Even through my disappointment, a tremor of excitement shakes me deep inside. I twist the ring a few times, familiarizing myself with its feel.
Wes cups my face, kisses me tenderly. Eventually he lays me on my back and the moon rises higher until it’s directly behind his head.
We both drift off, and I wake up to Wes gently shaking my shoulders. He presses one finger to his mouth and motions with his hand. When my eyes adjust, I see what he’s pointing to. A bobcat and two kittens sit across the pond, lapping at the water. I watch in awe, not sure if we should be scared or if Wes has anything to protect us. They continue to drink until there’s a sound in the distance, something like a tree branch falling. The mother and her kittens bolt into the trees and disappear from sight.
Wes stands and reaches out a hand to help me up.
“Were we in danger?” I ask in a whisper.
Wes shakes his head. “Bobcats are more afraid of us than we should ever be of them. They’re like large house cats. If you ever get close to one, just stomp. It’ll run.”
“Or just hope a tree branch falls nearby and scares it away.”
He glances out into the trees. There’s nothing out there that I can see, and yet he has the hard look on his face of a man who’s facing down a problem. “Right.”
He grabs a fistful of blanket and plucks it off the ground, then we climb in his truck and head for his cabin.
I fall asleep the second my head hits Wes’s pillow. This has been the best night of my life so far, and not even the memory of Dixon can taint it.
33
Dakota
I’m breathless from taking the stairs two at a time at the hotel. The elevator was busy and I’m running late for the video meeting I’m supposed to have with my dad and Brandt. I’d meant to leave Wes’s bed when my alarm went off, and I kind of managed it, but when I came back from the bathroom… well, just like every other morning this week, Wes persuaded me to come back to bed. This morning, however, we fell back to sleep. Oops. Maybe I should rethink staying the night at his place during the week. Weekends, however, are a different story. Last weekend, after the near-brawl at The Chute, Wes and I stayed in bed the next two days. Tearing myself away from him on Monday morning had been difficult, and so far it hasn’t become any easier.
I tear into my room, change from last night’s comfy clothes into a sensible lavender blouse and black pants, and run a brush through my hair.
At three minutes past nine, I open my computer and set it up on the table. My eyes perform a quick sweep of the hotel room to check for stray bras or underwear. I’m assuming I’ve been anointed housekeeping’s favorite guest because I haven’t given them a reason to clean my room or make my bed. Whether it’s coffee in the morning or wine in the evening, all my non-working time is spent at Wes’s.
The video connects and the conference room at Wright Design + Build fills up my computer screen. My dad sits on one side of the long table, Brandt on the other. We say hello, exchange pleasantries, then get down to business.
“I’ve been in touch with Scott,” my dad says. “He says things are coming along without any problems.”
I bristle at the mention of Scott. I’m the project manager, my dad should be talking to me and me only when he wants updates. I don’t say anything for two reasons. One is that we’re in front of other people. Two is that I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize my role.
“I hope all future projects will be this easy,” I joke, covering up my irritation.
“They won’t be,” Brandt responds. I keep a straight face, but on the inside I’m giving him a death glare.
We move on to other topics. Dad informs me of two more projects they’ve got going on. I nod and pretend to listen. My mind is somewhere on Hayden land, watching Wes ride Ranger. Forty-five interminable minutes later, the call wraps up.
I change once again, into jeans and boots more appropriate for the jobsite, and I’m climbing into my car when my phone rings.
It’s my dad.
“Hey, Dad, I’m just on my way to—”
“Why the hell are you wearing a ring on your finger?”
I look down at the gold band, my fingers spread out wide. How dumb of me. “Uh, well.”
“Spit it out.”
It’s amazing how I can be an adult and suddenly feel like a child again. And just like in my childhood, a flair of resentment sparks in my chest. I do not want to be told what to do. “I’m going to marry Wes.” I can’t tell him about the agreement, because that would mean coming clean about my debt.
“What? I… No… Dakota.” Shock.
“Yes, Dad.”
“You barely know him.” Indignation.
“It’s enough, Dad.”
“No, Dakota, it’s not. Can you imagine what your mother would say if she were alive?” Self-righteous.
I suck in a breath. That was low. “I need to go, Dad. I’m working.”
“Dakota, let’s talk about this.” Pleading.
“Dad, I just need you to trust me on this. I know what I’m doing.”
“It doesn’t sound like you do.”
“Bye, Dad. I love you.”
I hang up and spend the entire drive willing my blood pressure to decrease. That’s not how I wanted to tell him. When I get to the jobsite, I send him a text.
Everything is going to be okay, Dad. I know it was a shock, and trust me when I say it’s not how I wanted you to find out. I love you.
Two hours later, he responds. You’ve always marched to the beat of your own drum, Junior. If you say you know what you’re doing, I’m going to trust you mean it. I love you, too.
This time, when the HCC truck pulls up, I don’t think for even a second that it’s Wes. Before I left his place this morning, he told me he, Warner, and Ham were riding out to pasture seventeen to mend fences broken from a recent storm, and that he anticipated it would take all day.
I cover my eyes from the sun, expecting to see Jessie hop out with bare legs and short shorts. Instead, sensible boots and Wranglers are visible under the passenger door.
Juliette?
The door closes and Wes’s mom starts for me.
I sigh internally. I’m really not in the mood for Juliette after talking to my dad. I get up from my chair, ducking my head under the tent and striding out to meet Juliette. She wears a no-nonsense expression that sends a rapid tremble through me.
“Hello, Juliette.” I smile and greet her without a trace of the nerves I’m feeling. I get the feeling Juliette would see any nervousness as weakness and therefore be disgusted by it.
“Dakota,” she greets me, her tone clipped. “Can we speak privately?”
A lead ball forms in my stomach. “Certainly.” I guide her back to the tailgate of her truck. It’s not that much further from the jobsite, but at least it’s out of direct eyesight of everybody.
“What can I do for you?” I ask.
Juliette’s blue-eyed gaze is glacial. Jessie has the same eye color, but hers are warmer, more cornflower and less iceberg. “I find it awfully odd that you show up in Sierra Grande and decide to do a good deed for my son. Tell me, Dakota, why are you falling on the sword for him?”