by Ellie Hall
He locked on the pair of hazel eyes, behind eyeglasses, and belonging to the woman who’d bumped into him then fell. He’d wanted to help her up but she’d rejected his offer and brushed herself off so he shrugged it off. She seemed fine, if not a little out of sorts. It could’ve been the noisy café, being shoved by the people who were overly-eager to get their caffeine injections, or that she was in desperate need of one herself.
He tilted his head, waiting for what she had to say but she um’d and ah’d like in grade school when the teacher called on someone and they didn’t have the answer. He started to turn back around and move forward in the line but she held up her finger.
She had a lion’s mane of auburn hair and was average height, but when she spoke, he had to lean down to hear her. Over the notes of freshly brewed coffee, he caught a hint of her vanilla scent. It woke up a hunger in him that had nothing to do with the cupcakes in the display case.
“Were you just caught in the traffic on highway four?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Him and likely everyone else in there considering it was the nearest stop off the highway.
“The traffic was awful.”
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Looked like a car broke down. Of course, it’s important to drive slowly but I bet everyone had to stop and look. Rubbernecking.” Seemed like she’d found her voice.
He nodded, adjusting the cowboy hat on his head.
She was probably bored after sitting in gridlock for the last two hours, but the café was steaming hot, people kept jostling him, and it was hard enough hearing their apologies over the blaring music—she wanted to make small talk?
He shifted irritably, not one for the mobs of people or the pointless babbling.
“I guess we’re lucky it wasn’t raining though,” she added. She went on about her car and how she hoped that wouldn’t be her on the side of the road next. She thumbed over her shoulder. “I think for a while back there we were side by side. I mean, I looked over and saw you while we were stopped. I think. Do you drive a truck?”
He tipped his head up and down but half the people coming from the mountains drove four-wheel drive trucks.
She commented on the scent of something sweet baking then debated what she’d order when it was finally her turn.
He puffed an exhale and surveyed the line, politely trying to ignore her. Only three people worked behind the counter and they seemed swamped. It’d still be a while before he could grab his beverage and get out of there.
“I’m guessing you’re visiting Roark?” she asked.
He nodded again. “Yeah.”
“Me too. Just for a night.” Whatever else she said was drowned as the counter worker shouted that an order was ready.
She was a chatterbox and he had to admit kind of cute. Everything about her was small, at least compared to him—like she’d come from a place called adorable-land: her lips were like two little pillows, her nose a button, and her hazel eyes, brushed by long, dark lashes. He supposed there could be worse people to be stuck there with. But inside that small package, he sensed she was someone mighty—the kind of girl who could pick herself and dust herself off. It was a quality he admired but didn’t often witness in the girls who’d flocked to him and his brothers over the years—and the gold diggers who sought him out after word spread about the contents of his father’s will. For a variety of reasons, he wasn’t interested in any of them.
“This line sure is long. I guess everyone had the same idea,” she said as they crept forward.
He still had quite a ride ahead of him and looked forward to being back in the peace and quiet of his truck. He often tuned the radio to play in the background but it was nothing like the noise hammering out of the speakers in the café.
After a few minutes, she’d been jostled enough that she stood beside him. He offered a polite nod.
She lifted onto her toes. “Would you rather drink all the coffee in this café or stuff yourself with all the pastries and cookies in the case?” She pointed at the display of sweet treats by the register.
He shook his head, not sure he heard her right.
“You have to pick,” she insisted.
“I’m just getting something refreshing to drink.”
“It’s a game, silly,” she said, playfully swatting him. “If the world was going to end and you had to pick one or the other to save your true love, which would you do—food or beverages?”
“If the world was ending, I don’t think anything they have here would help.” Dallen was a practical man and not prone to silliness or whimsy.
“It’s hypothetical.” Her smile faltered and she lowered onto her heels. Then she muttered, “I’d start with the cupcakes, tops first, then the lemon bars, then the cookies, but not the ones with the walnuts.”
He sighed. Clearly, he’d offended her but so what? The question was foolish. Maybe cookies could save the day in adorable-ville but where he came from, his world had ended and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
But the pout and those big eyes of hers, behind the glasses, pulled at him so he asked, “What’s wrong with the bottoms of cupcakes? Why’d you reject them?”
“I don’t reject them, but I always have the best part first.”
“So you think the tops of cupcakes are the best part?”
She nodded.
“What about saving the best for last?”
Her frown lifted as though she was pleased that he decided to play along. “What if time runs out and you don’t get to enjoy your favorite part—since the world would be ending and all? Better to have it first just in case.”
“But what about saving your true love from the apocalypse?” he asked over the whir of the coffee grinder. “Wouldn’t you hold out, saving the best for last.”
“I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
She smelled sweet and subtly spicy, definitely like vanilla. Her hair brushed over her shoulder and the ends tickled his arm. It stirred something inside him. She was undeniably cute but he didn’t have time for cute or pretty or beautiful. He avoided all three. It was easier that way. Less temptation. Less heartbreak. Less hurt.
