Chapter 22 Willow
“That was beautiful. I swear, I could listen to that voice of yours all day.” Rose praises me as she always does after one of my sets. Then shoves a margarita in my hand as I step off the stage.
Laurie gave me a quick rundown of the crowd here. And so far, she’s been on point. Most of them buzzing for the jazzy entertainment, light meals, and cocktails. But then there are some that totally give off predator vibes. But chances are they’re more brood than bite and I should ignore them.
And whilst I’ve heard from Rose that the crowd itself can get pretty rowdy, Carl has assured me he’s never had any trouble between the crowd and the talent.
That may have been true until now. But I’m picking up some major trouble vibes from the tall dirty-blond man with the beard and ponytail on the far right. He’s been staring at me like there’s no one else in the room. And not in a romantic way.
I’m wary of him, if I’m honest.
Aside from that, everything else has been incredible. This crowd’s different. They’re alive and fun. They make me want to sing. Not feel like I have to.
“Hey, I missed three calls from Wilder. I’m going to step outside and call him back. Have fun on your next set, I’ll be right back.”
I wink at her and take a few more sips of my drink before stepping back up on the stage. I’m a few minutes early, but I’d rather be up there playing music than in my head about Dallas.
Mr. Ponytail watches me with that look again. I want to say something to Carl, but it doesn’t feel right. I’m trying to convince myself that I’m overreacting. But I’ve been in situations like this enough times to know when a patron is harmless . . . and when I should watch my back.
That guy—is definitely making me think the latter.
Eric’s words are in my head. His threats and the implication that I’m helpless surface overwhelmingly, to the point my hands quake as they hover over the keys.
Deep breath. There are too many people here.
Nothing will happen.
I do my best to shove aside the gut feeling that Eric was right. That I need someone to protect me because I’m defenseless on my own. Rolling my shoulders back, I focus on the rest of the crowd.
I start slowly, fingers steady over the keys and voice low and soft.
I close my eyes. The moment I do, a shadow appears and they fly open again, my voice pausing for a split second.
Ponytail man puts a hundred in my tip jar and then lifts my drink, taking a long sip from the side stained with my lipstick.
Then places it down in front of me and winks.
Nausea fills my insides. I glance to see if Rose has returned, but she hasn’t.
Left on my own, my heartbeat thunders in my ears, overpowering the music.
I glare up at him. He’s got a strange scowl, like he doesn’t like me.
But I’m a professional. And I’m a New Yorker. And I won’t be intimidated. “Take a seat, cowboy,” I manage, now focused on the keys.
He does—but it’s beside me on the bench. “Laurie likes it when I stop by.”
There’s a beat before I respond, “I’m not Laurie.”
“Don’t be shy now,” the guy murmurs, leaning in close enough that I catch a whiff of cheap cologne and beer breath. I stiffen, shifting to force space between us. My heart stills in my chest.
I glance up to see if Carl’s around. When I do, I catch Dallas at the door. Relief washes over me instantly. The hammering in my ears and chest subsides. And I start to feel more in control.
Dallas’s scowl is firm, his eyes only briefly meeting mine before they shift to the man I’m about to spring away from.
I don’t finish the lyrics. But I wrap up the notes, letting the final chord fade. I barely have time to hop off the small riser they call a stage before the blur of motion.
Dallas is on stage, boots thudding hard against the wood. Then comes the blow. Sharp and solid, leveling the guy off the bench and onto the floor. He falls hard with a grunt and the surface cracks under him.
The rest of the place turns into a ripple of voices and scraping of chairs.
I watch in horror as my future husband bends down, lifting Ponytail by his collar and growling into his face. “Hell do you think you’re doing, Callahan?” Dallas grits.
Callahan?
Anytime Dallas and Ricky are in the same room—there’s blood.
This isn’t about me. This is the never-ending feud Rose was telling me about.
“Just welcoming your new bride to town. Got quite the taste, cowboy. Helluva lot better than—”
Another punch and my heart starts to hammer against my chest again.
Callahan sneers, wiping blood off his lip. “I was going to say Laurie. Christ, man.”
Two, maybe three men jump in and I can’t tell if they’re trying to help or making it worse.
The speakers shriek and I cover my ears, then flinch when someone grips my arm.
“Come on.” Rose yanks me away just as Wilder jumps on the stage to help.
When I look back, I notice Ricky isn’t the only one getting it bad. Dallas’s cheekbone is red, his lip cut and bleeding.
I have the urge to jump between them and practice that move Dallas showed me. But I’d knock myself out cold.
Before I have a chance to decide, Carl and a bunch of others rush past us onto the stage and tear the guys off one another. “Get out. All of you. Dallas—I’m sending you my bill.”
Despite being restrained, Dallas’s glare is unrelenting, voice lethal. “Come near her again and I’ll end this between you and me for good.”
“Get out. Both of you, out,” Carl shouts at the bruised and bloody men. He hops off stage and hands me an envelope. “Great job tonight. Please don’t come back.”
My mouth falls open at the painfully familiar blow. My hands are shaking. I don’t even defend myself. I can’t find it in me to lash out at Carl for my feeling unsafe on his stage.
This is just my life. A sign that I really am on my own.
Defenseless.
And right now, I can’t find it in me to prove Eric wrong.
I shove the envelope at Rose, who’s standing beside me, then storm off, stepping out into the cool night air with a gasp.
Dallas is one step behind me. “Willow.”
I spin toward him, but only in time to see Callahan stumbling out of the bar with two men at his side. He peers over at us with a sneer. “Call yourself a man, Thorne? Puttin’ your woman to work? Ranch sufferin’ that much?”
