Page 74
Groaning, Delilah shoves her plate away. “This is so good, Cole. Delicious, actually.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Impressed. I am atrocious in the kitchen except when it comes to breakfast. Then I shine.”
“Looks like I got dinner.”
A gorgeous flush darkens her cheeks. “Guess we’re set.”
A beat passes, and I can’t play off what I said. Wishful thinking that there’s more to come, more to us.
Fuck. I’m making all kinds of mistakes tonight. Must be the whiskey. The gorgeous girl in front of me.
I clear my throat, searching for something to say, then find it.
“That’s what my mother always called it. Steak, potatoes, green beans. A true cowboy dinner.”
“Cole?” Delilah hesitates, taps a finger against her wine glass. “Can I ask? Where are your parents? I’ve never seen them at the distillery so…”
Remaining quiet, I lean back in my chair.
“You don’t have to answer,” she says with a rushed breath. “I’m being nosy and—”
“Gone. Eighteen long years now.”
“What happened?”
Needing a second, I down a big swig of whiskey. Then I look at her beautiful face. With her wide eyes, she wears vulnerability, innocence like a second skin.
“My parents were murdered.”
She gasps. “I’m so sorry.” She sits, as if she’s stunned, then murmurs, “You’ve had so much death.” Her gaze takes on a sad, faraway look as she reaches a hand up for the gold locket around her throat.
“We have.” I return my gaze to the yard, the fog that curls on the edges of the long grass. “It’s this town. It takes.”
“And it took them?” she whispers.
My fists ball at my sides at the way the story burns inside me. The way this girl keeps getting me to open up is like a fucking drug. I want to tell her everything if it’ll get her to do the same. Because when she listens to me, it feels like she’s hearing everything I’m not saying. The traumas of my past, how I’ve been a failure of a brother, how I’ve run away from everyone, and how damn much I miss my parents and Jack.
I’m not a man of many words, but I want to give them all to Delilah.
So, I tell her about their deaths, the police cover-up, and my suspicions about their murders. “There’s no doubt in my mind a Hale did it. But their case file’s been lost to time. Most likely the Tempest PD.”
“You think they’re hiding it?”
“I do.”
She hesitates, then asks, “Did your parents die on the ranch?”
“They did.” I take a sip of whiskey. “But the building they died in isn’t there anymore. My uncle demolished it and built what you see there now.”
“And he raised you?”
“He helped.” I swallow down the emotion. “But no, Warren was the one who raised our younger brothers after he got them out of foster care.”
“And where were you?” She tilts her head, eyes narrowed like she wants to see through me.
“On the rodeo circuit.” I sit back and drag a hand through my hair. “Chasing some fucking idea of vengeance when I should have been back here with them.” She bites her lip hearing the bitterness in my voice, but I won’t lie to her. Or myself. Not anymore. “I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there for my parents, for Jack, or my brothers. I’ve been too busy trying to find out who the fuck did it all these years, and I’ve gotten nothing. It feels like it’s been a waste.”
