Chapter 8 Dalton
DALTON
Dalton tossed and turned in his bed that night, desperately trying to think about anything but Ella.
But every time he closed his eyes, he was right back in the barn, his hand cradled in hers, nothing but the sound of their breathing as she worked to help him. Her small hands felt so soft and warm as they danced over his skin, and her voice was a gentle murmur when she spoke.
Her attention made him feel cared for in a way he hadn’t in years. That alone would have had him staring at the ceiling tonight, his heart aching.
But this was much, much worse.
He was wildly attracted to her. He couldn’t help it. The more time he spent with her, the more desperately he wanted to make her his girl.
But each day, he managed to control himself by remembering that she would never feel the same. He wasn’t good enough for her. And Ella had lost too much to be aware of him in that way. So he’d managed to keep his mouth shut all this time.
But tonight, he’d caught her eyes drifting to his too often, and seen her pulse thrumming in her throat.
His heart had been thundering and he’d been clenching his jaw to stop himself from speaking when she finished the second bandage and moved to pull away from him.
He had no idea what had caused him to hold on for that extra second.
But when it sent her tottering into his arms, there had been no doubt that she wanted him to kiss her.
Her cheeks had been flushed, her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes wide with surprise and hazy with wanting. He felt like a planet tugged toward a star. He couldn’t have denied her if he’d wanted to.
And he hadn’t wanted to.
Thank God for Mary coming in when she did.
He repeated that inwardly to himself, and he was sure Ella was doing the same.
But for his part, it was hard to mean it, hard not to imagine what it would have been like to hold her close and taste her mouth.
I bet she tastes like sunshine.
He sat up in bed and ran a hand through his hair. It had grown a little longer since he arrived, and he even had a bit of a beard—Michael had encouraged him to grow one.
It’ll keep your face warm, son, he’d said, eyes dancing. It’s getting cold out there. Dalton had a good laugh with the older man, who had become an easy mentor to him.
This place had changed him, inside and out.
He felt so much more now. More happiness, more sadness, more curiosity.
Life was funnier and more interesting. Colors even seemed brighter.
And for the first time in a long time, he found himself looking up at the sky sometimes and feeling a small measure of relief from the weight he had carried for so long.
He knew the Barretts weren’t really his family, but they still made him feel like he was one of them.
They don’t know the real me, he reminded himself. If they did, they wouldn’t want me here.
He closed his eyes again and forced himself to picture packing up his belongings and leaving the farm. It was going to happen, whether he wanted it to or not. It would be better to go on his own before they sent him away.
But not until the harvest is done.
In his mind, he watched his hands folding his jeans and flannels and shoving them in his duffel, followed by his socks and underwear. He got all the way to the paperback Andy had given him for his birthday one year before he finally felt himself drifting.
And even though he tried to keep his mind on the mundane task of packing, his final thoughts as sleep overtook him were of Ella again.
I bet she tastes like sunshine…