by TC Matson
Shaking her head, she walks away without another word, leaving me to stare at a single teardrop burning a hole on my front porch.
Fuck. I’m mad. Of course I am. But seeing her cry demolishes all the anger, and remorse claws its way into my chest. Once, she was my everything…
“Kota,” I call after her, jogging down the steps to catch up with her.
Doing what I should’ve done from the start, I grab her arm, stopping her, and pull her into my chest. “I’m sorry.” The two words carry a hefty amount of emotion. Sorry for our past. Sorry for what we missed. Sorry for being an asshole. But more importantly, I’m sorry for the loss of her grandmother.
She buries her head into my chest and sobs, clutching my shirt in her fists. “I hate you. I hate you so much,” she cries, but I know she doesn’t mean it. “I should’ve been here…” A cry steals her words and I hold her.
She clings onto me for life and I let her, keeping her wrapped tightly in my arms. We stand like this for a while, long enough for the sun to drop low and the horizon to shield its light with the nearing darkness. Not ready to let her go and handle everything on her own, I lift her by the legs, cradling her close, and walk us into the house. I keep her on my lap as I sit on the sofa. She breaks again and all I can do is hold her.
Dakota didn’t cry much when we were younger. She was always strong and hid away vulnerabilities until she was alone. I was only there when she broke on a few occasions, and I’d hold her, just letting her feel. Like I am now.
She might have always been a daddy’s girl, but she was also a grandma’s girl. She loved her granny. They spent a lot of time together when Dakota was growing up—crocheting, gardening, doing whatever and Dakota loved every minute of it. For prom, Granny took her dress shopping and then on the night of, we made sure to stop by so Granny could see us together. Dakota had a special place in Granny’s heart.
When Dakota and I started dating, after her dad gave me a strong talking to, Granny pulled me to the side and threatened to dismantle me if I hurt her granddaughter. Said she’d help Richard feed me to the Johnsons’ pigs. That scared the shit out of this fourteen-year-old, but it didn’t stop me. And before our falling out, not only did I ask her dad for her hand in marriage, I also asked Granny. They both reminded me about the hogs again.
After she up and left me, I begged her dad to help me, but he respected Dakota’s wishes. Then I turned to Granny, who smiled at me and said, “Your paths aren’t done crossing yet. Give it time.” At eighteen, I didn’t want to give it time. I was impatient, broken, and dammit I wanted Dakota back. Yet, here we are. Our paths crossing again…
Dakota’s fallen asleep. I know because her breathing has evened out and her grip on my shirt has loosened. Not wanting to wake her up, I gently lift her and carry her to my bedroom where I awkwardly pull the covers back and place her down. I watch her, taking a moment to just look at her. Long wet lashes fan over her cheeks, her skin smooth, her lips pink and full… Eleven years later and she’s still just as beautiful, if not more so, than she ever was.
Slowly, so I don’t wake her, I take off her heels and place them beside the bed. I pull the covers over her before grabbing my other pillow and heading to the couch. The urge to sleep beside her kills me. I’d love to be that close to her again, to hold her and feel her body against mine, to hear her little snore if she still does it, but I know it’s not a good idea. Although we may have hashed things out, we’re still on rocky ground. Plus if she’s got a boyfriend in California, it would be disrespectful to him… even if I want to kick his fucking teeth down his throat. He should be here with her.
Chapter Twelve
Dakota
My eyes feel swollen and glued together as I peel them open. Immediately, I don’t recognize where I am, and I jerk up to see I’m most definitely not in my bed. It’s manly with light gray walls and white trim with a weathered oak-colored dresser on the opposite wall and two matching nightstands with small lamps.
My gaze drops to the side of the bed. The navy-blue comforter is flat and untouched and a pillow is missing on top of the gray sheets. I sigh in relief, but it’s instantly replaced with overwhelming grief. I lost my ass on Blake yesterday. Threw a pie. Hit him. Said some awful things.
Way to be strong, Dakota…
Gathering my pride, I slip out of the bed, grab my heels that were placed beside the bed and find my purse on the edge of the dresser. If I’m lucky, Blake will be at work and I won’t have to face him. I tiptoe down the hallway barefoot but come to an abrupt stop when I spot Blake sitting at the kitchen counter eating eggs and looking at his phone. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt but barefoot. His brown hair is messy like he just rolled out of bed and scruff darkens his jawline. Holy shit, he looks sexy as hell.
Sensing me, his eyes flick up to find mine, and my heart begins to thunder in my chest as humiliation creeps across my cheeks. I need to get the hell out of here.
“Um, thanks for letting me crash here. I’m sorry for yesterday,” I murmur and rush out the front door, not giving him a chance to take any digs. He doesn’t follow me out, not that I expected him to, and I’m grateful for it. He’s proven he’s got a lot of angry words saved up and right now I feel too fragile to handle them. After yesterday, I need time to recoup. Also, I need coffee.
“Where on earth have you been?” Momma comes rushing around the kitchen counter and throws her arms around me the second I set foot into the house. “I’ve been worried sick. You haven’t answered anyone’s calls. If you weren’t home by lunch, I was going to call the sheriff.”
