Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
“You’re lucky, Noah was just here,” was the first thing Dylan said to her when she walked over to the barn the following day.
She felt sick at the idea of running into Noah, it made her double down on what she was there to say. “What did he want?”
Dylan had been shoveling straw and came out, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Talking logistics.” He nodded his head in the direction of Thunder’s stall.
Part of Willow wanted to know what Noah was like when he was here.
Was he curt or friendly? Did he feel strange stepping foot on Hawkins land?
Did he suffer the same admonishment as she did with their dad, or was it okay because it was business?
Or, which was more likely, was her dad warier of upsetting Noah—couldn’t bear the idea of anything coming in the way of their tight-knit relationship.
Mostly, however, all she could think about was the kiss she’d shared with Dylan.
It seemed to hang in the air between them, yet at the same time could have been a figment of her imagination.
The nonchalant way Dylan was looking at her, it was like being back at high school.
All unspoken undercurrents that tied her belly in knots.
The air thrumming like a butterfly in a jar.
She had to focus. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her tailored pants. When she’d woken up that morning, she’d deliberately dressed in her New York clothes—neat, gray cigarette pants, a delicate white shirt and gray tank. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t run into him,” she said.
Dylan walked forward a couple of paces, squinting from the sun, waiting for her to speak. He focused for a moment on scratching the dirt off the back of his hand. His T-shirt was stained with sweat and mud.
Willow looked away, back at the house. She saw for the first time a hammock set up on the back deck with a view out across Starlight Mountain. It looked freshly put up. It occurred to her that maybe that was where Dylan slept. She tried to ignore it, it wasn’t her business.
He was a step closer now and she was suddenly too consumed by the proximity of him to think about much else. He was looking at her again, made her skin feel like it was on fire.
She swallowed. He caught the movement and the corner of his mouth tipped up in that all-knowing Dylan Hawkins way, like he could sense her awkward apprehension.
She cleared her throat. “Yesterday,” she said, tucking her poker-straight hair self-consciously behind her ear, “it wasn’t a good idea.”
Dylan crossed his arms over his chest, the smirk growing on his face. “I would agree with that.”
She nodded, found herself trying to stay resolute but having to bite down on her own coy grin the more he smiled. “It’s not good for anyone.”
“No, it is not.”
She scuffed the patchy grass with the toe of her loafer. “I’ve decided to go back to New York.”
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it, just looked her lazily up and down and said, “I didn’t think you were dressed for ranching.”
She felt herself blush at how obvious she had made it, having to dress the part of who she needed to be. She had told her parents that morning. Her mom, looking worried, said, “But you’re not better. You can’t dance yet. Willow this is not?—”
“I’ll be fine,” Willow replied. She felt like she had her armor back on in those clothes, was able to defend herself better. “I think it’d be good for me to be back with the Company.”
Her dad had poured himself some coffee as he said, “Help you keep your focus.”
She felt herself bristle at the statement and tried not to rise to it.
“Oh, don’t be silly, Emmett,” Martha dismissed him, “you don’t know what you’re talking about. Willow doesn’t need focus, she needs home cooking and her family and fresh air. Willow, if you go back too soon…”
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” she said again, more insistent this time.
“She knows what she’s doing,” Emmett added. “Last thing she needs is you mollycoddling her.”
Stupidly, Willow wanted him to tell her to stay.
Martha sighed with frustration. “When will you be back?”
She looked at her dad, he didn’t look at her, just went on making his coffee, adding the cream. “I don’t know,” she replied, wanting to stamp her foot and shout, look at me! But she knew that stamping her foot, with her injury, hurt her way more than it would ever hurt him.
“You’ll be back to see the baby?” Martha said.
“Of course.” Willow smiled. The baby. That’s what it felt like she was doing this for. The future, the new life; the good that came out everything that had gone before.
Now she stood in front of Dylan in her expensive, beautifully cut clothes, and said, “I can’t jeopardize my family.”
“Willow,” he smiled now, more genuine, “you don’t have to explain anything to me.”
She nodded, relieved, but, just as she’d been with her dad that morning, sad that he hadn’t fought her on it. “Thank you.”
He tipped his head in acknowledgment.
She thought how easy it would be to walk forward and put her hand to his cheek and kiss him again. How it would satisfy a clawing urge inside her. But she’d made up her mind. Maybe that was why she was wearing these clothes, couldn’t get them all dirty pressed up against Dylan.
“When are you leaving?” he asked, walking over to the paddock and checking the fencing. Giving the patched-together repair a tug to see if it held. She wondered if it was so that he didn’t have to look at her. Wondered if maybe he was feeling the same way about the ease of the kissing.
