“Look, Red—”
“Willow. Don’t call me Red.”
But I don’t want to call herthateither. The name is too goddamn pretty. I’ve heard it once or twice from Rose. And then that night at the bar when we met. Felt it roll off my tongue too easily. Like it had always lived there—longing to be said out loud.
Jaw tight, I shift my gaze, mentally stepping back as if I’ve crossed some invisible line. A creeping weight settles in my chest that can only be described as guilt.
It’s a simple enough request—valid, in fact. But who the hell knows what else I’d do for this woman if only she asks in that sweet raspy voice again. That does it. She needs to go. “You’re lucky I’m not calling youan escortout of my home.”
Her expression shifts as she sets her hands on her hips, glaring at me. “It’s not like I broke in. The door was practically wide open. And I wouldn’t exactly call it yourhome. More like a work in progress.”
My eyes blaze and as much as that comeback stings, the stir in my stomach to keep going with this gorgeous spitfire is stronger.
Which means I need to put this to rest. I’m clearly mentally drained for even considering bantering like two adults fighting their attraction.
I scoff. “You know, if I weren’t lookin’ to help my brother and his girl have some alone time myself, I’d be dropping you off at their door right now. So why don’t you just say thank you and goodnight.”
She blinks and jerks back. “Fine, thank you. I just get a little annoyed when people call me Red, OK? My self-defense instructor called me that and I whacked that guy in the nose. Sure he told me to, but you get the point.”
I bite back a chuckle and point back to the door where she greeted me with her panicked assault. “Thatwas self-defense? Our ranch manager Ginger would’a had more luck whacking a guy unconscious with her pocketbook.”
That seems to hit a nerve and I don’t take pleasure in it. Willow crosses her arms with a huff and tilts her head to the side. “Wasn’t expecting anyone. And I’m kind of in the middle of nowhere.”
“Well, neither was I. And it’s not nowhere. It’s my ranch.”
“Wilder’s house is on the ranch. This .?.?. is so far out, looks like it never quite made itoffthe ranch.”
I swallow because she’s right. The ranch is my home. Always came first. Till Millie became number one. But there were days she felt like she was competing.
This is where she wanted it, I almost say.
“Yeah, well then, why stay here? Alone?”
She shrugs. “How often does a city girl get to stay in a place like this?”
Her tone is almost wistful and it makes me wonder. I lean against the door frame. “Ghostly?”
“Stunning,” she says without hesitation. “A bit larger than I imagine is necessary, but doesn’t make what you built here any less remarkable.”
I frown. “You like it?”
She breathes out a chuckle. “Like itis .?.?. an understatement.”
I stare blankly at her, trying to figure out what it is about her admiration for the house that hits me differently. I shake my head and grip the door handle.
“Goodnight .?.?. Willow.”
She blinks uncomfortably. “Goodnight.”
An hour later, I’m staring into the fire. Its flames blurring as my thoughts sink deeper into the redheaded wonder upstairs.
The one that took me days to get out of my head after I left New York. Who I could still hear singing at that piano, wearing my sweatshirt like she wanted to live in it.
My chest squeezes again with a new ache. Betrayal. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I need sleep. Maybe then I could stop thinking with the wrong organ. Millie has my heart—that’s not changing. Not six months after losing her. Not ever.
Ellie is the only exception. She needs to be all that exists. In my mind. In my heart. In this home I’ve built.
If I’m going to be up all night thinking aboutanything, it’s going be how I plan to finish this house in two days. Enough to make it livable anyway.
