The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,13
night.
“Hello,” my father says. “We have a meeting with Beau Hayden.”
“Yep.” She nods. “He asked me to get the door when you knocked. He and my brother had to check on one of the foals. They’ll be right back.” She steps away from the door and sweeps her arm out. “Come on in.”
If I was impressed by the outside, I’m a thousand times more in awe of the inside.
The walls are made of the same wood, and the vaulted ceilings have beams running the length and then meeting at the apex. A fireplace sits in the middle of the room, two-sided and made of the same stone as the exterior, and it reaches all the way to the ceiling.
“Your home is lovely,” I remark, taking in the leather couches and cow-print rug near the fireplace.
“Thank you,” a different voice responds.
Turning, I watch a woman enter the foyer. She’s not wearing a cream silk blouse, but she is wearing Wranglers and boots (not embroidered). Her hair, the same color as the young girl who answered the door, brushes her collarbone.
“Juliette Hayden,” she says, hand extended as she walks closer.
“Dakota Wright.” I step into her handshake. Her grip is firm, and just from this single, quick interaction, I get the feeling she is no-nonsense. “This is my dad—”
“Mitch Wright, Mrs. Hayden,” my dad interjects, introducing himself. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, Mr. Wright.” Her tone is clipped, but not in a rude way. She has a restless energy, like maybe she was doing something when we showed up and she needs to get back to it.
“You and Miss Wright can wait in my husband’s office, if you’d like. He’ll be along any moment, along with the realtor.” She offers a tight smile. “Seems like everyone is running a bit behind today.”
“Mom, I can show them the way.”
My shoulders jump a little at the young girl’s voice behind me. I’d completely forgotten she was there.
“Thank you, Jessie.” With a nod at my dad and me, the Hayden matriarch strides away.
“This way, guys,” Jessie says, stepping around me.
If Mrs. Hayden hadn’t said Jessie’s name, I wouldn’t know it. Not that it’s the young girl’s fault. I’m guessing she’s about seventeen, and I can say with one hundred percent certainty that when I was seventeen, I wasn’t answering doors politely and showing people to my father’s office. Getting high, getting drunk, and cutting class were my three biggest hobbies, until my parents threatened to kick me out. After that, I took care of the problem for them, by moving out the day I turned eighteen.
Jessie leads us through the living room and down a long hallway, then into a room. “The table is set up for the meeting.” She motions at a round table near a window. A silver tray with water bottles sits in the center of the table.
“Thank you, Jessie.” I walk to the table and pull out a seat. My dad chooses the seat beside me, and Jessie disappears from the room.
“Nice pile of bricks,” my dad elbows me as he says it.
I laugh. “You mean wood and stone?”
“Something like that, yeah.” Just as I finish my sentence I hear it… the unmistakable sound of boots on the floor, getting closer and closer. My fingers curl into fists at my sides, and for a quick second, I feel like retching. My first meeting with my dad, and a high-stakes one at that.
What if I fall on my face? What if I say um too much? What if I say something idiotic or struggle to find the correct word? What if—
Beau Hayden strides through the open door. He’s a big man. His shoulders barely fit through the doorframe, and he’s tall too. Wrinkles etch his forehead and his eyes. He’s an intimidating man.
Dad and I stand to greet him, and behind Beau, a second person walks into the room. He’s as tall and broad-shouldered as Beau, and dark hair peeks out from under the ball cap he wears. He steps out from behind Beau, and my grip on reality ripples.
It can’t be.
My legs turn to vapor and I grab the edge of the table to stay upright. My vision swims, my throat constricts. Dad looks back at me just as he reaches Beau and the man who has turned all my senses upside down, and the look on his face is clear—what the hell is wrong with you?
If only I could tell him. I’d tell myself, but even I wouldn’t believe me.