Page 106 of Stay Wild Darlin’

He nodded.

Everyone knew Jimmy Buck. You couldn’t drive through any rural town without seeing their signature green and yellow logo stamped across tractors, trailers, combines—hell, even hats and lunchboxes.

“Oh,” I said, because what else was there to say?

Dalton glanced over at me, his expression unreadable. “I didn’t build that company. I didn’t earn that name. I ride bulls and keep my damn head down. People like your dad hear Culpepper and think I’m their in.”

I watched him for a second, the way his jaw flexed, the tension sitting under the surface. Vulnerability wasn’t something Dalton showed easily.

“I didn’t want to be part of the company,” he said, staring out at the water. “Didn’t want to wear a suit, sit at a desk, smile for shareholders like everything was fine when nothing ever was.” His voice got quieter, but not softer. “My parents didn’t like that. Kicked me out when I was a fucking kid. Told me if I didn’t want the life they built, I didn’t get to benefit from it either.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I went to Lindley because that was what I wanted. That’s where I met Beau and Papa Banks, and the rest is history. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I knew I didn’t want to be them.” He paused, running a hand through his hair before gripping the back of his neck. “My dad wasn’t there for me. Always chasing the next deal, the next expansion, the next press release. I didn’t want to be there either. Not for him. Not for all that bullshit.” His jaw ticked. “I wanted to do me. Ride. Work. Keep my damn peace.” He looked at me then, eyes darker than before. “I don’t want their money. I don’t want their name. I want nothing.”

The way he said it, like a vow, told me he meant every word.

“You should be proud of what you’ve built on your own. At our age, most people are still trying to figure out who they are. But you . . .” I shook my head, smiling. “You stepped into a role that was literally thrust onto you and handled it with more grace than anyone had the right to expect.”

He looked down for a second, then out toward the lake again. When his gaze met mine again, there was something softer there. Something vulnerable.

“I rarely hear that,” he murmured. “Today, I heard it twice.”

My smile grew. I reached across the small space between our chairs and slid my hand into his. “Hey, Dalt?”

He glanced over, already answering with a quiet “Hmm?”

“Wanna get out of here?”

His lips curved. “God, yes.”

We didn’t leave, we escaped.

Darted out the back like two overdressed fugitives fleeing a life of hors d’oeuvres and thinly veiled judgment.

“I feel like we robbed the place,” I whispered.

“Technically, we stole your mom’s dignity and a few shrimps.”

“Oh my god.” I wheezed, stumbling slightly. “You’re not allowed to be this funny when I’m tipsy. I can’t multitask.”

We made it to the driveway, and I stopped in front of his truck.

“Wait,” I said, squinting. “We can’t drive.”

Dalton blinked at me. “Why not?”

“Because I mistook your taillight for a vending machine.”

“Shit. You’re right.”

We stood there for a moment in mutual silence, processing what to do next.

He pocketed the keys. “It’ll be fine here. Let it rest. It’s had a long night.”

“It looks emotionally exhausted.”

Dalton grabbed our bags and slung them over his shoulder. “It’s a few blocks, you up for walking or want to get a rideshare?”