Never is a Promise

by Winter Renshaw

  What was with everyone asking why I was back? It was my home. I didn’t need a valid reason other than the fact that a guy got homesick for his kin after living on the road for several months at a time.

  “Just seeing family,” I said. “What about you? You still in med school?”

  “I am.” He fidgeted like there was something more he wanted to say. “Look, Beau, I don’t want to sound like an asshole here, but stay away from Dakota.”

  “I beg your pardon?” A rumble of discontent stirred deep in my chest. While Sam had a lot of nerve saying something like that to me, I also knew he wasn’t in the wrong.

  “You’ve done a number on that poor girl.” I picked up a hint of a shake in his voice, as if he were slightly afraid of me. Sam was book smart - a scrawny, nice guy. He had soft hands. The guy didn’t have an ounce of fight in him, and yet he loved my Dakota enough to tell me to stay the hell away from her. “Rebecca’s been taking care of her like it’s her full-time job.”

  “Taking care of her?” I’d never known Dakota to not be able to care for herself.

  “Yeah, after that situation you left her in,” Sam said with a huff.

  I knew exactly what I’d done: I’d smashed her heart into a million pieces. She probably cried herself to sleep every night thinking I didn’t love her, when in reality all I was doing was saving her from the monster I’d become.

  “I don’t know if she’s coming home for spring break this week,” Sam said, “But do not go seeking her out, Beau. Don’t make this worse than it already is.”

  My lips pursed into a straight line as I raked my hand through my hair. Sam had a point. I had no business bothering the poor girl, and anything I said or did might make her even more upset with me.

  He stepped toward me, placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing it as he offered a nod and pushed on by. “Good talk.”

  I huffed and shook my head. He had a lot of nerve.

  But then again, so did I for thinking I had any business getting that poor girl all stirred up at a time when my promises meant jack squat to her.

  And what were my intentions anyway? I wanted to hear her sweet drawl, see her pretty smile, but I also wanted to bend her over behind the gate of my truck, taste her sweet mouth, and devour every other square inch of her body.

  And then what? Send her back to school with an even bigger hole in her heart and hit the road like it never happened? I couldn’t do that to her. Not again.

  Climbing back into my truck, I sped back home to help my dad with some chores.

  I’d have to come back for her another time, when I was the kind of man she deserved to be with.

  I woke up Tuesday morning alone in his bed. The distinct smell of peppered bacon and fried eggs wafted upstairs and a satisfying soreness between my thighs instantly sent a guilty smile to my face. Stretching my arms overhead and dipping my bare toes onto the cool wood floor, I pulled myself up and helped myself to Beau’s dresser, pulling out an old Darlington High t-shirt that hit mid-thigh and sauntering downstairs.

  Standing back a ways, I watched him cook us breakfast in nothing but a pair of blue jeans. I snuck up behind him, slipping my hands around his chest and pressing my cheek into the flexed muscles of his back. His free hand covered mine.

  “Morning,” his deep voice rumbled through his body and vibrated against my hands. “How’d you sleep?”

  Like a million bucks.

  “Well. Thank you.” I peeled myself off him and took a seat at the table as he plated food and poured orange juice into two glasses with yellow and orange flowers on them. He took a seat across from me. The way he held his fork made it look tiny in the claw of his grip, and he chowed down like a man who’d worked up an appetite in the naughtiest of ways. “Why are you retiring, Beau?”

  I didn’t need my recorder. I didn’t need a pen and paper or a list of questions. There was no way I was going to forget a single detail about that week.

  He sat up, swallowing his bite and setting his fork aside. “Because the life I was living didn’t suit the man I wanted to be.”

  “You had the entire world at your fingertips,” I said, my tone borderline careful. “You still weren’t happy?”

  He shook his head, his jaw clenching and releasing as purpose claimed his eyes. “All I need to be happy is a warm house, a couple hundred acres, and you.”

