Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
The christening for baby Leo was the first week of the new year. Willow hadn’t been back at Thanksgiving or Christmas because of the show, and it felt like an age had passed since she’d last driven in through the gates of Silver Sky.
It was early morning—her flight had been at the crack of dawn—there was snow on the ground all around her, a gleaming carpet of white stretching out to the mountain, the pines drooping heavy with frost.
She got out the car and walked up to the house, there was no one about. Inside, she put her bag down in the kitchen and went to make herself a cup of coffee when she looked out the window and saw Thunder out in the paddock, nose raised to the falling snow.
Willow immediately forgot about the coffee and pulling her coat and sneakers back on went straight outside.
“Hey, girl!” she said, going over to where Thunder stood, snowflakes dappling her winter coat. “How are you?”
Thunder’s ears pricked up at the sound of Willow’s voice and she trotted toward her.
Willow wished she had a mint in her pocket.
“I don’t have anything, I’m sorry.” She gave her a stroke and then Thunder caught the zip of her coat between her teeth and pulled it up and down. Willow laughed. “You remember me!”
She looked around to see if Noah was about or her dad, but couldn’t see anyone. The snow fell gently. She glanced back at Thunder who nuzzled her again from over the fence. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Thunder?”
Quick as she could so Noah didn’t appear and stop her, Willow went to the barn to get a saddle.
When she came out, Thunder had come over to the gate like she knew what was about to happen and was eager to get going.
Willow giggled as she threw on the saddle, nervous of Noah catching her, excited to get out riding in the snow.
The sun was coming up over the mountain casting hazy rays over the blinding white landscape. Willow zipped her coat up high as it would go against the weather and tied her hair up on top of her head. “Okay, you ready?” she said, then jumped up into the saddle. “Let’s go.”
They headed out into the fresh powder, theirs the only prints on the ground. The sun glistened off the icy flakes as they fell like sequins and made the white-coated branches of the trees sparkle. All around was silent, the magical quiet that only came with snow.
Willow tipped her head back and let the flakes fall on her face, catch in her eyelashes, tickle down her back.
She remembered the first time she’d let Thunder out by mistake, how fast she’d bolted.
She bit her lip at the idea of it, thought of the time Dylan made her slow down when she’d edged up the speed.
There was nothing stopping her now—she looked around, still no sign of Noah.
Leaning forward, she whispered to Thunder, “Shall we go for it?”
Thunder didn’t need asking twice, she galloped like the wind. Willow felt the sting of the freezing air against her skin, could hardly feel her hands on the reins they were so cold, but she didn’t care, she had never felt so free in her life, never felt so close to flying.
By the time Thunder slowed, Willow had frozen tracks of tears down her cheeks from the wind and her hair was crisp with ice, but she couldn’t stop smiling. It was only when she looked up that she realized where she was.
Framed by the whitewashed pines, there was the view to the Hawkins ranch, and the burned-out shell of the house. It made her suck in a breath to see it in ruins, the blackened timbers still visible despite the coating of snow.
She urged Thunder forward through the trees, toward the untouched blanket of white that swept over where the wildflowers had been and the old paddock. A couple of the fence struts had broken again, it made her remember Dylan kicking them to check they were secure.
Everything made her think of Dylan—the patch of land where his van had been parked, the old jacked-up car in the drive, the view out to the Redemption River.
She rode up the paddock and slid down out of the saddle. Then she lifted the fallen plank of wood and jammed it back into the slot in the fence, didn’t like to see it broken. Didn’t like to see it falling into disrepair without Dylan there.
She glanced over at the bones of the house, remembered that first time she’d kissed him on the veranda, the posts now fallen buried under snow. She turned away, shielding her eyes against the sun to look across at the mountain.
The gray horse appeared almost out of nowhere in the distance, its pale coat camouflaged against the white.
Willow narrowed her eyes to try and understand what she was seeing. It looked very much like Mercury. And the rider on his back looked very much like Dylan Hawkins.
She felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She brushed the snow and ice out of her hair and waited by the paddock fence, giddy like a schoolgirl.
As they came closer into view, she saw that it definitely was Mercury. And the rider, while wrapped up against the cold in a fleece-lined jacket, black scarf and hat, was most definitely Dylan.
She understood then how Zoey and her friends had felt when they’d waved excitedly to their parents mid-recital—seeing the people they adored and not being able to help themselves.
Adored. The word fell like a spotlight on him as he rode toward her.
