Chapter 10 Dallas
“There’s my girl,” I rasp, pulling her close. Ellie wraps her little arms around me and I don’t let go. “You smell like apple tarts. D’you save me any?”
Ellie bobs her head. “Ginger brought a basket of ’em.”
I look up over her shoulder. Ginger and Dad are still unloading the truck with Ellie’s things from Wilder’s house.
She still doesn’t know that I’ve got all her things from her grandparents’ house inside too.
I tuck loose strands behind her ears. “You don’t look too mad at me for leaving you a few extra days there. ”
She holds my eyes like she knows something good is coming. “I was, but then Uncle Wild and Rose said you had a surprise for me.” She looks over my shoulder, impatiently. “Is it in the house?”
My smile is wide. Wondering if it’ll always be this simple to please my girl.
To win back her trust and her forgiveness when I screw up or break a promise.
I tug her hands playfully. “It is the house, baby. It’s all ready for you.
For us.” I gauge the look on her face. A response that seems too long for her to form.
“If you’re all right with that,” I add, reminding her this is a choice.
When she looks at the house again, eyes flickering with hope and wonder, then back at me with a smile in her eyes, the tightness in my chest eases. She nods feverishly and I chuckle with relief, then push to my feet.
“Thanks again, Ginger.” I ruffle Ellie’s hair. “Hope she wasn’t any trouble.”
Ginger swipes at a tear from the corner of her eye. Then waves me off. “Oh, please. We had a blast. Right, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” Ellie giggles. “Especially when we made fun of Grandpa snoring like a bear on the couch.”
My eyebrows lift just as Dad walks up from the truck, arms loaded with Ellie’s bags. Clearing his throat and grumbling at the same time.
Freshly alarmed like I’d never seen her, Ginger starts to usher Ellie inside the house. “Let’s get you all settled, sweets.”
My gaze sharpens on Dad as he lingers behind, scratching the back of his neck. “Don’t look at me like that, you heard the girl. It was the couch.”
I narrow my eyes then realize something. I turn toward the porch steps. “Hold on. There’s someone in there you should—”
“Willow,” Ellie cries, racing up the steps. “I thought you left.”
Time seems to freeze as we all watch this strange, beautiful redhead—who’s still wearing my hoodie after sleeping in it all night beside me—embrace my girl, squeezing her like she knows her better than I do.
“I’m so happy I got to see you one last tiiime,” Willow gasps, pulling back and holding her by the shoulders. “Wait. Are you moving in today?”
Ellie nods excitedly.
Dad stands beside me, eyes still on the duo at the top of the steps. Ginger, who is thankfully a lot more subtle—and friendly—than Dad, offers a hand almost immediately.
“Hello, Willow. Ellie was telling us all about you yesterday. I’m glad we got to meet you before you left.”
All about her?
What’s there to say? Exactly how much can she know about her in three days?
Despite myself, my gaze moves to Willow. I’ve seen the woman laugh at my expense. Smirk. Grin. But hell, that smile she’s giving the two of them. It’s a sucker punch to the gut.
She shouldn’t have a smile like that.
She shouldn’t have a voice like that.
Dad’s eyes land on me with a raised brow. Same one I gave him a minute ago. I shake my head lightly. “Don’t ask.”
He nods once. “Fair enough.”
I smirk. Dad never lets things go just like that. This is his way of saying, I won’t if you won’t.
And I’m perfectly OK with that.
Dad helps Ginger with the last step and introduces himself quietly. Willow gives him a soft smile. But it’s not polite. It’s warm, eyes glimmering with familiarity. Like they share the same interest.
Ellie jumps. “You want to come see my new room with me?”
Willow stretches her hand like a soldier. “Lead the way, Slippers.”
Ellie grabs it like it’s a nickname she’s been responding to for years and drags her through the open doors.
I catch the tail end of Ellie’s laughter—full-bellied and crinkle-eyed—and the lingering sight of her twisting playfully to follow, grinning like she belongs. Blending in to our closed circle all too easily.
The hell is happening here?
The tug in my chest is like a threat. And the only way to get rid of it is to gather up her things and make sure she doesn’t miss her flight.
Dad hangs back, pretending to predict the weather as he squints out at the horizon. “Willow is Rose’s friend, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Made quite an impression on your girl.”
Well then, I must’ve met her alter ego.
“Ellie loves everybody,” I lie. Ellie hates her new second-grade teacher—apparently she’s tall and has a lot of rules; the woman at the library, because she stares into space and shushes everybody.
And the social worker, Rachel, who thankfully she won’t need to deal with much longer after the custody transfer is final.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You hate everybody,” Dad points out.
