The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,44
a partner? When I was younger, I had big plans to spend four years in the military and then get out and live a normal life. A normal life included marriage and kids. Running this ranch. I could see it all in front of me as if I were following a map. One deviation from the path was all it took to change everything. I didn’t want to leave behind men I’d fought with, the friends I made who began to feel more like brothers. I re-upped, and after I’d done it once, it was easy to do again.
It changed me. It took away the man who thought he’d put in his time serving his country and then fade into the civilian world, living the good life of being a husband, a father, and a rancher. It made me what I am now—a man with a beating heart who is capable of feeling love but incapable of letting love penetrate.
Dakota is here, right here in front of me, so close I can run my fingers over her collarbone and kiss her pink lips, a woman who filled my entire world the first time I saw her. I tried. I tried to get over the feeling in my chest, the one that told my brain I could never give her what she deserves. I attempted to let her in, to talk about what happened. The result? Tears. Total inability to get past them. I couldn’t do it.
The only way I could survive my feelings was to turn away from her, return to the ranch, and work tirelessly. It was an imperfect solution, and that was never clearer to me than it is now.
I know that to solve my problem, I’m going to have to face the even bigger problem I deal with every day. But who would want to? Who would want to go back there? It’s bad enough I have to relive it in my nightmares.
As my grandma would’ve said, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.
15
Wes
I’m sitting on the outdoor couch with Warner and Wyatt watching the cowboys play horseshoes. My mom, Jessie, and Dakota sit on the opposite couch, talking about something I’m not paying attention to. Judging by the glances Dakota keeps throwing my way, she’s not paying attention either. Gramps went inside to take a nap, and Warner’s kids play tag in the yard.
“Who wants to be the grill master today?” Dad asks, walking out to the group. In each hand, he carries a tray piled with hotdogs, hamburgers, steak, and chicken. It looks like a lot of food, but the cowboys eat like teenagers.
“Me.” I jump up.
“Wasn’t aware the couch had an ejector seat,” Warner taunts.
I take a tray from my dad. “Feel free to help,” I say to Warner. “You too, asshole,” I tell Wyatt, pushing against his leg as I go by him. They each get up and follow.
“Language,” my mother warns, but it doesn’t matter. The kids are at the far end of the yard, screaming and dodging each other.
Wyatt and Warner stand beside me at the grill. Warner gets started on the steak and chicken while I heat the second grill for the hot dogs and hamburgers.
“You know,” Warner muses as he places the last chicken breast on the grill. “For someone with a crush the size of a bull, you sure aren’t acting like it.”
“Wait, what? Who is Wes crushing on?” Wyatt asks.
Warner gives him an irritated look. “Open your whiskey-soaked eyes.”
“Fuck you, I’m not drunk,” Wyatt responds, obviously hurt. It makes me think maybe his drinking goes deeper than partying. Maybe he’s running from something, too. I hide behind the ranch, but maybe Wyatt uses the bottle. Maybe we’re not so different.
“You mean you’re not drunk yet,” Warner responds, and I watch anger and shame fall over Wyatt’s face like a curtain. Anger wins out, and Wyatt shoves Warner hard in the back. Warner flies forward a couple feet before I catch him. He circles around to go after Wyatt but I get between them. “Not now,” I say to Warner, holding my hands against his chest. I turn around to face Wyatt, but I’m addressing both of them. Under my breath, I say, “This is a family fucking picnic you dipshit. There are children here. Knock your shit off before I take you in the barn and beat both of your asses.”
Wyatt glares at both of us and stalks away. Warner turns back to the grill