She saw the smile half hidden by his scarf.
“Hi,” she said, knowing that her cheeks were pinking even in the icy cold.
He jumped down off Mercury, tied him up next to Thunder and said, “Hi, yourself.”
She bit down on her smile, feeling it radiating through her. “I didn’t realize anyone was here.”
Dylan leaned against the fence, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. “Is that so.”
She nodded, smile still tugging to be set free. The sight of winter Dylan was very distracting, his hat pulled low, the collar of his jacket turned up, heavy boots on his feet. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
He glanced around. “I live here.”
“Since when?” She frowned, caught off-guard by the answer.
“Since about a week ago.”
“No one told me.”
He laughed. “I think probably only Noah knows, and he’s not one for gossip.”
Willow couldn’t think straight. “Where’s Elvis?”
“In the van.”
She could hardly allow herself to believe what he was saying. “Where’s the van?”
“Around the back of the barn.”
She glanced over but the barn blocked the view of anything behind it.
She looked back to Dylan, the snow still falling, everything white, it was like she was in a dream.
She kept wanting to take a step forward, to reach out and touch him to check he was real, but she put her hands in her coat pockets instead.
“You need some gloves,” he said.
“I know, I only just got here?—”
“And this is the first place you came?” He tipped his head, cocky smile spreading on his face.
She looked bashfully down at the snow.
“So I take it you’re here for the christening?” he asked and she could still hear the amusement in his voice.
She glanced up, feeling her heart start to thrum. “Kinda.”
“What does that mean?” His eyes narrowed, wariness replacing the cocky smile.
“It means I’ve retired,” she said with a grin—her turn to be smug at his reaction.
“You’ve done what?” He straightened up, his eyes widening in surprise. “No,” was all he could say. “No, you can’t.”
That was not the answer she was expecting. “Yes, I can,” she said, bemused, “because I have.”
Her retirement week had been perfect, her dressing room filled with balloons and flowers.
She had cried at the end of her last performance, but it was a sadness for the end of a chapter, for the friends she wouldn’t see as much, for her last applause.
But the excitement in the pit of her stomach was greater than anything else.
There was a party and speeches and then that was it, she was free.
“But why?” Dylan looked so horrified that she panicked she’d made a mistake telling him.
“Because I was done,” she said. “I loved it and everything about it, but the thought of doing something else suddenly seemed more exciting than carrying on.”
He shook his head, bewildered. “But I saw you and you were incredible.”
She frowned taken aback. “When?” Then it dawned on her. “Did you come and watch me dance?”
Dylan paused like he hadn’t meant to say what he said. He took his hat off and ran his hand through his hair. “Yes,” he admitted.
“And you didn’t come and see me after?” She couldn’t believe it.
He winced. “I didn’t want to get in your way.”
She angled her head in confusion, studying him as he looked sheepishly back. “You came to New York to see me?”
He nodded, his hair falling forward over his eye.
She felt her excitement creep back to the surface. “Did you like it?”
His mouth tipped up in a smile. “I loved it.”
She beamed. “Really?”
“Really.”
She couldn’t help herself any longer and took a step forward so they were now only inches apart. She could see the patterns of the snowflakes where they’d landed on his scarf.
“But that’s it?” he asked. “You’re not doing it anymore?” He didn’t seem able to believe it.
She shook her head, looking up at him, meeting the wary blue gaze. “No.”
She saw him swallow. “So, what are you planning to do now?”
“I don’t know,” she said, reaching forward and letting her fingers trail down the fabric of his jacket. “What are you going to do now?”
He seemed captivated by her hand where it had come to rest on his chest. “I don’t know,” he said distracted. “But I’ve got all this land…”
“The kind of land you might have a training ring on?” she suggested, stepping closer still, gathering the snow off the top of his pocket, running it through her fingers.
“Maybe,” he replied. “Or a ballet school.”
She looked wryly up at him.
“You were good at teaching those kids.”
“You sound like my mom.” She gave his chest a little shove, but instead of stepping back he reached out and caught her, gathering her close.
She felt her heart leap, breathed him in, encircled there in his arms.
“You’re really doing this?” he double-checked.
She took hold of the lapels of his jacket, and giving them a tug, drew his head down toward hers. “With or without you, Hawkins.”
His smile widened as she pressed her mouth to his. “I’ll take with.”
She snaked her arms around his neck, lifting up on her toes, crushing herself against him as his hold tightened, enveloping her warm against the snow. “I was hoping you’d say that.”