Her memory shot back to the day Grace was born and the talk they’d had on the way home that night. “Okay. I’ll talk to him.”
“I heard he’s gone up to the Kinnison cabin this weekend. Claimed he hates crowds. My bet is it’s because you were going to be here.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Yet even as she refuted the notion, the explosive kiss they’d shared scorched her memory.
“Only one way to find out.” Michael shrugged.
Angelique sighed. “I can’t just go traipsing after Dalton.”
“Who said anything about going after him? I’m only suggesting that you talk out whatever it is between the two of you so the rest of us don’t have to deal with it every time you’re in the same vicinity. It’s bad juju for the animals, not to mention little Emilee.”
She let her hands drop to her sides. “Please, don’t hold back.” She chewed the corner of her lip. “Okay, maybe I’ve been behaving badly around him. He gets on my nerves. Sometimes I think on purpose. I didn’t realize it was that noticeable.”
“Only to half the town.”
“May I borrow your truck? I can ask Sally if she’d mind taking you home. I might be rather late.”
Michael fished in his pocket and handed her the keys.
At that moment, Aunt Rebecca peeked inside the barn. She held a picnic basket. “Sally already agreed to take us home.”
“Seriously?” she said. “Have we really drummed up that much tension around here?”
Her aunt handed the basket over, then Angelique’s purse and jacket.
“Let’s just say that any relationship needs to hash things out from time to time.”
Angelique plucked the jacket from her aunt’s offered hand. “May I remind you that there is no relationship between Dalton and me?”
Her uncle stood and put his arm around his wife. “If so, then it’ll be a whole lot more peaceful around here, then, won’t it?”
She stared at the pair, debating whether to admonish them for interfering, but even as the words teetered on her tongue, she knew this talk with Dalton was long overdue. She needed to understand what sparked that kiss between them. Why since she’d been back did it seem he worked overtime to avoid her?
“You remember how to get up there?”
“The old mine road. Yes, I was with Aunt Rebecca when we escorted the Billings EMTs up there after the bear attacked Rein, remember?”
A few moments later as she drove the narrow two-lane road leading to the cabin, she considered whether meeting up with a bear might be less hostile than an encounter with Dalton.
Chapter Six
Dalton reminded himself that he did have peanut butter tucked away in the cabinet at the cabin. He’d spent the greater part of the day in a folding chair after digging a hole for his fishing rod in the dark, rich dirt. Between doxing and listening for woodland friends that might meander by, he found himself daydreaming of the recent kiss he’d shared with Angelique and the firestorm it raised inside him.
“Doesn’t look like the fish are being cooperative today.”
Jarred alert by the voice, his chair tipped sideways, his boot kicking the rod. At that moment, the line went taut. Sprawled on the ground, he army crawled, reaching for the pole as he watched the expensive rod skitter across the ground and disappear with his catch into the fast-moving river. With a sigh, he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes landing on a pair of slender legs encased in worn denim. A tease of tan skin peeked through a hole in one knee. He let his gaze travel upward and he saw a picnic basket. He caught a whiff of apple pie and his stomach growled plaintively. He’d not eaten lunch in anticipation of a healthy all-you-can-eat fish fry.
“Sorry about the rod. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
He pushed to his knees, righted his chair, with a definitive thud and, with another sigh, stood to face his current frustration—in more ways than one. “What are you doing here?” he muttered, not in the mood for company, least of all this woman.
“Saving you from starvation, it appears.”