  “Beau,” I said, angling my head. “You’re giving it all up for me?”

  “It would appear that way. Yes.”

  “But what if we’re not meant to be? It’s quite a gamble, don’t you think? I mean, last night was fun and all, but come tomorrow morning, I’m on a plane back to the city. And then what happens?”

  “That’s on you,” Beau said, leaning back in his chair. “You know you’ll always have a home here. With me. On the ranch.”

  His lips inched into a slow half-smile, his eyes twinkling as if he were recalling all the things we’d done the night before.

  “We have one more night, Dakota,” he said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m making it my mission to ensure you won’t want to leave here come tomorrow morning.”

  My heart warmed and skipped a beat. That man was relentless. Beau Mason was like one of those Chinese fly traps, where the harder I pulled the more I just got stuck.

  His hands slowly sailed behind his head as he gifted me a cocky wink. “You’re going to love the shit out of me all over again by the time you have to go home.”

  I never stopped.

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself there, Mr. Mason,” I teased. “I believe your breakfast is getting cold.”

  Dakota’s laugh and cheery disposition that morning was nothing short of a tribute to what once was and what could possibly be if only. Watching her sitting across my table in nothing but a ratty old t-shirt of mine, all fresh-faced and good-humored was almost as if God was telling me all would be right in the world if I kept on trying.

  Too many times before I’d convinced myself I didn’t deserve her. I let her go. I walked away. I set her free. Times had changed, though, and I was ready to be the man she deserved – the man who’d never break her heart again so long as he lived.

  “So what are you going to do after your final show in a couple weeks?” Dakota asked, lifting her fork to her mouth.

  “Celebrate,” I said without pause. She swallowed her final bite and carried her plate to the sink, rinsing it off and carefully patting it dry. If I squinted my eyes hard enough, I could almost picture her barefoot and pregnant. I rose up and followed her, pinning her against the counter. My lips found her soft neck, depositing a single kiss against her flesh. “Up for a cruise around the countryside?”

  She nodded as I released her. She tiptoed upstairs, coming back a few minutes later dressed in blue jeans and a white cotton tank top that played against her sun-kissed skin and the deep hue of her coffee-colored ponytail.

  Bumping around less-traveled dirt roads and graded gravel paths that surrounded our hometown, it wasn’t but ten minutes before she’d scooted over to the middle of the truck bench and slipped her arm under mine as she rested her head against the top of my shoulder.

  We must’ve drove for hours that morning, sitting in silence mostly because just being together didn’t require a whole lot of words. Dakota by my side felt like a warm hug from a thick blanket on a cool night. A pair of old jeans that fit just right. That warm, flooding feeling that hits a man when he knows he’s come home again. It was a feeling all those millions of dollars sitting in my bank account could never buy, and it was a feeling I’d never been able to replicate since her.

  “So tell me what I’ve missed,” I said, breaking the silence as the truck bumped and rolled down a rutted road. The question packed more of a punch to my gut than I’d anticipated the second I said it aloud. “What’s life been like for you the last ten years?”

  She sat up, clearing her throat and tugging down on her top. “It’s been mostly good.”

  “Mostly?”


  “Considering where I started and how I got here, I think I’ve come out a little bit on top.”

  “I’d say.”

  “I graduated from Kentucky and went straight to the city. Met my ex-husband when I auditioned for a local news show there. Convinced Addison to move and got her lined up with a job. All I’ve done since is work.”

  “But are you happy?”

  Dakota nodded. “As happy as could be expected. I’d conquer one obstacle and suddenly it wouldn’t feel good enough, so I’d keep reaching higher and higher, searching for that next big thing that might define me.”

  “It never feels the way you expect it to.”

  “Nope.” Dakota slid her right hand down her thigh. “I’m probably going to get promoted after this interview.”

  “You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”

  “I am thrilled,” she said, though unconvincingly. “I really am. This could be huge for me. This is a result of everything I’ve ever worked for up until now. The only thing bigger than this promotion would be landing my own primetime news show.”

