The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,43

are almost laughable, because they barely skim the surface of how I feel about her.

“You too, Wes.”

My chest swells when she says my name. I’ve never liked the sound of it more than when it slips from between her lips. Dangerous. So incredibly dangerous.

I can’t help my smirk. “Is it? I believe your last words to me were something along the lines of go fuck yourself.”

She shakes her head. “It wasn’t ‘along those lines’. Those were my exact words.” She gives me a sweet but challenging look. “I’ve had some time to calm down.”

“Hi, Dakota!” Jessie’s voice breaks through, sailing like a harpoon through the water I’m drowning in.

Dakota waves and smiles. She starts for the porch where Jessie’s leaning a forearm on the railing and trying to rein in her excitement. I fall in step beside her.

“I love your dress,” Jessie says as we’re climbing the steps.

“Thank you.” Dakota runs a hand across her torso. “I stole it from my sister’s closet. She’ll never miss it.” She winks, and Jessie laughs.

“I wish I had a sister.” Jessie glances guiltily at me. “Not that having three brothers a million years older than me isn’t great, but…”

Dakota places a hand on her shoulder. “I get it. Sisters are something special. Mine came to visit last weekend and I miss her already.”

I step forward, opening the front door for Dakota and Jessie. They walk in, and Jessie starts telling Dakota all about school, and the 4H club, and a guy she thinks is cute. She’s talking at a lightning-fast pace and saying more to Dakota than she has to me in the past four months.

My mom walks into the living room and says hello. She and Dakota spend two minutes making small talk, but my mom isn’t one for trivial exchanges. It’s probably why she and my dad have been married for forty years.

Mom motions out to the backyard. “Everyone’s out there, Wes. Why don’t you take Dakota out back and let your brothers scare her away from Sierra Grande?”

Dakota’s worried gaze slides over to me. I chuckle. “Don’t worry. What my mom means is that Warner likes to tease, and Wyatt… Well, Wyatt is a bit of an enigma right now. He’s still finding his footing in life.”

“Needs to find it pretty damn soon,” my mom mutters. “Before he finds his ass on the sidewalk with a suitcase beside him.”

“She says that once a week,” I whisper, leaning in closer to Dakota. Immediately, I straighten back up. She smells too good for me to be that close to her.

Out back, Warner and Wyatt halt their game of cornhole when they spot Dakota by my side.

“How’d this guy talk you into coming back here?” Warner asks, slinging an arm around me. I fight the urge to push him off.

Dakota smirks. “Your dad invited me.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re here because my dad asked, not Wes?”

Dakota pins him with a shrewd gaze. She knows he’s trying to lure her into saying something about me. Her eyes drop down to his hand and she points. “I haven’t met your wife yet. I’m assuming you’re married?” Her subject change isn’t at all subtle, and I know it’s on purpose.

He flinches, just barely, the question as painful as the answer. Not that he’ll show it. He lets me go and steps over to Dakota, throwing the same arm that was around my shoulders over hers. “Only by a technicality. You interested?” He points from himself to Dakota with one finger and looks at me. “We look good together, yeah?”

I stare him dead in the eyes, and he laughs. “Can you believe this guy?” he asks Dakota. “So serious all the time.”

Her lips purse together and her shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

My eyebrows lift. “Don’t you have a game to play, Warner?”

“Yeah, Warner,” Wyatt calls, annoyed. “I need to finish kicking your ass.”

Warner makes a face, but Wyatt’s threat is enough to get Warner to unwind his arm from around Dakota and stalk away.

“I’m sorry about him,” I tell her in a low voice. “He’s an ass.”

“He means well,” Dakota says, shrugging. She watches Warner and Wyatt gather the bean bags from the ground.

With my brothers out of earshot, now’s as good a time as any to apologize to her. “About last weekend after dinner—”

“It’s fine, Wes. Really. I get it.”

Does she though? Does she get that it’s not that I think so little of marriage, but that I think so little of myself as