Not favoring the jab with a response, he folded his chair, grabbed his cooler and tackle box, and started back to the cabin. “You came all this way to bring me supper?” He wasn’t being gracious. Wasn’t in the mood. She’d just cost him a brand new rod and reel, not to mention a week of sleepless nights. But he wasn’t about to let her know that. He swung around to face her, glad when she stopped in her tracks--those dark eyes waiting, watching him. She’d come from the BBQ, dressed in old jeans and a plaid snap-front plaid shirt. Her long, dark hair was pulled over one shoulder in a freeform braid. Her mouth-watering gaze held his in challenge and he battled between kissing her senseless or turning her over his knee for interrupting his solitude. Either way, he grew hard, adding to his frustration. He let the cooler hide his body’s reaction. Shaking his head, he turned on his heel, making a beeline for the cabin, hoping she’d climb back in her truck and leave before things got complicated. He heard the crunch of pine needles as she followed him, right up the steps of the front porch. Without preamble, he faced her and plucked the basket from her hands. “Tell Rebecca thank you, as I suspect she’s the one who put this together.”
“And me? I brought the damn thing to you.” She planted her fists on her hips.
He studied her. “Your thoughtfulness is appreciated. If you leave now, you’ll just about make it back to town before dark. That road gets dicey after the sun goes down.”
She didn’t budge. Dammit.
“I figured it was time we hash out this thing between us.”
“Thing? What thing?” He dropped the basket by the screen door and folded his arms over his chest in an attempt to look intimidating. Though he doubted it would work, at least it kept him from touching her.
One brow dropped as she eyed him. “You mean to stand there and tell me that you haven’t given one second of thought to what happened behind the barn?”
Oh, hell yeah, he’d given it plenty of thought, reliving it only about a million times, his brain (and other parts) taking the fantasy to the next step. “It was just a kiss. We’ve been down that road. And if memory serves, you made it clear that it wouldn’t happen again.”
She licked her lips and looked away. He should have, too, but his eyes were caught on her mouth. She angled him a look. “We need to find a way to diffuse the tension between us. It appears to be causing a ruckus at the ranch.” She rolled her eyes in disbelief. “My family feels it’s creating bad karma, and honestly, can you blame them with all that’s happened?”
He had a good idea of what would help ease tensions, but he was pretty sure she’d not agree to the suggestion. A deep roll of thunder caused him to look up in the dusky shadows of the afternoon, realizing that the storm threat grew nigh. “Looks like you’re cooking dinner, then.”
“I need to roll up my windows.” She started down the steps and he stopped her, trotting down past her.
“Go on inside, I’ll get them. Anything else you need?”
“Just my backpack.”
He shook his head. Most women he knew carried some kind of fancy name-brand purse. Not this woman. Fat rain drops splattered on the ground, and in the next breath he was caught in a frog-strangling downpour. Hurrying back, he ducked through the screen door that Angelique held open for him. “Your pack.” Dangling on the end of his finger, he held it out to her.
“You’re soaked.” She took the bag. “Thanks.”
He glanced at the small round table with its four mismatched chairs. She’d set out paper plates, picnic utensils, and had a spread of food that made his mouth water. “I just need to change this shirt,” he said, peeling off the sodden garment without thinking. He heard a soft gasp.
“I’ll start a pot of coffee on the stove,” she offered.
“The pot is in the cabinet above the stove. Coffee is in the cooler.” Jed loved the old percolator pots. Not particular in many things, coffee—good coffee—was crucial to his step-dad. When he built the ca
bin, one of the first things he did was make sure they had a small cook stove with a burner hot enough to brew a pot of coffee. Dalton had acquired the taste at an early age, and tonight he was going to need it.
He grabbed a towel from the box of supplies and dried off. His jeans were a little wet, but tolerable. He was grateful, given how his dick strained against his zipper. Dalton caught her hooded glances as she measured out scoops of coffee. There was no question of the attraction between them. Sexual tension crackled as strong as the storm outside. They both felt it and played at ignoring it. But it had been simmering ever since that night of the reunion. Despite the heat, Dalton was faced with the cold reality that she wasn’t interested in a guy like him—not for the long haul, anyway. He was a dark horse, scarred, and she’d let him know more than once how she felt about his drinking. She deserved better.
The storm had ushered in a cold front, causing a wind to circle like a spirit through the front screen and open windows. Angelique dove for the napkins and paper plates before the ornery breeze could snatch them and toss them to the floor. “Maybe we should close the door.”
