The mountains risein the distance, sharp and spectacular. The swamps of Louisiana have their own beauty, but nothing so majestic as the glacier peaks ahead.
Dallas turned off the interstate onto a county road, driving the route as if he's taken it a hundred times. With each mile, he tenses more.
Until the sign appears.
Welcome to White Falls. Population 3,302.
Dallas slows the truck, then stops ten feet from it.
The engine idles.
His hands tighten on the steering wheel until his knuckles pale.
I study his profile and the hard line of his jaw.
The man walks through gunfire without flinching, butthisscares him.
Not Roark.
Not war.
Going home and facing his loved ones as the man he's become. Afraid they'll reject him like so many others have.
He kept himself separate from them for so long. From everyone but Bronco. I have to believe that if his brother accepts him, the rest of his family will too.
I reach across the console and slide my hand over his.
His fingers are rigid at first.They flex, then they slowly lace with mine.
“I’m not afraid,” I tell him softly.
His throat works.“You should be.”
“Not of this.Not of your family. Orseeing who you were before the ice."
He searches my face.Then he exhales and lifts my hand to place a kiss there.
Dallas puts the truck in gear and drives us home.
The farmhouse ison the outskirts of town at the foot of the mountains. It’s every bit as homey as something from a TV movie, with white paint, a wide porch, and welcoming lights inside. There’s a barn and paddock to one side, and though the sun is starting to set, I see a few cows lingering near the fence.
A big man steps out onto the porch as Dallas parks the truck and shuts it off. His hair and eyes are as dark as Dallas’s. This must be his older brother, Bronco.
Two other men follow. One slightly leaner version of the brothers, and the other dark like a thundercloud. I shiver, looking at the second man. He has the same brutal coldness as Dallas sometimes does, and I wonder who he is.
Dallas comes around to open my truck door and helps me down. He squeezes my hand, then draws me forward for introductions.
As I thought, the big man is Bronco. He nods and eyes me with interest. The leaner one is their middle brother, Ford. And the last one, who radiates a chill I'm quite familiar with, is their friend, Anson Blackwood.
Dallas draws up short when he sees the man. "Blackwood? I didn't know you were here."
A ghost of a smile hovers around the man's lips. "Something peaceful about these mountains. Settles a soul." He holds Dallas's gaze, as if silently communicating something.
Dallas holds me closer. "This is Gemma Townsend."
Ford's eyebrows shoot up. "The congressman's daughter?"
Anson whistles in surprise.