A harried woman with three kids toddling after her came in, cast a bleak expression at the crowd, and turned back around. One of the kids hugged her leg and begged for a cake pop.
She tossed her hands in the air, slouched and said, “I know, I promised, but—”
The woman from adorable-town waved the woman over.
“You can get in front of us.”
Us?
As the woman scooped up one of the kids, she thanked them profusely. “I’m just grabbing three cake pops and then getting out of here. No fancy coffee orders, promise.”
Dallen turned around. “Us?” he asked.
“Would you rather know that you were selfish and kept those kids from having their treat or that you did a good deed and made that family’s day. You know, if you had to save your true love.” She smirked and then gazed at the display of treats.
He scrubbed his hand down his face. She had a point but why’d she have to be so cute about it?
“Would you rather be stuck in traffic all day or in here all day?” she asked after a beat.
His lip curled because he couldn’t help but play along. “Uh, am I still saving my true love?”
She nodded.
He could think of many, many places he’d rather be stuck: on the ranch, in the ring with one of the horses, on a trail… “Pass,” he said at last.
“You can’t pass. That’s against the rules.”
The little kid in his mom’s arms ahead of him nodded. “It’s true, Sir.”
He fought a chuckle.
“If I have to answer I’d rather be stuck here. There’s food, water, and people. I’d rather not be all alone.” She cast a sunny smile that made him feel warm inside and out.
Because he was practical, he added, “There’s also incredibly loud, terrible music, a potential sho
rtage of coffee if this line doesn’t get moving, and—” He’d opt for the traffic.
“Clogged toilet,” another one of the woman’s kids said as he shuffled out from behind the bathroom door, trailing a piece of toilet paper from his shoe.
“Did you do it?” she asked aghast.
He shook his head. “But I have to go, Mom. Bad.”
She glanced at the line then back at him. “Would you rather the bathroom or a cake pop?”
Dallen turned, not wanting to hear the answer since he couldn’t help them with either. Even though it was a small thing that familiar feeling of helplessness spread through him, like a heavy, dark blanket, threatening to smother him.
He lifted his chin and took a deep breath. Thankfully, the woman with the kids got to the front of the line, which meant he was next and that he could get out of there.
“So, you have a long drive ahead of you?” the woman from adorable-berg asked, still standing next to him and browsing the bakery case.
He nodded.
“Business or pleasure?” she asked.
“Business but plans changed last minute. Still business though,” he answered.
“What kind of business are you in?” She bit her lip.
Did she recognize him? He was well away from home, but it usually didn’t take long for people to pair faces with names—his family was well known in that part of the country.
Just then, the woman with the kids knocked into him, spilling her coffee down his plaid shirt. She apologized profusely.
“Minding my own business,” he answered through gritted teeth. The words came out harsh. The stain quickly spread across the front of his shirt and the hot coffee didn’t feel that great either but he could bear it.
The woman with the glasses held out a handful of napkins to help him but at his words, her lips dipped and she stepped back. “Guess I’ll just have to wait for my cocoa to get something sweet.” Then she cast him a glare that cut right through the cotton of his shirt, scalded him worse than the coffee, and then sliced his chest to ribbons.
He needed to get out of there, back in his truck, and on the open road. Even though they’d only been in line, half-heartedly chatting, her face crumbled as though the comment crushed her. An apology would do no good—he knew that well enough. And what did it matter, they’d never see each other again.
He ordered a drink and just before he was about to pay, added a cupcake. He tore the bottom off and left the rest in the bag. “The rest of this is for the woman behind me,” he said to the cashier before storming out of the café.
A loud sigh escaped Dallen once he was back in the sanctuary of his truck. Some people thrived in groups, in fast-paced environments, and where chaos reigned. He preferred rolling hills and endless sky, a horse at a gallop, and the wind in his hair.
As he revved on the highway, he also couldn’t help but wonder if the company of a resident of adorable-town fit into that ideal because he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
He was thankful there wasn’t any traffic in the northbound lanes but the open road also gave him plenty of time to think about her. He tried to plan the next hours and everything he had to do and prepare. However, it hardly provided a distraction from the way their eyes had locked when she got off the floor, the way she’d looked at him, joked, and laughed.
“Would you rather see her again or live a lonely, lonely life?” he asked himself. Then he shook off the foolishness. It was better not to get tangled up in relationships. He’d seen firsthand and experienced what inevitably happened.
As the hills rolled into the mountains, he felt himself settle, like he could breathe again, like he was free.
He had enough responsibilities at the ranch and didn’t need to complicate his simple life with thoughts of women. If and when he met the one, he’d know. Then again, his father believed that too. Nonetheless, he made his boys vow to marry, a request none of them understood after what their mother had done.
When he’d decided to move to the ranch, his father warned him about where he built his house. Dallen had said, “Dad, the house is already built.” They were standing in front of the sprawling mansion that was part of the Hawkins family holdings, which also included the ski resort, hotels, and many other properties in Hawk Ridge Hollow and beyond.
