stay out of my way.”
There’s a subtle nod as she holds my eyes—hers mixed with silent gratitude and embarrassment. But it’s only a flash before she recovers quickly from both.
“Again,” she nods humbly, like the favor is the other way around. “You’re welcome.”
I sigh, muttering as I walk away. “I’m going to regret this.”
About an hour later, Willow manages to find her charger—rolled up and stuffed in a side pocket of her suitcase.
She made a big production of coming out here to the back porch to tell me exactly where she found it and how she “totally spaced” but that her coming out here was not to be mistaken for “getting in my way” but more of an “informative drop-by.” Then she skipped on back into the house.
I can’t imagine she’d got very far inside while I’ve been out here, sanding and painting the porch rail and steps.
I hear her inside on the phone with Rose and sigh.
It shouldn’t have taken me two hours on this part of the house. But it’s hard to stay focused when it’s quiet as an empty field out here and she’s inside humming to some tune stuck in her head. Prancing around the kitchen and unloading boxes like there’s some order to her madness.
I can still hear her in there—see her through the clear sliding doors. Right now she’s multitasking with Rose in her ear and a dust wand in her hands.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I sigh before pulling it out to check it.
Wilder: Letting her stay the weekend, huh?
Dallas: You’re welcome.
I don’t know why I let her stay. But it’s safe to let my brother believe it was to give him and Rose the chance to get away like he planned.
Wilder: Never met her but she once held me hostage and grilled me on my intentions when I answered Rose’s phone.
Dallas: Sounds right.
Wilder: Say the word, we’ll come pick her up.
Say it? I should be screaming it. Instead, I shake my head like I’m doing him the favor here too and slip the phone back in my pocket. It vibrates again.
Wilder: Going once . . . Going twice.
Dallas: It’s only a day and a half.
Wilder: And how’s the last twelve hours work out so far?
Dallas: Go before I change my mind.
It’s quiet when I return to the house from a few stops in town. It’s almost sunset. Empty boxes are broken down by the back door. A whole lot of empty boxes.
I flip the switch in the kitchen. It only lights the pendants I’ve got hanging over the island. It’ll do for now. Millie wanted the lights under the cabinets too. Something dim for when she makes her tea at night.
But this house isn’t for her anymore.
I need to prioritize what Ellie needs.
Looking down, I notice the floors shine like they’ve never seen a speck of dust. I take my boots off before stepping inside.
It’s quiet down here but I can hear faint shuffling above the kitchen—where Ellie’s room is.
I set down the bags from the hardware store and the Thai restaurant on the counter, making a mental note to tackle the grocery store later tonight, before it closes. I plan on emptying a lot of shelves. Don’t need the town folks watching me do it.
I’ve got a whole lot of cabinets to fill and not a clue what to fill them with.
What do seven-year-olds eat? Rose does most of the shopping and, sure, I notice the kids’ cereals, yogurts, cheese crackers, and funny-shaped pastas, but we’re not living in her uncle’s house anymore. This’ll be her house.
And I want there to be shelves stocked with everything she likes. With a healthy mix of wholesome and sugary snacks. Protein, vitamins, all that stuff a kid needs.
I make a mental note to ask Rose—if she’s not too mad at me for ratting her out this morning. And maybe Ginger too. Sure as hell not something I’ll be asking Willow. The woman already moves about like she belongs. Like she knows what’s best for Ellie better than I do.
She doesn’t.
She’s just helping.
After her story earlier, I damn near asked her to stay. Thought came out of nowhere. All I knew was I didn’t want her anywhere near that asswipe who hurt her. Who got rough with her enough to make her feel she needs to protect herself.
Because she thinks no one else will.
She’s not wrong to plan ahead. But the protective rush in me wants to knock the guy’s teeth down his throat for messing with her.
My stomach bubbles.