Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Willow drove back to the ranch in a state of stunned confusion. Why had she said she’d go back?
When she pulled up in the Silver Sky driveway, her mom was standing outside The Silver Pantry—the café and lifestyle store she ran at the ranch—tending to the plants for sale in a galvanized trough. “I thought you’d be back ages ago,” she called when she saw Willow. “How did it go?”
For a second, Willow presumed she was talking about going to the Hawkins place but realized in time she meant the physio.
“Oh, you know, same as always.” She found herself, however, being much more forthcoming about exactly what the physio had said, telling her mom everything to compensate for the guilt she felt about going to Dylan’s.
Later, as they ate dinner, the nerves in Willow’s stomach made it almost impossible to eat.
As her mom talked about various customers who’d been in that day and her dad ran through logistics of a cattle auction he was headed to the following morning, in her mind Willow heard herself saying, “Tomorrow” to Dylan, and felt her skin go hot and cold at the memory.
As she picked at her food, she felt like a traitor.
The Hawkins name meant trouble in her family, that was it, no arguing.
There was too much entrenched hurt, damaged pride and bare-faced rivalry dating back to her great-grandfather’s days to try and fight it.
Willow shifted in her seat with guilt as she watched her parents eating their supper, but somewhere underneath that she couldn’t deny the excitement.
When she woke up the next day, she knew she couldn’t go back to the Hawkins ranch no matter how much part of her itched for the chance to ride Thunder.
Or was it simply the idea of seeing Dylan again?
She tried to find an obstacle to tether her in place and make it impossible but when she offered to help her mom at The Silver Pantry, Martha said, “That doesn’t sound like the kind of fun your physio prescribed, does it? ”
Willow wished she hadn’t been quite so forthcoming about the details. “Sounds kinda fun,” she pushed.
Her mom leaned forward, forearms resting on the countertop, her wrists crossed. Willow focused on the wedding ring on Martha’s finger. “Honey, you need to learn to relax, that’s what the lady was saying. Go out, enjoy yourself.”
Ren was making coffee for one of the regulars at the big chrome espresso machine. “Why don’t you go for a drive, or something? Noah took me to see the waterfall just the other day, and my goodness, it was beautiful.”
Willow tried to look enthusiastic. Having grown up in Autumn Falls, she’d seen her fair share of the waterfall in the sunshine.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” said her mom. “I can pack you some snacks.”
The waterfall was on route to Dylan’s house. It was almost as if they were pushing her toward it.
Not long after, a bag of Silver Pantry goodies in a hamper on the passenger seat, Willow was driving out of the ranch to go and see the waterfall.
She told herself, even when she slipped on her knee brace under her jeans and chucked her hat casually into the truck, that she was not going riding.
Riding was not allowed. As she drove once again up the road in the direction of the mountain, she imagined the faces of the medical director and the physio, the artistic director and the choreographer, her friends in her apartment as she packed her bag.
There was a feeling like they all knew more than they were letting on and no one was telling her that maybe this was the end of her career.
The idea made her hands shake on the steering wheel.
It propelled her forward, made her want to ride out into oblivion, do as much damage as she could, punish herself for what she’d done.
There was the Hawkins sign, caught forever on a half-swing, exactly as it had been the day before.
And, in exactly the same way, she turned off at the last minute, as if tricking her own self that she wouldn’t.
Dylan was standing at the entrance to the house drinking a cup of coffee, sandy hair loose, pushed back from the shower, low-slung dirty-black jeans and a khaki shirt.
If he was surprised to see her, he didn’t look it.
In fact, all she saw were the sloping eyes heavy with amusement.
By his side was a sleeping dog, which stood up at the sound of the engine and yawned, it looked like an old man, shaggy beard and nose like it was missing a pair of spectacles.
She turned off the ignition and sat for a second, rolling her shoulders back as if preparing for battle. What are you doing here, Willow?
She climbed out of the truck feeling edgy under his gaze. “Hi.”
Dylan nodded, chucking the remains of his coffee on the ground before strolling over in her direction; the dog followed languidly. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you’d come.”
She swept a hand in front of her face, chasing away a bug. She thought about playing dumb, acting like it was all perfectly ordinary, but then she sighed, wondering who she was trying to kid, she wasn’t a teenager anymore, and said, “Me neither.”