I reply with a laugh. “I’m almost thirty, Momma.”
“You’re my baby, Dakota Jayne. I will always worry about you.”
I kiss her cheek. “I love you. I’m going to get a cup of coffee and take a shower, and then I’ll be ready to go to Granny’s. Okay?”
Momma gives me her warm motherly smile. All traces of worry gone. “Okay. I need to call your father and let him know you’re home anyway.”
After making my coffee, I head upstairs, feeling lighter yet heavier at the same time. So many emotions were spilled yesterday. Things I’ve held onto for so long. Things I know I should’ve let go over the years, but I just couldn’t. Why? Because I never gave Blake and me our chance. I was too stubborn. Too hurt. Too confused. And too young. Add the knowledge of finding out everything was a misunderstanding along with the grief I feel from losing Granny, I crumped. I hate showing my vulnerability, but yesterday felt cathartic.
Mom left me to clean out the closet in one of the rooms upstairs at Granny’s. This woman collected all types of things, but the majority of these boxes are filled with old salt and pepper shakers. Different ones for different holidays. Homemade looking ones, and a lot of them. The hell was Granny thinking? I can’t help but laugh every time I open another box to find it stuffed with more shakers.
“Dakota!” Momma calls from downstairs. “Could you come here for a second and give me a hand?”
“Be right down,” I yell back, folding the lid down on the cardboard box.
I hear Momma laugh as I hit the bottom step and stop dead in my tracks. Blake is at the end of the counter, bent and resting on his forearms, smiling as he talks to Momma. It’s a sight I haven’t seen since I was a teenager. He’d always make time to talk to Momma, always easygoing with her.
Perplexity and frustration churn deep in my stomach. My face screws up, brows pinching together. Couldn’t he have given me a day or two before rubbing salt into my wounds?
Momma smiles at me, but it does absolutely nothing to settle my aggravation. “I’ll let you two have a minute. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
The moment she exits the room, my words fly. “Couldn’t you have let me lick my wounds first before coming back to take more digs?”
The smug bastard smiles. “Actually, I have work that needs to be finished here.” Reaching to the stool behind the counter, he lifts a large cup of coffee.
The logo on it sends excitement through my veins. “White chocolate mocha latte with cinnamon.”
He remembers…
Narrowing my eyes, I cock my head to the side. “What’s the catch? You poison it?”
Blake chuckles under his breath as he sets the cup on the counter. “You know I would never do that.” He points to the cup I know is holding liquid heaven. “You help with the things I didn’t get done yesterday and you can have that.”
“I might get a splinter,” I counter with a little too much attitude.
“Then I guess you’ll complain about it.” He shrugs. “You drinking that or am I pouring it out?”
He starts to reach for the cup and I take a quick step forward. “You touch it and I’ll break your hand.” He pauses. “Why are you playing dirty?”
“You distracted me yesterday. Figured it would only be fair if you help me catch up.”
We have a stare-down, both of us unmoving. This feels like a truce, but it could also be a trap. Would Blake be that cold? Would he coax me into a false sense of security with a good cup of coffee only to corner me with more cruel words once my guard is down? He had the chance this morning but let me go without a word. He’s always been fair, always been a good guy. That’s one of the things I love about Blake—once he speaks his mind, it’s done. No grudges.
Biting the bullet twice in two days and hoping he just needed to get things off his chest, I grab the coffee and take a sip. Flavors—all the flavors I’ve missed—hit my tongue and warm my soul. My eyes flutter closed. “Finally, a good coffee.” I sigh and moan.
When I open my eyes, he’s watching me. His gaze is fixed with intensity, the brown darkening at the edges. Quickly, he gives his head a shake and looks out the window. “I’ll be outside.” And then he walks away, leaving me smiling like a buffoon over the fact I’ve got greatness in a cup and that he remembered after all these years.
Chapter Thirteen
Blake
A truce. That’s what the cup of coffee was. After last night, after I spilled my anger out on her and had to listen to her cry, seeing and hearing her heart break over losing her grandmother while I sat back and acted like a complete and utter asshole, I decided enough is enough. Although I’m mad at her for what she did, I don’t hate her, and I never want her to hate me.
Not long after I walk out, Dakota appears with her hair tied back and trepidation written all over her face. She thinks this is a trap. I can see it in her eyes and I hate that’s how she feels. But what did I expect? I’ve been such a prick to her lately.
I lift the hammer. “You still know how to swing one of these?”
“I’ll have you know I’ve built many of things.”
“Any of those things still standing?” I tease.
“I believe so. Haven’t gotten any calls about them.”
Flipping the hammer, I hold out the handle to her. “Well, if this thing falls, we’re blaming you. Your momma can be a scary woman at times.”
I show her what needs to be done as she listens closely. She’s always been good at following directions. You tell. She listens. She does. And apparently, that hasn’t changed one bit as she gets down to business.
As she hammers, her tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s doing it, but the little things like this have always driven me wild about her. She’s the sexiest when she isn’t even trying.
We make a good team. I measure and cut, and she puts the board in place and secures it. Our little assembly line works well until she gets to a piece taller than her. She struggles to hold the board in place, looking cute as hell with her face scrunched up with determination.
