The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,66
my lonesome.”
My head tips to the side. “I don’t recall.” Lies. I remember it like it happened twenty seconds ago. I’d never felt more alive in my whole life than the moment I approached Wes.
He stares me down. I can’t tell if he knows I’m lying because his face goes stoic again. “Right,” he says tightly. He pulls on his boots and heads for the door, pausing after he turns the handle. “What are we doing tonight?”
“Laundry.”
“Okay.”
I blink in surprise. I thought for sure he’d object to that. “I’m just kidding. I’ll do laundry tomorrow. As for tonight, there’s a place I’d like to take you, but I can’t tell you where.”
He turns around, regarding me with that cool look of his. “You can’t tell me?”
I shake my head, and he huffs out a short laugh. He looks at me for a long moment, thinking about it, then says, “I’m in.”
“Yes.” My fist pump amuses him and he actually laughs. “Can you meet me out front of the hotel at five?”
He nods. “I’ll be there.”
It’s awkward, him standing at the door looking at me. It almost feels like we should say goodbye with a hug or a kiss. Something a little more intimate than see ya later, pal.
But we don’t.
He waves at me, a single stiff swipe through the air. I wave back, then step in the shower, reminding myself why I agreed to this plan in the first place.
A fresh start. Clean slate. A chance to press the delete key.
And I can’t take my baggage into my new, unsullied landscape.
The knowledge hurts, a real physical ache, dull and in the center of my chest. I set up the charity payments in an attempt at reparation, but also as a way to bring myself comfort. But I can’t move forward into the land of debt-free living while maintaining the status quo.
As much as it pains me, I’m going to need to stop the payments. Tomorrow is the twenty-seventh. Debra is expecting my call.
I get out of the shower and towel off, then grab my phone. Stopping the donation to The Aneurysm Foundation is the easy one. A few swipes and it’s over.
The next one? Not so simple.
I dial the women’s shelter, fingers trembling. It rings and rings, and just when I think I’ll have to leave a message, Debra picks up.
“Hi, Debra, it’s Dakota Wright.”
“You’re a day early,” Debra answers, her tone cheerful. “Same amount, same card?”
The words I have to speak tear at my insides, but I muster the courage. “I need to pause the payments, Debra. I just… can’t anymore. I feel bad, and I hope you know I still think this is a cause so deserving of donations, but—”
“Honey, take a breath. It’s okay. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”
I exhale. “Thank you.”
“You’ve been more than generous, Dakota. I’d love to meet you sometime if you ever want to stop in.”
“That would be lovely, Debra. Thank you for understanding.”
“Sure thing. I’ve got to go, but you take care.”
We say goodbye and hang up. And that’s it. The chains I wrapped around myself are lifted.
I feel jumpy and weird, full of excess energy.
I’m combing my wet hair when an idea strikes. I got paid yesterday. With my recurring charity donation currently paused, that means I have money. I can buy myself a good pair of hiking shoes and explore one of the local trails.
In less than an hour’s time I’m wearing new shorts, a long-sleeve shirt designed for being in the sun, and hiking shoes. A new hat fits securely on my head. A water bottle holder is clipped to my waist.
I’m following a trail that is said to be moderately strenuous, and crosses over the Verde River in one mile. It’s almost silent, and soon, even my thoughts are quiet.
It’s exactly what I need to relieve the chaos I feel swirling inside me when I’m with Wes.
23
Wes
This is what I love.
Muscles working to the point of screaming exhaustion. Sweat-soaked shirts dried by the sun, dust coating the leather of my boots.
Ranger keeps me beside the herd, guiding them. Warner rides twenty feet behind me, doing his part. Josh, Bryce, Troy, Denny, and Ham make up the remainder of the perimeter. Together, we direct the herd to a new pasture for grazing.
Grass-fed meat is what the people want these days, and fuck if the HCC won’t be the ones to give them the very best pasture-raised, pasture-finished beef.