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 on the right track. I just thought I’d share that with you, since you told me about Shepherd.” She sends a weak smile across the eighteen inches separating our chairs. “You don’t own the rights to letting guilt fuck you up.”
I swallow. Her words run back through my mind. There’s so much she has just said, and I don’t know where to start. So instead of saying anything that won’t be good enough for the vulnerability she has just shown, I thank her for trusting me.
“Same to you,” she says. “Thank you for trusting me enough to invite me over and let me see your place.”
I nod at her. How had it escaped my attention that offering my home to do her laundry was a show of vulnerability? And it’s not like it was done with reluctance, either. I wanted her here. Wanted to share this part of me with her.
The washer dings. Dakota gets up and walks inside.
The oven timer goes off. I follow her in.
Dakota switches clothes and starts a new load. I throw together a quick salad and serve dinner at the kitchen table. Dakota sits while I grab another beer and refill her wine.
Dakota moans when she takes her first bite of meatloaf. I chuckle, and she places a palm over her heart. “Please don’t ever stop making this for me.”
“Never,” I promise, then freeze. “Or at least, I’ll make it for a year.”
We meet eyes briefly, then look away.
We don’t talk much after that. I think we’re talked out.
After dinner, we play spades. Dakota has way more laundry than she realized, and the clock creeps later and later. It’s midnight by the time her laundry is finished. For the same reason she asked me to stay with her last night, I’m asking her to stay with me tonight.
“The second bedroom has a bed. My mom made it up like a guest room. We’ll put fresh sheets on, because I have no idea when those were last washed since nobody has ever slept on them.”
Dakota rifles through her clean clothes and pulls out a T-shirt and soft-looking shorts. “Lead the way,” she says, yawning and pointing down the hall.
We change the linens together. I brush my teeth and give Dakota the unused toothbrush from my last visit to the dentist. She stands beside me at the sink, and we sneak looks at each other in the mirror, except we’re not really sneaking because we’re being obvious about it. We brush, spit, rinse. Dakota puts her hand on my forearm and pushes me out into the hallway. “Sorry, but I have to pee, and that isn’t something I’m doing with you in the room.”
I step into my bedroom and remove my shirt, then exchange my jeans for pajama pants. She calls my name when she comes out of the bathroom. I step into the hall. She has this soft look on her face, and I see the same girl from five years ago, the one who split my world in two. “Yeah?” I swallow back the memories.