  “And I have no doubt in my mind that if Coco Bissett sets her mind to it, she’s going to achieve it,” I said. “But the important question is, what does Dakota Andrews want?”

  I expected her mood to shift like the wind on a stormy day. I expected her to jerk away or turn all sullen on me. Instead she pulled in a deep breath and turned my way.

  “I’ve been asking myself that all week, Beau,” she admitted. “I thought I knew. And now all I know is that I don’t know a damn thing anymore.”

  A hint of her Kentucky drawl came out to play, like a tiny promise that maybe my goal of getting her back wasn’t all that unrealistic anymore.

  “I thought I knew where I was headed.” She shrugged. “Now all I know is I’m stuck between who I am and who I thought I was.”

  “And that’s perfectly okay.” My hand found her knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to be so perfect all the time, and you don’t have to have everything figured out all the time either.”

  Even in high school, Dakota was a girl who stuck close to her routines and ambitions. She lived her life with a Type A tendency toward structure, giving herself self-imposed deadlines and holding herself accountable the way her mother never could. I couldn’t blame a girl who raised herself since she was old enough to understand she didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  The sun held noon in the sky after a bit, and I turned us around to head back home.

  “I’ve got a few chores to take care of,” I said as we pulled back up the drive to the house. Back when we dated, she’d watch me do chores. Every Friday night I had to scoop the barn out or salt the cattle before I could take her out on a date. “You’re welcome to watch if you’re feeling nostalgic.”

  She bumped into my arm. “I’ll pass. I’ve got to catch up on some emails, and then I’d like to head into town for a bit. I’ll be back for supper.”

  I shifted the truck into park and set the brake before slipping my arm around her and leaning in to kiss her soft cheek. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

  We climbed out the cab and I stood back, watching the way her hips swayed as she headed back into the house, completely unaware of the way she walked around with my heart between her teeth.

  The things I was going to do to her that night.

  10 years ago

  Sixteen hours and thirty-four minutes. That was how long my labor lasted.

  Seven pounds and one ounce. That’s how much my baby weighed.

  Eight forty-six in the evening on May seventeenth. That was her exact birthdate.

  Three. How many people knew she existed.

  Me.

  Rebecca.

  Sam.

  “You want to hold her?” the nurse asked as she rolled the bassinet toward my bed. A stack of adoption paperwork sat untouched on the hospital bedside table next to a huge jug of water.

  I stared down at her, sleeping peacefully and wrapped in a thick, flannel blanket with Mercy General Hospital’s logo all over it.

  “A social worker will be in here shortly to go over everything with you,” she said tenderly.

  “If I hold her, I might change my mind.” I blinked away tears, though unable to take my eyes off her. She looked like a little doll with the tiniest nose and a full head of thick dark hair.

  Beau should’ve been there.

  I shouldn’t have had to endure my labor with only Rebecca and a bunch of strangers by my side. It should’ve been him.

  “Knock, knock,” Rebecca’s voice called from the doorway. She’d stayed overnight at the hospital, and she’d held my hand until three in the morning when I pushed my baby into the world. I’d sent her home to get some sleep. “Brought you something.”

  She placed a vase of pink roses on the desk and treaded carefully toward the sleeping baby. Rebecca stared down as if she wanted to touch and hold her, but she was afraid.

  “You can pick her up.” The words cut me like a knife. I hadn’t even held her yet.

  “You sure?”

  I nodded, forcing a smile.

  I missed Addison. I wished she were there. The last time I’d seen her was during winter break, and I’d strategically worn hooded sweatshirts the entire time.

  Rebecca picked up the baby. My baby. Her baby.

  “My goodness,” she said in a soft, motherly voice that came natural to her. “You are just the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen.”

  The baby opened her eyes at the sound of Rebecca’s voice.

  “Well, hello there!” Rebecca cooed, her lips spreading into the happiest grin I’d ever seen on her.

