The hand that rests on my knee? It’s quivering, which is why I’m tapping my fingers. I can’t stand to watch my own shaking hand.
The other hand? It holds a generous two-finger pour of whiskey.
I’m sitting on the front porch of the homestead. My heritage is spread out before me, thick and lush grass, dirt road, and pine, but it doesn’t smell like my home. The fire was extinguished hours ago, and even though the smoke has dissipated, its scent clings to the air.
I’m looking at my land, the land I was willing to marry Dakota to get, but I don’t really see it. My mind is filled with Dakota.
Her shocked expression when I walked into my dad’s office that day. Indignant and angry, thinking I didn’t remember her. Then later on my front porch, her face softened with concern, urging me to help myself heal.
Dakota on her back, legs encircling my waist and riding a high with me.
Dakota on her knees, terrified.
And just a few minutes ago, allowing me to carry her into the guest room and lay her on the bed. On a normal day, that wildly independent woman would stand on her own two feet, but tonight is about as opposite from normal as it can get.
The front door opens and my mom steps out. She folds her arms across her chest and grips her upper arms as if it’s cold, even though it’s not. Perhaps she’s chilled by the events of the night.
She perches on the arm of the chair beside mine. “Dakota’s okay. Exhausted. I left her so she could get in the bath. She has some pretty good scrapes, especially on her knees. She said—” Mom cuts off, and when I look at her I find her cautious gaze already on me. “She said the scrapes on her knees are because she tried to run from him, and he tackled her from behind.”
Dixon can’t hurt Dakota anymore, but hot rage still burns through me. He got off easy, not just because of what he did tonight, but also because of the damage he’s been inflicting in town. The families he tore apart, the lives people lost due to his selling. Everyone is responsible for their own choices, but some choices wouldn’t be made if the opportunity never presented itself.
“But…” My mom’s voice upturns, like she’s grasping for a bright side. “She said she did a reverse head butt sort of thing to him.” She demonstrates by throwing her head back. “So I guess she got something good in.”
I can’t bring myself to feel good about it, because she shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. Dixon took her because ofme.
My interest is piqued by the distant sound of hooves. Mom and I sit, quiet, as the sound grows steadily louder, and watch two riders appear around the corner of the house.
Warner and Wyatt.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask, at the same time my mother says, “Where is your father?”
“He told us to leave,” Wyatt answers, coming to a stop.
“And you listened?” I drain my whiskey glass and place it on the table. Standing, I say, “He shouldn’t be out there alone. I’m going to—”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
It’s my mother’s voice, quiet and strong, that stops me. I look down at her. The weariness in her eyes reminds me that she, too, has had a long night. After what happened to Dakota, the barn feels like a distant memory to me.
“You’ll understand when you have kids,” she starts, looking at the three of us in turn. “Whatever your dad is doing now, he had reason to send you away. Respect that.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the three of us utter in unison. We all sound reluctant.
“You two,” she points at Warner and Wyatt. “Get to bed. You’ve had a long night. And you…” She turns to me. “Get upstairs. I bet Dakota could use some help washing her back. She’s awfully sore, and it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.” It’s her way of apologizing to me for her attitude toward Dakota.
I nod my acceptance and head across the porch for the front door. I stop, calling out to my brothers just as they’re turning their horses toward the stable. They both look at me.
Side-by-side like they are right now, you wouldn’t know Wyatt once hid out in a bush and shot Warner in the thigh with his BB gun, or that I let Warner drive a ranch truck in town when he was fifteen and he hit a fire hydrant and I took the blame. In the twelve years I spent in the Army, and the last five years I’ve spent pushing everyone away, I didn’t notice my little brothers becoming men. I told myself they could never understand what I’ve been through. I pushed them away because they didn’t go to war alongside me. But after tonight, I’ve recognized something even more valuable. Warner and Wyattwouldgo to war alongside me.
Tonight, they did. Three shots were fired at the same time.
My eyes sting as I look at them. I want to apologize for pushing them away for years, but I’m still working on finding the right words, so for now, I say, “Thank you for tonight. I love you guys.”
Warner grins, like he knew if he waited long enough I’d come around. Wyatt ducks his head, nodding at me, and starts for the stable.
I stop in the doorway, pausing to look over at my mom. Her head is tilted against the chair and her hands are folded over her stomach. She looks like she’s settling in to wait for my dad, probably for as long as it takes.
The house is silent, and my boots are heavy on the stairs. I stop outside the guest bedroom, toeing them off and leaving them on the floor. I step in and close the door behind me. A sliver of light from the bathroom door gives me just enough to see in the dark room. I make my way over, softly rapping on the door with a knuckle.
