The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,112
Dixon took her because of me.
My interest is piqued by the distant sound of hooves. Mom and I sit, quiet, as the sound grows steadily louder, and watch two riders appear around the corner of the house.
Warner and Wyatt.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, at the same time my mother says, “Where is your father?”
“He told us to leave,” Wyatt answers, coming to a stop.
“And you listened?” I drain my whiskey glass and place it on the table. Standing, I say, “He shouldn’t be out there alone. I’m going to—”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
It’s my mother’s voice, quiet and strong, that stops me. I look down at her. The weariness in her eyes reminds me that she, too, has had a long night. After what happened to Dakota, the barn feels like a distant memory to me.
“You’ll understand when you have kids,” she starts, looking at the three of us in turn. “Whatever your dad is doing now, he had reason to send you away. Respect that.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the three of us utter in unison. We all sound reluctant.
“You two,” she points at Warner and Wyatt. “Get to bed. You’ve had a long night. And you…” She turns to me. “Get upstairs. I bet Dakota could use some help washing her back. She’s awfully sore, and it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.” It’s her way of apologizing to me for her attitude toward Dakota.
I nod my acceptance and head across the porch for the front door. I stop, calling out to my brothers just as they’re turning their horses toward the stable. They both look at me.
Side-by-side like they are right now, you wouldn’t know Wyatt once hid out in a bush and shot Warner in the thigh with his BB gun, or that I let Warner drive a ranch truck in town when he was fifteen and he hit a fire hydrant and I took the blame. In the twelve years I spent in the Army, and the last five years I’ve spent pushing everyone away, I didn’t notice my little brothers becoming men. I told myself they could never understand what I’ve been through. I pushed them away because they didn’t go to war alongside me. But after tonight, I’ve recognized something even more valuable. Warner and Wyatt would go to war alongside me.
Tonight, they did. Three shots were fired at the same time.
My eyes sting as I look at them. I want to apologize for pushing them away for years, but I’m still working on finding the right words, so for now, I say, “Thank you for tonight. I love you guys.”
Warner grins, like he knew if he waited long enough I’d come around. Wyatt ducks his head, nodding at me, and starts for the stable.
I stop in the doorway, pausing to look over at my mom. Her head is tilted against the chair and her hands are folded over her stomach. She looks like she’s settling in to wait for my dad, probably for as long as it takes.
The house is silent, and my boots are heavy on the stairs. I stop outside the guest bedroom, toeing them off and leaving them on the floor. I step in and close the door behind me. A sliver of light from the bathroom door gives me just enough to see in the dark room. I make my way over, softly rapping on the door with a knuckle.
“It’s me,” I call.
“Come in,” Dakota answers in a tired voice.
I step into the humid air. Dakota stands wet and naked beside the bathtub, towel-drying her hair. The dirt and makeup are gone from her face, revealing an abrasion across her left cheek. Our eyes meet and I walk closer. I take the fluffy white towel from her and start at her shoulders. I don’t think she needs the help, but I need to feel useful, to do something for her. She steadies herself on my shoulders, her eyes closed and head tipped slightly back. I run the towel over her body, drying her but also taking inventory.
Large red marks dot her thighs and arms, and time will turn them into bruises. Angry abrasions cover her knees, a testament to her willingness to fight.
All the rage I felt earlier is snuffed out in an instant and I drop the towel and reach for her. She winces when I touch the back of her head, but when I take my hand away from her she stops me, pressing my open hand