To his credit, Dallas ignores him. His eyes only on me.
Ricky mumbles something inaudible to his friends and the trio disappear into another bar across the street.
My chest rises and falls with each second we’re alone. Before either of us have a chance to speak, Rose and Wilder step out. “Gonna head home in Rose’s car. You two be all right?” Wilder tosses Dallas his car keys.
Dallas tears his gaze off me, nodding at his brother. “Thanks. I’ll get the truck back to you tomorrow.”
Leaving Rose behind, Wilder crosses to fetch her car from where we parked it.
Turning his eyes back to me, Dallas tilts his chin toward the truck. It’s double-parked like he owns the damn street. “Get in.”
“Get lost,” I bite.
He sighs like I’m an inconvenience. “Can we do this later? Get in.”
I cross my arms stubbornly. “I didn’t need your help in there.”
He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s biting back a comment. “I wasn’t waiting for you to ask.”
“I was waiting until the song was over,” I snap defensively.
“For God’s sake, that wasn’t about you, Willow. Now can we please go?”
I swallow at his honesty.
He doesn’t wait for me to follow, instead he circles the car and hops into the driver’s seat.
Rose steps up behind me. “He’s right. That was Ricky Callahan—the rival I was telling you about. He must’ve seen the announcement.”
I shake my head, keeping my voice low. “Of course it’s not about me, Rose.”
“Wil.”
“This isn’t a good time to rationalize with me, Rose,” I whisper harshly. “I’m all sorts of messed up. I was scared up there. I felt alone and helpless. It just . . . it came out of nowhere. I’ve never felt that way.”
She grimaces like she understands exactly what happened. “You can’t let Eric get in your head. You’ve got this. You always had.”
“If I really believed it, I wouldn’t have ended up taking self-defense classes like my life depended on it.” I laugh at myself. “And I still don’t know how to defend myself, and I’ve lost another gig because of it.”
She glances over my shoulder where Dallas and Wilder are waiting. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Maybe not. But it’s still a man taking out his insecurities on someone else, and leaving me without a job.”
She bites her lip and I know she can’t argue with that. Then she slips the envelope into my purse. “I think you can do better than this place anyway.”
We’re a few minutes into the drive when Dallas starts. A deep breath with a slow exhale. “I’m sorry, Willow.” He shakes his head like this all spiraled out of his control. “When I heard you were there—I had to come. It’s where the Callahan crew always hang out, so I had to make sure you were safe.”
“I can handle myself.” My voice is flat as I stare ahead, trying to figure out what the hell I’m really upset about.
Is it the fact he came looking for trouble? The gig I lost? Or how badly Eric still fucked with my head.
Dallas runs a hand down his face like he’s trying not to yell. “I wasn’t about to stand by and let him taunt you.”
“He could have been standing off to the side and I’d have still lost my job tonight.”
“But that wasn’t the case. Because he was taunting you. And he did it because you’re mine.”
“Your what? Your fake fiancée? Your responsibility?”
He sucks in a breath, but the words get caught. Instead, he stares at the road like it personally betrayed him. “You’re going to be my wife. For whatever short time that may be, that makes you mine to protect. And I’m going to do that the only way I know how.”
I scoff. “With your fists.”
“With the only language Ricky Callahan understands,” he snaps. Then sighs. “I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry it ruined your night. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of it. But I’ll never be sorry for setting that asshole straight and certainly not for keeping you safe.”
My mouth opens but nothing comes out. My tongue feels useless against his words. So I stay silent for the rest of the drive home.
And so does he. Swiping his hand through his hair as if he’s trying to figure out a way to fix this.
No, exactly like he’s trying to figure out a way to fix this. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. It’s the part of me that trusts him. That knows he’s a good man.
Deep down, I know that Dallas did nothing wrong tonight. And his attack on Ricky Callahan—it was about me.
Eric did such a number on me that I completely lost my way at the first sign of trouble. Granted, it was the worst I’ve had in a while—but it still rattled the shit out of me.
The words “thank you” are on the tip of my tongue by the time the gates spread open to the ranch. But I don’t say them. The other side of me is still angry. But it’s not at him.
It’s at myself.
Because I want to be more than his responsibility to keep safe. I want to be his reason. For letting go of his grief and guilt. For believing in second chances. For finally letting his walls fall.
Mine have.
And I’m tired of pretending I can fight it.
Rose is right. If there’s a man worth falling for, it’s Dallas Thorne.
A few minutes later, he holds open the front door for me and I tense as I pass him.
I hear him exhale roughly behind me. “Willow, what the hell did you want me to do? Sit back and watch you try that high kick on him?”
I flip around, furious that he doesn’t get it. “What went through your head?”
“What?”
“When you saw me tonight. You were frozen by the door. For a few seconds at least, you were watching us. I want to know what went through your head.”
His jaw tightens. “Why does it matter?”
I shake my head. I don’t know what I want him to say or . . . confess. I just want to know if he was measuring how fast he could tackle him. Or if he . . . was looking at me.
His eyes search mine as he steps up to me and he doesn’t wait for a reason.
“I just—when I saw him near you . . . my instinct was to storm in swinging. But something locked me in place. I’ve heard you sing that one before.
It didn’t sound like that. That’s when I focused on you.
Caught that stony look on your face. Your voice tight.
Like you just wanted the damn song to end so it could end . . . I saw red, Sunset.”
My chest squeezes. But I have one more question.
I meet his eyes. “And what did you see when you pulled away from our kiss last week?”
His eyes dip and I have my answer.
He saw—her.