Chapter 19 Dallas
“What’s your problem today?” Silas asks, like I’m the one who’s making a production out of coiling up a rope. He’s wearing jeans that probably cost too much, spotless sneakers, and a white long-sleeved shirt that looks brand new.
“You, showing up dressed like that. Give me that.” I snatch the rope away and roll it up like it’s second nature, then hang it up on the peg in the barn I built just outside my house.
“Nothing wrong with clean clothes,” he says dryly, voice distant like I’ve offended him.
But Silas doesn’t offend easily, so I’m suddenly on alert.
He also never offers to stick around for a weekend to help with land work.
He rolls his shoulder back, looking off to the side. “What’s next? Is it indoors?”
I blink, glancing at the house. It can’t be indoors. Willow’s in there with a yoga mat spread out and an outfit that definitely should have gone on the ground rules list.
Did we even make a list? The hell is even on it? It was only two nights ago—fresh off the high of our kiss, exhausted from faking, smiling, and stressing—that we came up with said list.
I bet she doesn’t even remember it.
I turn back to Silas. It’s hockey season and he was back at my house Saturday morning to help with some finishing touches. Then insisted on staying the weekend to spend some time with his niece.
Not the worst thing.
Kept my hands—and mind—busy enough to keep them off Willow. Not to mention Ellie was over the moon having him around. So I didn’t question it.
But my big-brother senses are tingling.
“Shouldn’t you be at practice or a game or something?”
“Told you, took a weekend off for family matters.”
I narrow my eyes at him but he avoids me. “Family matters, eh? Dad sick or something?”
He didn’t spend any time with Dad this weekend, so we both know that’s not it. But from what I understand, the league doesn’t just give you a weekend off. There needs to be a problem. Either with family—or him.
Silas shrugs, then flinches. “Well, you know how he is, always acts like he could ride a bull on demand, but struggles to pick up the paper on the doorstep.”
I nod, even though I’m pretty sure Dad’s not the one struggling here. I lift a shovel. “Hey, do me a favor, and put this up against that wall.” I toss it to him.
He catches it with his left hand—which is strange, considering he’s a righty.
“Something wrong with your right arm?”
“The hell you doing throwing a shovel at me?” he shouts.
“Be happy it wasn’t a pitchfork,” I bark back. “What’s wrong with your shoulder? You injured?”
“No,” he snaps. “Just—” He sighs. “Tired. Stiff.” He rubs under the blade. “Where’d you get the mattress anyway? A flea market?”
I shrug. “Old man Norman’s got some great deals, you ought to stop by his table on Saturdays.”
He sets down the shovel and sits on a barrel.
I leave it alone for a minute and fill the stalls with straw where I intend to stable Trouble and two younger horses our trainer’s bringing over soon.
“How’d it happen?” I ask, tossing empty bags aside.
His jaw tightens. “Season opener, few weeks ago.”
“Shit. Anyone know?”
He shakes his head. “I was checked out but—it wasn’t bad then. Played just fine, till one night it . . .”
“Got worse?”
He shakes his head. “Snapped or something. I figured a few days off the ice might help. I’ve been starting every game.”
I release a heavy breath. “I’ve noticed.”
“I haven’t told Chase.”
“He’s not just your captain, he’s your best friend,” I point out.
“Just keep this between us?”
I glance at his shoulder. “So long as you get that looked at. Physical therapy should do the trick, no?”
He nods but doesn’t confirm it.
I roll my eyes. “You don’t need to tell anyone at the league you’re hurt to get treatment.” At least I don’t think so.
Silas shakes his head. “It’s not that easy.”
“Come on, there’s that doctor–patient legal crap, isn’t there?”
“I’m fine. Just need a day or two to give it a rest.”
I cock my head. “All right. Let’s head inside. I’ll make you a cup of tea and spoon-feed you like a child.” I chuckle, slapping his good shoulder as we step out of the barn and into the daylight.
Halfway toward the house, he stops short, distracted by the steady rhythm of hooves echoing across the path.
I adjust my hat and squint, following his eyes. “Ah. You bringin’ me Trouble?” I wink at Storm, our horse and riding trainer. Don’t read me wrong, I don’t wink at just any employee—but Storm’s always been like family around here.
The Thornes have known the Daltons for decades. In fact, when Tom Dalton and his wife moved to Blue River, Storm was only nine or ten. Blew us all away with her riding skills and just a love for the outdoors.
After coming home from college last year, she took a job at Callahan Ranch—a rival operation over on the other side of the river.
