We take a seat, Walker settling in next to me. He takes my hand and rests it in his lap, holding it tight as if I might disappear if he lets go.
I shift to face him. “Could you please tell me what’s going on?”
He inhales deeply. “About two years ago, your dad called me into his office and told me about your mom’s diagnosis. He had been traveling more than usual and asked if I could help out with the yard and house maintenance.”
My hand stiffens beneath his, heat creeping up my neck as I realize how oblivious I’ve been. I should have asked Dad who was doing the yard work when I first noticed the change. I assumed he was handling it himself or had hired a professional. It never occurred to me that he’d ask Walker. Then again, I should have known he wouldn’t let just anyone around the house, not with how adamant he’s been about keeping things under wraps.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, unable to mask the pain in my voice.
I talk about Mama often, yet Walker never hinted that he was aware anything was wrong. He had countless chances to come clean, especially over the past few weeks.
“Your dad asked me not to tell anyone—including you,” he confesses. “I couldn’t risk breaking his trust and losing the chance to help your family. He’d been avoiding the situation, and I wasn’t about to let you take on more than you already had.”
“Did Mama know?”
I’m assuming that if she did, Dad had asked her to keep it from me too. That could explain why she hesitated after I told her Walker and I were dating.
“Not until a few months ago. She saw me shoveling the driveway from the living room window and asked her nurse to invite me in for hot chocolate. When I spotted a historical romance on the coffee table, I mentioned that my ma loves them too.” He smiles wistfully. “Your mom looked sad when she explained that she couldn’t read anymore because holding a book had become too difficult. So I offered to read to her. I’ve stopped by twice a week ever since—usually on nights you’re working late or out with the girls.”
I blink at him, unsure how to process his latest confession. Mama’s always been particular about audiobooks and narrators, which is why she rarely listens to them. But Walker’s voice is smooth, steady, with just a hint of huskiness, so it’s no wonder she enjoys listening to him read aloud.
My thoughts drift back to our conversation at the drive-in, when I asked if he read romances. This must be what he meant when he responded withor something.It also explains the stack of books at his place and why they felt familiar. They’re some of the same ones I’ve noticed on Mama’s bedside table in recent months.
Even though I have every reason to be upset at him for hiding this from me, the newest revelation makes it nearlyimpossible. The man helps run a ranch and is a sheriff’s deputy, yet somehow found the time to read to Mama—the woman who means more to me than life itself—and for that, I’m sincerely appreciative.
What I can’t figure out is why he did it. I understand him agreeing to handle the yard work, but spending several extra hours each week at my parents’ house doesn’t make sense without a good reason.
“Has my dad been paying you?” I question, wincing.
It’s the only plausible explanation, as much as it pains me to consider the possibility.
Walker leans back, eyebrows shooting up. “Never. Even if he’d offered, I would have declined.”
“Okay, so why do it then?” I pause, glancing at the floor. “My dad may be your boss, but he wouldn’t have held it against you if you’d turned down an unpaid assignment outside your duties as deputy.”
Walker tips my chin, forcing me to meet his chocolate-brown eyes. “I’d hoped you’d have figured that out by now.”
I tilt my head, searching his face for answers. “You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”
I’m suddenly left wondering whether I completely misread the situation and somehow missed the signs that were right in front of me all along.
“It was all for you, Birdie,” Walker says reverently.
“How? We’ve only been together for a few weeks. We were friends before that, sure, but it’s not like you really noticed me until we started pretending to date… right?”
“Sweetheart, I was never pretending.” Walker trails his knuckles along my cheek, the weight of his gaze holding me in place. “I’ve wanted you since I started at the sheriff’s office. You strolled in wearing a floral sundress with your hair framing your face in loose curls, going on about a gaggle of geese you’dfound abandoned on the side of the road and ready to demand your dad track down the person responsible.” He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “From that moment on, I was starved for your attention, chasing every glimpse of your signature smile and willing to take whatever scraps of your time you’d spare.”
My breath hitches, and I’m momentarily speechless. My mind flashes through every time he showed up at the feed store for supplies—conveniently when it was just the two of us so we could chat. How he went out of his way to bring me lunch most days he stopped by, and how he somehow always ended up by my side whenever we were with his family or our friends. I’d chalked it up to him being nice, definitely not that he wanted more than friendship.
I bite back a laugh at the irony, knowing I’d been attracted to him for ages, yet certain he’d never see me that way. Funny how wrong assumptions can be.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth instead of agreeing to our fake dating scheme?” I whisper, tracing the chain of my necklace with shaky fingers.
He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “Partly because you friend-zoned me,” he says with a quiet laugh. “So when the opportunity to be together came up—even if it was supposed to be pretend—I took it, in case it was my only chance to call you mine.”
My cheeks grow warm as I remember how I acted early on. I definitely didn’t give Walker any indication that I was interested in him. I’d been naive, letting my assumptions keep me from seeing that the man I’m falling for has wanted me all along.
If I hadn’t taken the risk of asking him to give me lessons, we might never have gotten together—and that’s a frightening thought. For too long, I’ve let life guide me when I should have grabbed the reins and called my own shots, unafraid to chasewhat I want. One thing is for sure: I won’t make that mistake again. I’m done sitting on the sidelines of my own story.
