The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,59
and it’s nowhere near the park. I walk through town, and the closer I get, the thicker the crowd becomes. Dakota wasn’t exaggerating.
The park is packed. Blankets transform the grass into a sea of color, chairs cover the sidewalks. Parked food trucks line the street, each one with lines ten or more deep. There must be people from other towns here. It’s like the whole Verde Valley has gathered in Sierra Grande.
I stand back along the periphery and scan the crowd for Dakota, trying not to meet any curious gazes. It’s difficult. I can feel people looking at me, just like I did the day I drove Dakota into town to talk to the nail salon owner. My chin lifts, but on the inside, I’m fighting the urge to hop back into my truck and drive home. I know what the people of Sierra Grande think of me, and I don’t want their pity.
On my third sweep, I spot her. Or, actually, it’s she who spots me. Her waving arms call my attention and I start for her, stepping around the maze of blankets.
She also wasn’t lying about wearing red. The closer I get, the better I can see her dress. It’s strapless, and the color makes her hair look more strawberry than blonde. When I’m a few blankets away she climbs to her feet and smiles. It disarms me, and I barely catch myself from stumbling over the corner of a blanket.
She greets me with a quick hug, and the second her body is pressed to mine a small fraction of my nerves melts away.
“How was your day?” I ask, trying to settle onto her blue and white blanket. It’s awkward, fitting my frame onto this small blanket, like a bear settling into a twin bed for a long winter’s nap. Finally, I figure out that I can sit upright with my knees bent and my feet on the grass.
“Good.” She sinks down beside me and reaches for her water bottle, her hair brushing my forearm. “Great, actually. The order for the tile went through today. I’m thrilled with how fast it’s moving already. I mean, I know problems will arise. They always do.” She gestures with an outstretched palm. “Lumber will be backordered because the warehouse had a beetle infestation.” Her other palm lifts, like each one contains a potential setback. “Another project in a neighboring town will have ordered all the concrete on the week I need it. And on and on and on,” she offers me a grin. “It’s keeping me on my toes.”
“I stopped by it this morning. It’s coming along.”
She gives me a look. “You stopped by? It’s not exactly easy to get there from that road.”
I almost blush. Un-fucking-believable. I gave myself away. “I was curious.”
“Hmmm.” She taps her chin. “Curious… or, perhaps, you missed me and were too chicken to call me, so you went to a place that reminds you of me.”
I stare at her and try like hell not to have a reaction. I think I’m successful, but her smirk tells me I’m wrong.
“That’s what I thought,” she singsongs.
“You don’t know,” I argue, but it’s weak sounding.
She turns the full force of her gaze on me and I tighten the hands I have wrapped around my knees to keep them in place. “Oh, Wes, yes I do know.”
She’s right. She has my number. Former soldier, cowboy, rancher, tough guy I like to think I am, she can pin me to the wall with that brain of hers.
A small smile curves the corners of her mouth upward. She breaks the spell by looking toward the stage where the band is setting up. When I don’t think she can see me, I suck in a deep breath. She fucking knocks it out of me on a regular basis.
And she does it again when she says, “We need to discuss some logistics of our arrangement.”
She looks at me, and I nod at her to continue. Her gaze sweeps the people sitting nearby. In a lower voice, she says, “I tried to talk to you about this last week, but your dad was in the hospital and I didn’t want to push you emotionally.” Her hand rests on my arm and she leans closer. I should get a medal for resisting the temptation to bury my face in her hair. “Have you thought about this past the part where we both get what we want?”
“Not really,” I start, the wheels in my brain beginning