“Why would Billy do that?”
“He didn’t want me stepping outside with him. Didn’t trust him.”
“Hmm .?.?. don’t blame him. You’ve been broken up for almost six months, this is downright stalking. So what’d you do?”
“Threatened him with a restraining order once and for all. Told him I could take care of myself and he needs to stop showing up where I work like he’s got a claim on me.”
Rose waits for more.
Sighing, I tell her the rest. “He threw me up against the door and said, ‘Show me how you can take care of yourself.’ Tried to prove that I’d be helpless if a situation got .?.?. physical.”
“Oh God, Willow. Did you call the police?”
“Eric isn’t .?.?. harmful. He’s just a jackass trying to make a point.” I brush off.
“And he got to you,” Rose points out—seeing right through me.
She’s not wrong. As much as I hate to admit it, he got under my skin, burning into me like a brand. And the only way to get him out—is to prove him dead wrong.
“I don’t want him to be right,” I admit. “So I’ve been taking these classes and I’mreallygood. I just need a distraction. And .?.?. a place to stay a few days? Maybe through Sunday?”
Her eyes light up. “Of course. You’re always welcome.” She chews her lip. “But the guys are back on Friday and .?.?. it’s a little tight here .?.?.”
“And it’s not your place. I know. It’s fine. I have some friends in the city I can stay with.” It’s a lie and Rose knows it. I cover it with the truth. “Then I’ll be moving in with Mom temporarily. Hopefully no more than a few weeks, just until I can secure an apartment.”
“Oh Lord.” She thinks for a moment, until an idea sparks. “Wait, we have guest cabins.” She snaps her fingers. “When Wilder gets back, I’ll see if we have a vacant one. It’s off-season now so I doubt they’re all full, other than the fall harvest guests.”
I release a breath with a hopeful groan. “That would be great.”
“But I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you. Come on, you look exhausted. Tomorrow we’ll catch up some more—like how on earth you think you’ll survive living with your mother for a few weeks.”
“Desperate times,” I mutter.
“I’ll get you settled in Dallas’s bedroom.”
My stomach flips. Not at the mention of Dallas Thorne again who, I won’t lie, I’ve thought about more than a few times after our brief encounter at the bar. But at the idea ofsleeping in his bedtonight. Will it smell like his black hoodie that’s now tucked in my suitcase? The one Rose gave me one night we were working late at the bar. Dallas lent it to her before she left town and I insisted on keeping it. If only to help her forget Wilder, and anything associated with him, of course.
It had this woodsy scent I thought was just from the town or built into the thread or something. But when I saw the mountain man it belonged to? I became deliriously addicted to the damn thing.
I’d never admit this to Rose, but I didn’t wash it for weeks.
I remember skipping away after he tried to reclaim it—and felt his eyes on me the entire time I played piano.
He was—in a word—smoldering.The kind of cowboy you pull right out of a movie.
I shake my head. “Maybe I could take another room? The couch maybe?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve already changed the sheets and there is no other room except where Ellie is sleeping.”
“Right.” Hisdaughter.
Maybe I was wrong, maybe I mistook the smolder forGod, I hope my daughter doesn’t grow up to play piano at a local bar and dress like that.
It’s what I imagine my father thinking if he ever bothered to check in on me.
“In that case, Dallas’s room it is.”
4