Wilder and I didn’t ask questions when she came looking for a job here a few months ago. My guess would be the two bone-headed cowboys we lost to them this summer. Not the most respectful duo.
She smiles and swings off my horse in one smooth motion, her worn white boots hitting the dirt with trained ease. “Heya, boss. Meant to bring her and the other two along in the trailer, but she put up a fight,” Storm teases, hand moving slowly over Trouble’s neck.
I chuckle and take the reins. “Sorry you had to ride all this way.” I point to the yellow sports car in the driveway. “Silas will take you back down. I’ll help you bring the other two tomorrow.”
She glances back at the car like I just asked her to walk across the river. Then her eyes narrow at my brother—who’s been quiet behind me.
He steps forward, gaze locked on the blonde. I almost laugh and try to remember the last time he saw her. Must have been years. Since before they both went away to college.
Storm’s eyes don’t linger on him for more than a beat. “That’s all right, I’ll walk.”
“What’s the matter, you don’t take rides from strangers?” Silas smirks and I wince.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember Storm. You guys probably went to—”
“No—I don’t ride with strangers.” Storm’s response is sharp, ignoring me and keeping her eyes on my brother. “Plus, I might get your pretty interior all dirty with my boots and clothes.”
Silas frowns, confusion flickering to recognition. “Storm Dalton? I remember pigtails and freckles.” He scans her once. “Can’t say I recall the attitude.”
She rolls her eyes. “See ya tomorrow, boss.”
She starts walking and I nudge my brother. “Look, I’m not going to try to figure out why she doesn’t like you—but give the girl a ride.”
He watches as she makes her way down the sloped path, blonde hair braided on either side.
“Unless, of course, you want to be the one to get Trouble settled in the new barn, and I take your car.”
He glances back at the horse. “I don’t know what’s more dangerous.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Hell happen to you two?”
“Nothing. She was just . . .” He shrugs. “Not part of my crowd.”
“But you two were close, weren’t you? Wilder and I’d trail Dad around the ranch, while you two climbed fences and built forts out of hay bales.”
He lets out a laugh, short and without any real humor. “More like tryin’ to keep up when she did all that.”
I smirk. “So, Trouble or Storm?”
He yanks his keys out of his pocket. “All one and the same to me.” He starts toward the car. “Kiss Ellie for me, I’m gonna head back to Denver after this.”
I chuckle. “Good luck. But don’t think I’m not askin’ questions next week.”
It’s after midnight and I can’t sleep. Willow and I called it a night shortly after Ellie went down. I cleaned the kitchen and started the dishwasher while she tidied up the living room.
Both of us finding some reason to steer clear of one another—without my brother as a buffer.
Barely forty-eight hours since we laid down the rules after our kiss. One damn weekend. And I’m already losing it.
I try to focus on the version of Willow when she’s around Ellie—a damn sweet version—natural, funny, caring, passionate.
But instead, my mind zeros in on the sound of her raspy morning voice. The light moans that come with that first sip of coffee. The swollen lips I’d like to kiss senseless. Then tell her where she can shove those dumb rules.
At some point during dinner, she was quiet. Unusually quiet, so I took a page out of her book and started rambling. Topic of conversation: my brother and his run-in with Storm. It was the only thing I could think of to talk about in front of Ellie.
Willow’s eyes brightened. “Another chick around here and she’s got attitude? When can I meet her?”
More moments like that. Safe moments.
I growl and push off the damn covers, feeling like they’re suffocating me. I sigh at the twisted mess at my feet and shake the duvet cover. A little black thing goes flying and I jolt out of bed.
The hell was that?
I make out the flimsy object almost instantly in the moonlight.
Panties.
Black. Lace. Panties.
I bring them to my nose and inhale. Logic, question, source—out the window. They’re hers. There’s no doubt—no other. They’re hers. From one of the nights she slept in my bed.
My eyes flick back to my bed as if I’d find her in it. Picturing every scenario of how these ended up buried in the covers. I stuff them in my pocket and step out into the hall without thinking.
The hell you going to do, asshole? March into her room and ask when she got naked on your bed? If she intentionally left them for you to find?
I start pacing the hall like a lunatic. Then turn at the sound of a door creaking. Willow steps out into the hall. Barefoot in a crop top and a pair of flimsy shorts.
My breath catches at the sight of bare skin under the dim light. Anger and frustration simmers to a whole new kind of heat. Temptation. And the gnawing guilt and fear that comes with it.
She freezes when she spots me—staring like a deer in headlights.