Dalton nodded and paused as he eased the door shut. Out of habit, he reached up shoved the latch into place. He met her wide-eyed gaze as he turned to face her. “Relax. I’m not going to try anything.” He tossed it out as a joke, but it served as a reminder to himself. “It’s a little chilly, do you mind if I start up the fire?”
She shrugged. “Sure,” she said. In less time than it took him to find matches, she’d pulled a hoodie from her backpack and zipped it up to her neck.
Point taken, he knelt and assembled a fire. He wondered if she’d assessed that beyond the kitchen, the only furniture in the one-room cabin was a set of bunk beds in the corner, a rocking chair, and a sleeper sofa that might have seen better days. Jed preferred to keep things simple, uncluttered. Likely no woman had ever set foot in this place before now. He couldn’t remember at any time Jed and his mom sneaking off into the wild. The woods weren’t her thing, which often made him wonder how she wound up with Jed, a self-made man with a generous spirit who desperately wanted a family of his own. It didn’t take Dalton long to realize that Eloise had been shopping for a man like Jed all her life, someone she could entrust to raise her boys so she’d be free to run away and find herself.
They ate dinner, mostly in silence with the occasional comment on how badly the area needed the rain. He lit every oil lamp in the place. The dim light only enhanced her beauty.
“We could try to be friends,” she suggested, looking at him across the table. Those dark eyes sparkled. She lifted her shoulder as she took a sip from a tin mug she found in the basket. “Sally and Rein found a way to be friends.”
Dalton held his tongue, stuffing food in his mouth to refrain from reminding her that Rein and Sally hadn’t experienced steamy sex in the cab of a truck during a fierce storm…much like this one. Shit. He shifted uncomfortably, scowling at himself for his lack of control.
“Okay.” She set her cup down and leaned her elbows on the table. “I’ll start.” She let out a small sigh. “Everyone around here has been very welcoming. Aimee graciously included me in her wedding, Wyatt agrees that I should come out to help Uncle Mike on weekends, even Clay Saunders—who I met for maybe two seconds before I left today—showed me more kindness than you’ve shown to me the entire time I’ve been back.”
Dalton chewed his food, perhaps more slowly than normal as he listened, debating how to respond. “I thought Clay was depressed, unsociable.” He looked up and met her stupefied gaze.
“That’s what you got from everything I said? Nothing else?”
“Well, there is something I’ve been curious about, but I don’t suppose it’s really any of my business.”
She raised one perfect brow. “You’re probably right, but if will help clear the air, then bring it.” She wiggled her fingers at him.
He dropped his fork on the empty plate and sat back. Crossing his arms, he eyed her. “You want me to be honest, right? Get it all out on the table?”
She held his gaze, worrying the corner of her lip. He fairly saw the wheels turning, the debate going on inside her as to whether or not she wanted to hear what he had to say. Finally, she nodded.
“Your husband is killed in Afghanistan, and soon after your daughter is living with her aunt and uncle here, while you’re still in Chicago. Why is that, Angelique? What kind of mother just up and pawns off her kid for someone else to raise?” He saw the stab of hurt flicker in her eyes.
“You’re right. It’s none of your business. But I had my reasons, and they were what I felt was best for my daughter at the time.” She tipped her head and narrowed her eyes. “But who are we really talking about here, Dalton? Me, or your mother?”
He snorted. “Just curious, I guess. Maybe I just wondered if you could shed some light on it from the perspective of a mother.”
Her gaze was icy. “For starters, I’m not your mother and my circumstances were nothing like hers.” She rose and began collecting the plates, stuffing them in the trash.
Maybe he was looking for an excuse to push her away. Maybe when he looked at her, it reminded him of what he’d suffered when his mom ran off leaving them with Jed. “Look, I didn’t intend for this to get ugly.” He stood, trying to help clear the table, succeeding only in having his hand batted away.
She pointed a plastic fork covered in potato salad at him, shaking it in his face. “You all but accuse me of abandoning my child and dare to equate me to your mother and whatever her reasons were, and I’m not supposed to take offense to that?”