“I do not.” My response comes quick and sharp, because I don’t like words like that around Ellie. Especially when it’s me he’s talking about.
How could she ever learn to trust someone who doesn’t like people?
Dad shrugs. “Well, unless they work on this ranch or are related to you. But I remember you bitchin’ about all those times Millie hauled you out on the town—heaven forbid you have a social life outside this ranch.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “Thought you weren’t gonna ask.” Dad’s not one to talk in circles, but it’s clear he can’t help himself.
He holds up his hands. “You’re right. I’ll just . . . make my own assumptions.” He starts to turn.
“She needed somewhere to stay. And I needed help here.” I step up to the porch. “A . . . mutually beneficial short-term arrangement.”
I glance past his shoulder, where I picture the coziness continuing between my daughter and the woman who’s got no place here.
The longer Willow stays, laughs, and fills the space that was never meant for her—the more my insides twist. An ache of guilt and anger.
A woman I’m letting trespass on a life I planned for someone else.
I shake myself from my thoughts, focusing again on Dad.
“One that’s on its final hour. Now let’s get this little gathering over with so I can take her to the airport. ”
Dad follows me inside, shutting the door behind him—and locking it. He’s always been protective of our property. Or maybe it’s the people inside he’s always been protective of.
He takes it all in—quiet, steady, measuring the work, every beam, every floorboard. “Those weatherproof?” he asks, nodding to the glass panels behind him.
And every window.
“Guess we’ll find out during the next blizzard,” I tease.
Dad shakes his head, not finding the humor.
“Place looks great, Dallas,” Ginger comments, taking slow steps down the stairs. “Bit nippy up there, but I like it.”
“Heater’s going in Monday,” I repeat for what feels like the seventh time this weekend.
Ginger wiggles a finger. “You be sure it does. That girl’s going to catch a cold sleepin’ up there.”
I look at the fireplace. “I’ll set us up down here for tonight. Supposed to drop to the forties.”
Dad looks at me, one brow raised. “When you tellin’ her?”
I know he’s referring to the news about Ellie’s grandmother. And I have no idea.
Willow returns and my heart stills for a moment. But she’s alone. “Hey, Ellie’s upstairs rearranging her stuffed animals in alphabetical order?” she frowns, like she’s not sure how.
I smirk. “By name, I bet, not species.”
“You used to rename the horses,” Ginger says. “Your Dad had named them Silver, Snow, Rhino, and Larry. You remember what you called them?”
“Ginger,” I warn.
“Oh, I want to know.” Willow beams.
“Of course you do,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
Ginger smiles. “He named them Spout, Snout, Ricky, and Licky. Think he even used one of them names for his stuffy too. Snout, was it?”
“Spout,” I correct like an idiot.
Dad chuckles.
Willow laughs and it’s impossible not to watch as her head falls back, hair tumbling off her shoulders, and her hand pressing to her stomach like it hurts. “Oh man, that’s good. How long did that go on?”
“Till he was twelve,” Dad says with a grin.
Willow laughs harder, touching Ginger’s arm like she’s family. “Well, at least there’s no proof. When I was twelve, I thought I could fly. So I stood at the top of our L-shape sofa, handed my sister a camera and said, ‘Take a picture while I’m mid-air.’”
Ginger’s eyes widen. “You did not.”
Willow nods. “Got two pieces of evidence. A photo—and this scar on my bottom lip.”
Ginger takes a closer look. “I don’t see a scar.”
I have to look away before my eyes become permanently glued to that bottom lip.
Also, I’ve already seen the scar. The night she attacked me. And a bit more clearly yesterday under the skylight of my kitchen when I caged her between my arms.
My stupidity started there. Faint as a whisper on her skin. Kind of liked it about her. Sure as hell didn’t think that was how she got it. The corner of my lip twitches and I twist my neck—looking for that damn suitcase.
Dad grumbles. “Twelve, huh? Least you weren’t wearing a cape.”
Willow’s brown eyes widen like she’s insulted. “It was red with gold trim and I wore it proudly.” She makes a Superman stance and then laughs to herself as she rolls her suitcase out from under the staircase. “Ready when you are, Spout.”
Dad’s eyes land on Willow’s hand on the suitcase and his brows perk, but he doesn’t say anything. Probably wondering where she spent the night.
“Oh, let me heat up a tart for you before you go.” Ginger rushes to the kitchen. Willow follows, protesting that she doesn’t need the calories.
I glance up the stairs. “I should go check on Ellie before I head out.”
“What she do anyway? Willow. For work?”
I shake my head like it doesn’t matter. “Plays piano at a bar in Manhattan, I think.” I pause. “Sings too.”