The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,15
hands with everyone but my father, whom she apparently already knows, though I don’t understand how.
My dad starts speaking, and Jericho sits back. In my attempt to keep my eyes off Dakota, I make the mistake of looking at Jericho. A sly smile turns up one side of her mouth, and I snap my eyes back to the water bottles in the center of the table. I recognize that look from women, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been a willing recipient in the past. But not today. Seeing Dakota has officially fucked me up for a while, I already know it.
In an effort to focus on what my father is saying, I squeeze my knee under the table until it’s borderline painful. It does nothing to help me keep my attention on my dad, and now my knee hurts.
Dakota’s dad is talking, and in order to look at him, my eyes have to pass over Dakota. It’s only a second that I see her, but it’s enough for me to catch the angry set of her jaw.
“…We were shocked and excited to hear about your listing, Beau. Dakota and I have spent time learning about your land and thinking of how we can use it.” He looks to Dakota, silently encouraging her to speak for the first time since my dad and I walked into the room.
This also forces me to look at her or risk being unnecessarily rude, which later my dad would kick my ass for even though I’m a grown man.
I drag my eyes to her. God, she is gorgeous. Every bit as beautiful as the day she shimmied around in that T-shirt and short jean skirt. The blue blouse she’s wearing today has fallen open just slightly, revealing to me the tiny mole on the underside of her collarbone. I also happen to know she has a matching one next to her belly button. But as much as she resembles the woman from before, she looks different, too. There’s something about her eyes now, a dullness that snuffed out her spark. I wonder what tamed her wild nature. In all fairness, I’m not the same guy she met that day. In the years that have passed, the trauma has had time to simmer, the way a stew is always better the day after it’s cooked. The flavor of grief has evolved into crushing regret, the kind that eats you from the inside.
With fire in her eyes, Dakota squares her shoulders and glares at me, her gaze softening just slightly when she looks at my dad. “I’ve given a lot of thought to how we would develop your land should you choose to sell to us. The Hayden Ranch has only belonged to Hayden men since the ranch’s inception, and I imagine that’s a great source of pride for you. As it should be,” she adds, her eyes flitting to me for the shortest second and landing back on my dad. I wonder if this is her way of telling me she’s not interested in addressing me?
She continues. “My guess, Mr. Hayden, is that you would rather be eaten by one of the bears roaming these mountains than watch a big box store do business on land that was previously in your family for generations.”
“Sounds about right,” my dad says, a chuckle in his response. I nearly choke from shock. My dad rarely laughs, even with us kids, and the fact that a complete stranger (to him, not me) has made him have that response is something I can hardly believe.
Dakota nods smoothly. “I’m glad to hear I’m on the right track.”
“So what do you plan to develop if not some strip mall?” my dad asks.
Dakota hesitates. “I have some ideas, but I’d like to spend a little more time looking at the land in-person, and also in town learning what the people of Sierra Grande could use. Would you mind giving me a day to figure that out? I won’t have to take up any more of your time, I can email you the ideas.” She emphasizes the word you. What she’s really saying is, I won’t be emailing you, Wes, you crybaby who’s pretending not to recognize me.
“Don’t you worry about taking up anybody’s time, Miss Wright—”
“You can call me Dakota, Mr. Hayden.”
“And you can call me Beau, Dakota.”
You both can call me shocked. What the hell? Since when does my dad like anybody this much? I glance at Mr. Wright.