Quickly, I step in behind her and place a hold on it. My front is to her back, her petite frame mere inches away from mine. She tenses, her shoulders tightening, but hurries to start the nail, fumbling a time or two.
Her being this close to me is scrambling my thoughts. I want to touch her, kiss along the side of her neck and across her shoulder. I want to wrap my hands around her waist and pull her against me as I tell her just how fucking beautiful she is. The urge burns me inside, and at the first twitch of my dick, I’m fortunate the nail is almost in so I can move away.
Thankfully, yet regrettably, we don’t have any more “close” calls. Once she got done with that board, I switched with her and handled the taller places while she continued with the lower ones.
“How you holding up?” I ask as we near the finish on the back side. “With your granny and all?” I scratch the back of my neck. “Reckon I should’ve asked you sooner.”
She lifts her beautiful tawny brown eyes to me and smiles softly, causing a quake in my chest. “I’m okay. I miss her and hate I wasn’t around a lot.” She drops her view and grabs a few nails.
“She talked about you often,” I tell her. “Always bragging about you.”
Dakota keeps the smile to herself and nails up one of the final boards.
“Your dad told me about one of the times he and Mary went to visit you. Said you lived in a swanky apartment and the eatin’ was horrible,” I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “He said he was always starving after every meal.”
She’s beaming when she glances to me. “After that, every time they’d visit, Dad would bring a cooler full of food and cook every meal.”
I bark a laugh. “Yeah. He said that too.”
Lining up another piece of wood, I secure it and take a step back. “One more side and I’ll let you off for the day.”
“Oh, so you’re the boss now?” she jests.
I’m about to tell her yes when her momma calls out, “Take a break, kids.” She places a tray on a small glass table on the porch. “Turkey bacon sandwiches. Lemonade for you, Blake. Tea for you, Dakota.”
It’s the same lunch her ma used to make us when we were teenagers. I smile inwardly as I grab my food and drink, and I take a seat on the top step. Dakota joins me, sitting on the other side, and leans back on the railing while she eats.
“You own a company like you always dreamed of?”
Her lips quirk up. “No. Once I realized how much work goes into owning a company, I decided I’d be just fine working for the right person.”
“Sounds to me like you’re chicken,” I tell her.
“I am,” she agrees. “I’m afraid I’ll be forced to focus more on the logistics instead of doing the things I love. But it’s all worked out. While in college, I interned for Polk Designs, a huge designer in California. When I graduated, they hired me full time. I’m sure it helps that I work for my best friend Izzy.”
Jealousy trickles down my back. These were plans we never got to make. “Good to hear.” I take a sip of my lemonade, swallowing down the frustration. “You make a good name for yourself working for someone else? You always talked about making it big.”
“I have. But I need to give most the credit to Izzy. She’s helped me grow my clientele and is always pushing my name out there.”
“That’s good,” I say, keeping my gaze on the mess around the shed, afraid she might see the unjustified spite in my eyes.
“She’s a mess and I love her. She pushes me to always be better.”
“Why don’t you live in a house? You always talked about owning a house with a front porch so you could sit outside and read.”
Her view drops to her fingers where she draws lines through the condensation on her glass. “I used to rent a small house that I shared with a friend of mine, but when we graduated, I really couldn’t afford anything by myself. So I settled on a nice apartment. I love it there, though.”
“You got someone out there?” Clearing my throat, I take another swallow of my lemonade to rid my mouth of the acid on my tongue.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch a smile spread across her lips. “My neighbor has this ferret. Kirra. She’s my someone and I miss the hell out of her,” she snickers. “She likes to scale over the balcony railing and come visit me. Been doing it almost daily for sever
al years. She’s probably freaking out and causing a hell of a commotion since I haven’t been there.”
Her somebody is an animal… Sweet relief washes over me and I release a breath hidden under a chuckle. “We ain’t getting anything finished sitting here yapping like two girls.” I stand and hold out my hand for her. “Come on. Let’s get back to it.”
When her hand slides into mine, electricity jolts through me and causes my chest to tighten. Fuck, I’ve missed her.
Chapter Fourteen
Blake
It’s been several days since Dakota and I finished her grandmother’s woodshed. She’s been on my mind constantly, haunting me, plaguing me. I swear it’s just as bad now as it was in the weeks after she left.
This morning, I convinced my sister to let me borrow her phone to call Dakota since I don’t have her number and she does. She was skeptical at first but finally relented after I threatened to tell our parents about the time she got so shit faced she stumbled in the house and broke one of Ma’s favorite vases—the one Pops bought her while he was cattle buying a few states away.
When I called Dakota, I told her to come to the ranch at three. After a little bit of arguing and a whole lot of persuading, she agreed. I figured while she’s here, I could bring her back to her country roots and wash away all that damn city from her skin. I might miss her as my girlfriend, but I miss her being the old Dakota more, the one who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.
My feet are propped up on the desk, crossed at the ankles, when I hear the squeak of the side door. Dakota looks around with a spark in her eyes, and when she glances to me, she laughs.