“Is that why you want to be different from your brothers–to prove that who you are is your choice?”
His arms dropped, and he stepped back. “Is that what you think?”
She shook her head quickly, feeling his absence like a slap. “It was just a question. I don’t even think I thought the words before they were out of my mouth.”
He took another step back. “I’m going to need some time to chew on that one.”
She pointed to herself. “Me too. I’d never thought about my dad like that. Nor myself.” Her gaze dropped to her socks, and she crossed one arm over her body to hold the other elbow. “Are you mad at me?” she finally looked at him.
He closed the gap between them and rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “No. I was just–have you ever heard the truth, and it knocked you upside the head?”
“Only a half-dozen times,” she joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.
He snorted. Dipping down to her eye level, he said, “I just need to process, okay?” He pointed to his chest. “Not mad. You?” He pointed at her.
“Not mad.”
He nodded before kissing her forehead and leaving her in the living room. He had a lot more to pack in his room than she did and would probably be up there for a while. She lifted her arms, feeling as though a burden was gone.
Grandma told her often that she didn’t owe her father anything, but then Pastor Tom spoke about honoring her mother and father and she wasn’t sure where that line was in her life.
She wandered over to the rocker and sat down. Grandma’s knitting burst from the bag she tried to contain it in. She was making a lot of progress on the candy cane afghan.
She began rocking, letting her thoughts ramble through the fields of her memories. If she had a daughter, how would she want to be honored?
That question had her pausing and thinking a little harder. She’d want her daughter to be a good person, to build snowmen with the neighbor’s kids, to take care of others, to fight for her family, and to follow Jesus. She’d want her to love openly.
The last one was so much harder to do than it sounded. She hadn’t let a person into her heart, besides Grandma and Felix–and yes, she knew Felix wasn’t a person, but he was family.
Could she take that leap and let Drake in?
She wanted to. It would be scary and she’d probably have to fight herself along the way, but a man like that was worth the fight.
Her body slumped into the rocker, exhausted–the emotional journey taking its toll. She felt good. Just so very tired. She had a big night coming up. They were going to get Felix, and then she’d open her heart to Drake. If he asked her back to the ranch, she’d go without a fight.
The fire was warm, and she turned her face toward it and let her eyes drop shut.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Drake threw his folded jeans on the bed. They rolled off and landed on the floor. Sighing, he walked over and picked them up, folded them just like Jack would have done, and put them back.
Why did Clove’s observation about his behavior bother him so much?
His phone rang, and he swiped it. “Hello?” he barked.
“What critter crawled out of your Christmas tree?” asked Pax.
Drake fell back on the bed and threw one arm over his eyes. “Don’t even ask.” Of all his brothers, Pax should understand his desire to stay single. Yet the man hadn’t once jumped to his defense. He didn’t seem to care one way or another, which also irked Drake.
“Whatever. I ordered a new tongue for the trailer and it arrived today. I can install it when you get back.”
Drake growled. “I told you I fixed the old one. You can’t even tell it had a dent.” You could totally tell it was dented, but he wouldn’t give his brother the satisfaction of knowing that until he saw it for himself.
Pax didn't respond.
“Are you going to say something?” Drake poked him, wanting a fight.
“Not worth it. We’ll figure it out when you get back and the evidence is in front of our eyes.”