He wiped a stray blob of salad from his shirt. “Look, you’re right.” He felt like shit, but it didn’t quell his curiosity. “I don’t know what your reasons were.”
Slamming the lid on the basket, she scooped it over her arm and grabbed her backpack on the way to the door.
“You can’t go out there in this crap. The roads are pure mud by now.”
She whirled to face him, her eyes blazing. “You’re so damn good at casting judgments, aren’t you? But let anything invade your little world and you’re off in a heartbeat, drowning your troubles away at Dusty’s.”
Her words hit hard, worse than a fist to his gut. He deserved it. “I know. You’re right. It’s what I do, how I cope, it has been for years.”
Her anger softened, replaced by confusion.
“Rein, Wyatt, hell, even Dusty have been after me for a while now about my drinking. I’m working on it. Just not as fast as everyone would like.” He blew out a breath. This was going to be the longest damn night of his life. “Look, you’re going to have to stay until morning. I’d be in one hell of a mess with everyone if anything happened to you.”
Studying him a moment longer, she relinquished the basket to him. He sat it on the table and raked a hand over his head. Now what? He glanced at her. “You want to tell me what happened in Chicago?”
She walked over and sat on the couch, letting her backpack fall to her feet. “Not yet. I’m just not ready, Dalton. But I swear to you, had I felt there was another choice, I’d never have left my daughter. She was safest with my aunt and uncle. Growing up, they were the closest thing to parents I had. That’s why Emilee calls them her grandparents and I’m okay with that, as are they. I spent more time at their house than I did mine.”
This was new to him--then again, how much had he tried to get to know her back then? She was a gawky middle school kid. He was a struggling teen, trying to find his identity, to make a name for himself, portraying himself as the town badass. Hell, even that night at Dusty’s it’d taken Sally to point out his idiocy.
Dalton purposely sat on the opposite end of the room, guilt plaguing him for wanting to hold her and kiss away the sadness on her face. He thought back to that night. Dropping her off, driving home in a daze. Stunned not by what had happened, but at the powerful effect it’d had on him. By the time he figured things out, she’d returned to Chicago and soon after he�
�d heard she’d gotten married.
The realization that he’d been her one last fling came like a sucker punch to his gut. He’d always been the one in control of his affairs, calling the shots, causing the heartbreak. It was a blow to his pride. That’s how he chose to look at it in the final analysis. Had she broken his heart? Was that what all this was about? Jesus. He fervently wished there was a Scrabble board, Chinese checkers, even a damn deck of cards in this cabin.
“I’m sorry, Dalton. What happened was my fault. I coerced you, and it wasn’t fair.”
He stared into the fire, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t remember being an unwilling participant, Angel.”
“So it meant nothing.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “I didn’t say that.”
“If it did then why didn’t you say something? Why did you just let me go?”
He dropped to his knee, busied himself with poking at the fire as he searched for an answer that made any sense. “You were headed back to your life in Chicago.” He glanced over his shoulder.
“Maybe you didn’t want to be tied down,” she offered.
He stood and looked at her. “Maybe that’s true, but I’m not the man I was back then.”
She held his gaze. “No, I don’t think you are. I’m not the same either. I’ve been through some things, Dalton. I’ve made some poor choices. I’m in no position to pronounce judgments on anyone. I’m sorry for what I said about your drinking.” She held her hands clasped in her lap.
An old transistor radio sat on the cabinet in the kitchen. It was used mainly for weather, and he wasn’t even sure if the batteries inside still worked. He went over and turned it on, grimacing at the amount of static he found as he turned the dial. Then Garth Brooks filled the silence in the room with a song about a man who’d do anything for the woman he loved. “I’m shameless.”
He shoved the coffee table aside and held out his hand to her. “You’ve got to get past this idea of being afraid of me, Angel.”
Her reach hesitated midway to his. “I’m not--”
Renegade Hearts (The Kinnison Legacy Book 3) Page 9