His father clapped him on the shoulder and said, “No, I mean where you dwell.”
He’d countered. “Dad, it’s very generous of you to let me live here. This is where I mean to stay.”
The setting sun caught in his father’s white hair. He’d fought against that darn smile of his that suggested he was in on a big secret—the one Dallen sometimes saw on his brothers’ lips, Tripp specifically. “Son, in the future, you’ll remember this day and understand what I mean.”
That day hadn’t been far off. Shortly after, Charles Hawkins Junior died in a tragic ski accident, leaving the brothers bereft. It was the second time Dallen had been completely helpless. They’d tried every specialist money could buy, but couldn’t do anything to save his life.
His father had meant it was best not to dwell, or in his words build a house, among losses, but for Dallen, that was easier said than done. He didn’t know how to let go or move on. He didn’t want to. He had everything he wanted: a comfortable home, wide open spaces, and horses—lots of them.
At the stable, he scratched Genesis on the neck, feeling instantly soothed. She’d been his dad’s prize mare and they had a deep understanding of each other: of who was missing from both their lives even though they hated to admit it.
Dallen loaded up the trailer and set back out on the road. It was a quick turn around and his mind wandered back to the girl from the café. “Would you rather ride a horse or a motorcycle?” he asked as one zipped by. “Easy. No rubber or chrome for this cowboy,” he called, assuring Genesis as though she could hear him in the trailer.
As he passed the café, he wondered if the girl from adorable-ton got the cupcake top. He meant it as a bid for forgiveness after being gruff. If she ate it, did it mean she’d save her true love or the world?
He shook his head, feeling silly as he pulled into yet another jammed parking lot. Already, he eagerly awaited his return to the ranch. It was tricky with the trailer, but he found a spot to park, checked on Genesis, and went inside to find the person who’d called about the horse.
Instead, the profile of a woman with pillowy lips painted pink, a cute nose, and eyes that reminded him of sunshine on the mountains stood in the foyer. It was the resident of adorable-borough. She wore a floral dress with a red ribbon around the waist. He had the fleeting thought that he’d like to build a house there.
Chapter 3
Kayla
“Do you think you could talk some sense into her?” Kayla asked her cousin, Harmonie, while she pulled her auburn hair into a low bun. She’d just finished briefing her cousin on the traffic and the cluster at the café.
“We both know that’s about as likely to work as Aunt Doris’s pineapple cake being edible.”
Kayla wrinkled her nose. “It is rather spongy.”
“You’re being polite. It’s like a towel that’s been left out in the rain.” Harmonie stuck out her tongue. “You’re always so gracious when it comes to your family walking all over you.” She loosened a few wisps of Kayla’s hair to frame her face.
“Not Chuck,” Kayla said in defense of her brother.
“Chuck doesn’t count because he’s never around.”
Harmonie had a point. Her brother was deployed and his visits home were sporadic. It had always seemed like her parents and Chloe were against her, but she could count on him to take her side. Maybe it was because she was the youngest or the smallest and he was the oldest and biggest, leaving Chloe in the middle. She’d never understood it but with Chuck gone and her father busy with work, she often bore the brunt of team-Mom-and-Chloe’s assaults.
“The only sense I’ve ever been able to talk into your sister is nonsense,” Harmonie said, l
ightening the mood.
Kayla laughed. It was good to spend time with her cousin before the wedding madness went into full swing. They stood near the entryway of the Ridley Manor house, stalling before heading through to the rehearsal dinner. Because horses weren’t allowed in the church and Chloe’s fiancé was non-denominational, they opted to have the ceremony in the gardens behind the building and the dinner inside. Plus, Chloe was a CEO—Christmas and Easter only type of parishioner.
“Remember the time we all went to that lake house and I convinced her the basement was haunted? Or the other time she thought those love notes were for her? Solidly for you from the cute boy at the ice cream stand we’d visit in the summer aka your secret admirer. But you always let her get the goods, the credit, and the wins.” Harmonie shook her head.
Kayla shrugged. It had always been that way. Chloe got the bigger slice of cake, the cuter boy, the better job. Aside from her brother, Harmonie was the only person who saw that dynamic, but it had been going on so long she didn’t know how to change it.
Harmonie pinched the clasp on the necklace around Kayla’s neck, said, “Make a wish,” and slid it to the back just like they’d been doing since they were little.
The necklaces were a gift from their grandmother and for whatever reason were only given to the two of them—not Chloe or Chuck, and certainly not Harmonie’s three older brothers.
She’d wished for what she always did, love. True love. Real love. At that moment, a soothing warmth filled Kayla even though the setting sun took with it what remained of the spring day.
“I think Gran had a soft spot for us little sisters. She was the youngest too, you know,” Harmonie added.
But whatever else she said was lost as Kayla locked eyes with the guy from the traffic jam, from the café. Heat crept up her neck and spread pleasantly across her skin. But she made sure to twist her lips into a scowl to show she was not pleased to see him again even though her body told her otherwise.