skill, you know. Assuming you prepare one of the dishes you cook well, any woman would be putty in your hands.”
I crack two eggs into a bowl and look at her. “Including you?” My heartbeat falters, my breath slams into my throat. Where did that come from?
Dakota handles it like a champ. She barks a laugh with her wine glass poised at her lips. “I guess I walked right into that one.”
I laugh with her, but it feels false. “You said it, not me.” But… what would happen if she was putty in my hands? How would that go? Pushing away those thoughts, I focus on my task. I add the ground beef and wash my hands, then add the bread crumbs, cheese and seasonings.
Dakota leans against the counter, watching. “Meatloaf?” she asks, and I hear her trepidation.
I look at her from the bowl where I’m combining the mixture. “You’ve never had my meatloaf. Trust me.”
“I have no choice but to. All my clothes are here.”
“Good point.” I form the mixture into a loaf and slide the pan into the oven.
Dakota makes a face at my messy hands. I have a teenage moment where I lunge at her with upraised, slimy hands and she shrinks away, laughing. “Gross,” she moans. “Wash your hands twice.”
We sit on the front porch while dinner cooks and the first load of laundry is going through. The sun has officially set, but its memory lingers in the sky, a steady fade. It will be a little while longer until the stars stamp it out with their brightness.
“It’s beautiful here, Wes.” Dakota looks out at the trees. “It feels like nothing bad could happen. Like you’re tucked away from the world.”
“Crime can happen anywhere.”
Dakota scoffs. “Out here? Someone would have to be out of their mind.”
“It would be unwise, that’s for certain. They’d encounter people hellbent on defending themselves.”
“Has anything like that happened?”
“Not really. We’ve had some nasty fistfights between the cowboys. One pretty angry cowboy who tried to steal an HCC truck after my dad fired him.”
Dakota’s eyes widen. “And? What happened?”
“My dad shot out a tire, then pulled the guy from the truck and held him down until the police showed up.”
Her head moves slowly back and forth. “Your dad is a badass.”
I smile. “Yeah, he is. That was twenty years ago though. He’s getting older.”
“Right,” Dakota says softly, and between the single word and her tone, I’m reminded of our agreement. Somehow, I haven’t thought of it once since I showed up at her hotel earlier. I’ve been too busy enjoying my time with her.
I glance at her profile. Her perfect, straight nose, her plump lips, her thick eyelashes. The way her chin tips up just slightly, perpetually defiant. She looks at me, smiles, but it’s a little sad.
“What?” I ask.
She finishes her wine and places the empty glass on the small table between us. “You let down your guard with me. You brought me here and let me see that photo.” She breathes deeply and angles her body so she’s addressing me directly. “Every month I donate to two different charities. The Aneurysm Foundation, and a battered women’s shelter. That’s why I’m in so much debt. For a long time I donated more than I could afford, and used my credit cards to pay for everything else. It was a way for me to atone.”
I recognize the openness on her face, the vulnerability, but I’m not able to give it the attention it deserves just yet. The word she used, atone, has captured me.
“I understand your connection to aneurysm, but battered women? Were you hurt, Dakota?” My blood begins to warm.
“No,” she says quickly. “I was in a long relationship with a man who was married, though I didn’t know it. I felt so guilty when I found out, and I kept going over and over our time together, wondering if there were signs and I just ignored them. The women’s shelter was the best place I could think of aside from sending restitution directly to his wife.” She huffs out a mirthless laugh. “And before you ask, I know I could ask my dad for help. I was a difficult teenager and a rebellious young adult and I can’t tell him about the debt. He believes in me, thinks I’ve climbed back up from my fall from grace. The prodigal daughter. That has more value than my debt.” She rubs her palms on her shorts. “I canceled the payments recently. Getting