  A knock on the door ushered in Sam, who stood back apprehensively as a social worker pushed past him. With sandy brown hair and a waddle to her walk, she stopped the moment she saw my face.

  “I’m going to have to ask the adoptive parents to step out for a moment,” she said, studying me.

  Rebecca placed the baby back and stepped out of the room with her husband.

  “How are we doing?” the social worker said, pulling a chair up to the side of my bed. “I’m Sandra. I’ll be assisting you with your paperwork. I’m a social worker here at the hospital.”

  “I just want to get this over with before I change my mind.”

  “Oh.” She lifted her eyebrows, grabbing the papers and a pen and placing them on a clipboard in my lap. She proceeded to ask me several standard questions, most of them geared toward my mental health and family history.

  “So it looks like you’re electing for an open adoption with Samuel and Rebecca Valentine as the adoptive parents,” she said, reading over my paperwork. “I noticed there is no birth father listed on the birth certificate paperwork you filled out earlier.”

  “He’s out of the picture.” My heart burned with an ache no amount of tender, apologetic looks from Sandy could ever anesthetize. “Long gone.”

  Sandy pursed her lips and offered a sorry expression. “I’m not allowed to state opinions here, so this goes off the record. You understand?”

  I nodded.

  “You seem like a bright young girl, and I know Dr. Valentine from his residency here at the hospital,” she said. “You couldn’t have picked a nicer family for your daughter.”

  “I know.”

  “I do have to tell you this though, since you’ve not listed a birth father, there is a chance that if the biological father does come back in the picture, he could sue for custody of your daughter,” she said. “It’s rare, but it can happen.”

  “Like I said, he’s long gone.”

  “Did you get to hold her yet?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Oh honey, you need to hold her. You’ll regret it if you don’t. So many of my birth mothers say that.” She stood up and picked the baby up, waddling back and placing her gently in my arms.

  The physical pain of childbirth had nothing on the kind of pain that seared
through my entire body at the thought of giving her away. Of never knowing her.

  I waited until the social worker left the room before clearing my throat and whispering the very last thing I’d ever say before I gave my daughter away, “I love you and I’m sorry.”

  I could’ve gone on and on. I could’ve explained my reasoning and logic. I could’ve justified my decision six ways from Sunday. Instead, I left it short and simple. Maybe someday I’d get a chance to know her, and maybe when she was an adult woman, I’d sit her down and explain all about how much I loved her and how all I ever wanted was for her to have the best life - the kind of life nineteen-year-old me could never give her.

  The social worker returned, glancing over the paperwork one last time before leaving and ushering Sam and Rebecca back in.

  “You want to hold your daughter?” I asked Sam as he stood back a ways. He inched closer, taking her in his arms and making her look even tinier. Rebecca peeked over his shoulder as they both looked down at the tiny little angel who suddenly completed their family.

  “Knock, knock,” I called through the storm door screen of Rebecca and Sam’s colonial.

  “Coming,” Rebecca called out. Her lips parted into an open grin the second she saw me. “Dakota!”

  She pushed the door open and ushered me in. Piles of neatly folded clothes lined her coffee table.

  “I was just doing a little laundry. Excuse the mess.”

  Little pink t-shirts and miniature white socks rested in rows next to fluffy white towels in tidy stacks. Her honey hair was pulled back into a perfect chignon just above the nape of her neck. I imagined her weeks were filled with PTA meetings, soccer practice pick ups, and grocery shopping, and yet I’d never seen anyone so happy.

  Rebecca wore domesticity the way high fashion models wore couture, with ease and an innate elegance. She made it look so easy. Almost covetable.

  “So what brings you by this afternoon?” she asked with a smile as she folded a little pair of pants and smoothed out the crinkles with her hand. I watched as she glanced up at the clock on the wall, which read two o’clock. Most moms would’ve been counting down their final hour of pure silence, but I doubted Rebecca did anything like that.