“Later this afternoon,” she replied.
He nodded, giving one of the wooden slats a shake; he seemed to be deliberately occupied by the unsteady fence. Or maybe he just wasn’t interested in the fact she was leaving.
Thunder came out from her shelter and into the paddock.
When he saw her, Dylan clicked his teeth, and fishing in his pocket for a Polo, drew her over to where they stood.
As always, he gave a mint to Willow who held out her hand for Thunder and couldn’t help smiling into those huge onyx eyes with their long, thick lashes.
She reached tentatively forward to see if Thunder would let her stroke her nose, and when she allowed it, Willow felt her heart jolt.
“I’ll miss you,” she said softly. Again, she caught her reflection in the horse’s eyes and wondered if actually she’d miss herself, the version of her that existed only here.
Dylan was watching. “We’re racing her at Wildwood.”
Willow gasped. “You are?”
“Yeah.” He laughed at her excitement. “Real low-key thing. Just to see how she runs.”
“First Wildwood, next stop The Kentucky Derby!” Willow grinned.
Dylan raised a brow at the idea. “We can only hope.”
“Is Noah going with you?” She couldn’t imagine the pair of them on a weekend break together in Wildwood.
Dylan shook his head. “No, I’m going on my own.”
Willow turned her attention back to the horse. “I’d have loved to see you race.” She patted Thunder’s nose again. “I bet you’ll be magnificent.”
Dylan leaned, arms crossed, on the paddock gate and watched the two of them together for a moment.
While every fiber of her being willed it, Willow refused to turn and look at him, picturing instead her family all toasting the baby. She let her hand reach up and brush Thunder’s mane out of her eyes. “I won’t see you,” she said pointedly, “but I want you to win, okay? You hear me?”
Thunder gave a small snort and then wandered off to the other side of the paddock.
“She didn’t seem too keen on that, did she?” Willow laughed taking a step away from the paddock.
Dylan turned so that he was leaning with his arms hooked over the back of the fence. “Tell you the truth, I don’t know what she’s going to be like at the track. She can still be pretty touchy when she wants to be.”
“I know how she feels,” Willow said, slipping her hands in her pockets again. “I still get super nervous every time I go on stage.” She started walking back in the direction of her car.
“You miss it?” he asked, falling into step beside her.
She could sense his proximity, tried to keep her gaze on her car up ahead. She had to get out of there before she changed her mind. “Yeah, I miss it. It’s who I am.”
“It’s what you do,” Dylan corrected, “it’s not who you are.”
“Same thing,” she replied.
He laughed. “It’s not the same thing at all.”
Willow shrugged. “I think it is.”
“Well, you’re setting yourself up to fail.”
She turned to look at him, brows creased. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He glanced her way, all narrow-eyed self-assurance. “You can’t make something impermeant permeant. Dancing, it’s like racing. There’s only so long a horse can race at that level. If you make it everything you are, then who are you when it disappears?”
She could feel herself get annoyed with the calmness in his voice when he was talking so easily about the finality of her profession.
A question that had kept her awake many a night.
She’d always consoled herself that it affected a version of her far off in the future; someone who’d achieved everything she wanted and was happy to retire.
She arched a brow. “I’m not a horse, Dylan.”
That made him laugh out loud. He shook his head, still smiling. “I know you’re not a horse, Willow. I’m just saying, you’re more than what you do.”
She swallowed, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.
Side-swiped by how he’d somehow turned what she thought was a negative into a positive, a compliment.
It was the first time, perhaps, that anyone had thought that of her, even herself.
Let alone said it out loud. She wondered how often she would roll the words around in her head when she was lying in her bed alone in New York.
They’d reached her rental car.
“Well,” she said, still flustered by his comments. She took her sunglasses off her head and slipped them on. “It was interesting to see you again, Dylan.”
He inclined his head, remnants of a smile still on his lips. “It was interesting to see you too, Willow.”
“Look after Thunder, yeah?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stood awkwardly for a second, then braving it, she put her hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. He smelled of horses and the outdoors, and also exactly what Dylan Hawkins always smelled like, heady with promise and excitement.
When she stepped back, she saw him swallow, the only telltale sign that her leaving had any effect on him whatsoever.
“Goodbye, Dylan.”
He nodded, watched her get into the car, turn the ignition, start to reverse, then he turned and walked casually back to the barn, Elvis getting up from the porch and loping over by his side. When she was almost out of sight, she saw him turn, just once, then carry on back the way he was going.