Dylan reached behind her and grabbed his hat where it hung on the wing mirror of the old Ford. Willow tried not to register the shiver at his proximity.
“Your brothers know you’re here?” he asked.
She folded her arms and arched a brow. “What do you think?”
She watched the smile spread on his face. It made her stomach clench dangerously.
Dylan tipped his head, nodding in the direction of the paddock and said, “Let’s go.”
She was silently pleased that he didn’t push it with any more questions, didn’t act smug that she’d gone behind her brothers’ backs, and followed behind him, relaxing a little bit, letting her crossed arms drop as she walked.
The dog started to follow then changed its mind and went back to sleeping in the sunshine.
“So, how’ve you been?” Dylan asked as they walked, like they’d been friends for years. It caught her off-guard—this was Dylan Hawkins! He didn’t ask after her, he swaggered broodingly down school hallways or lounged unapproachably in the corner of the diner surrounded by his pack of friends.
“I’m fine,” she replied, smirking slightly to herself at the idea of them chatting, thinking of how in the past she’d barely been able to speak in front of him.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Something funny?” he asked when he saw her expression.
“Nothing,” she replied, pulling her own hat on. It was the same one she’d worn as a teenager; wearing it reminded her of how naive and tongue-tied she’d been back then. Just that memory made her catch up with Dylan so they were walking side by side. “So, what are you doing back in town, Dylan?”
He strolled with his hands in his pockets, casual and easy. “My dad passed a couple of months ago, left this place to me and my brother.”
Willow stopped smiling. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he replied, eyes impassive. “I’m not.”
Willow wasn’t sure what to say. She remembered Dylan’s dad, Bob Hawkins, from the times she’d seen him in town, when her mom would look the other way as they walked past, or her brothers would hang their heads.
But mostly, she knew him from the time he turned up at the ranch.
How she’d watched him confront her dad from where she was hidden from view behind the screen door.
Bob was an unsettling presence on their property, too tall, heavyset, hard eyes.
She remembered the moment she saw that Dylan was there, too; the heart-sinking disappointment that came with the sight of him standing, legs apart, arms crossed like a bodyguard behind his father.
She had watched him as he refused to meet her eye, wondering if he’d fight her if his daddy told him to.
“Is your brother coming back?” She tried to sound casual, slipping her own hands in her pockets, trying to mirror his ease, but she wasn’t sure the town could cope with Tyler Hawkins rocking up as well.
Dylan laughed at the suggestion. “Not a chance! Tyler wouldn’t set foot back in Autumn Falls.”
Willow nodded. Tyler had always been bad news—if there was trouble in Autumn Falls, there’d be Tyler.
He’d got into a big fight with her brother Jack once.
Tyler and his friends cornered him one night—Jack was always quick with the scathing one-liners and had put Tyler’s back up.
Logan stepped in, tried to talk Tyler down and got a busted jaw because of it.
All the old guys drinking at The Firestone had been the ones to break it up.
“You don’t have to worry,” he said, like he could sense her relief. Then, “I see pretty much all the boyband’s back.” They’d reached the paddock, Dylan went to unlock the gate, asking dryly, “They gonna reunite? Make teenage hearts flutter again?”
“Never.” Willow scuffed the earth with her boot trying to hide her disloyal smile. Then added more somberly, “Ethan’s still away and Jack…”
Dylan paused, resting his arm on the gate. “I heard about that. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. There had been a confusing maelstrom of emotions after Jack died, some less positive revelations about his behavior—especially in his relationship with Logan’s now-wife, Bella—but to Willow he was always her older brother: charming, decadent, sly at times but funny with it.
Thinking about him was like a black hole of sadness in her mind that could go on infinitely if she let it.
Dylan narrowed his eyes, watching her for a second, taking it in, before unlatching the gate and gesturing for her to go in first. “What’s Ethan up to?” he asked as he closed it behind him.
Willow waited for him. “Hasn’t been back since he joined the Navy.” She felt a twinge of betrayal revealing the parts of their family life that felt like failings, but it was a small town, and she figured he’d find out one way or another. “Not that you’d mind that!”