Gram fiddled with the blanket, her mouth working. Anger, disbelief, and regret passed through her wrinkled features. “Harold was a good man.”
Dillon exchanged looks with his cousins. None of them had really believed Jesse’s claims.
“His family was a different story. They were disappointed in me from the beginning. I was a poor girl from town while they owned a beautiful chunk of the county. They had higher hopes for their son. By that, I mean a girl who came with her own land to combine with theirs. They hoped he’d carry them through the rest of their life doing all the work. It’s why they had gifted him the land when he’d turned eighteen, otherwise we’d been planning to move, search for our own piece of heaven.” Bitterness laced her words. “After Harold and I married, I put my foot down. No way was his family moving in with us so I could raise his sister and be their maid.”
She fell quiet.
“What did he die of?” Cash prompted.
Gram fell quiet and stared out the window, her fingers petting the soft fabric of the afghan over her lap. She must’ve loved Harold, really and truly. “Aneurysm was our best guess. Autopsies weren’t as accurate in those days. I was blamed, of course. They fought to kick me off the property, but it was mine.” Lifting her hands in a helpless gesture, she appeared ashamed. “The right thing to do would have been to give them the land back. But…it was me being homeless or them, and I justified it at the time, that I wasn’t responsible for their house payments. I was going to honor Harold and the farm.”
She cackled, her expression mirthful. “It was hopeless. The chickens were eaten by coyotes, the draft horses never listened to me, my milk cow dried up. Harold’s family managed to hang onto their house for months, waiting for my imminent failure. Of course the news had spread through town. Your grandfather came to check on me. Helped me.” A hint of a smile glossed her face. “He was interested in more than giving me farming lessons from the beginning, but it took me longer to come around.” Gazing fondly at the wedding photo of her and their grandpa, she finished the story. “After we married, Harold’s family moved and that was the end of it. My property was absorbed by your grandfather. We demolished that old rundown house I inherited from Harold when we knew our kids were going to stay in the business. It…it wasn’t an easy decision for me. A lot of memories were in that old place.”
Heavy silence settled around the room.
Brock spoke first. “That idiot thought a grudge from sixty years ago gave him the right to drive us out of business?” He shook his head with disgust. “Stupid.”
“Explains why I was the only one targeted. He thought I was living his legacy.”
Gram’s glassy eyes fixed onto the floor. “I always wondered if Harold would’ve condoned my actions or if he would’ve thought I acted shamefully.”
Travis rubbed her shoulder. “I doubt a man would want his widow to be kicked out of her home, either. You did what you had to do, Gram. It was a bad situation.”
Patting his hand, she smiled gratefully. “I…I don’t like how Harold’s family fared, but my five boys and ten grandkids make the regret palatable.”
“It’s been a long day, Gram,” Aaron announced. “How ’bout we take you out for dinner?”
None of them wanted to leave her raw, bathing in memories.
She wiped her eyes. “That would be nice.”
While Brock and Aaron helped her get ready, Dillon checked his phone. Still nothing from Elle. Each hour that passed lessened his hopes.
He left her one last message. The ball was in her court. Unfortunately, he was afraid she’d let it lay untouched.
Chapter Twenty-five
Elle checked her phone—for the twentieth time that day. It was only three thirty in the afternoon.
Should she call Dillon? He was probably busy with legal issues, catching up on work.
Busy. That’s why he hadn’t called since he’d left a message. Not because he’d told her he loved her and she’d said nothing in return, hadn’t returned his calls. Gah, she wouldn’t talk to herself, either.
He was piecing his life back together, staying sober, taking care of his family and the farm. What if he decided he couldn’t put up with her lack of commitment and moved on? What if she missed out on them as a couple because she’d let her childhood view of her past dictate her future?
As she ushered her next client in, she wiped out all reflection of her personal life. She had one more session after this and her client deserved her full attention. Still, it wasn’t easy. Every fiber of her being vibrated in an effort to run out of her office and make things right with Dillon.
When work wrapped up, she managed an easy walk to her car. She’d meant to drive home, think things through like her normal, logical self. Then, maybe, she’d call Dillon and explain her non-reaction to his confession. However, her subconscious won, and instead of calling, she aimed her car toward Dillon’s.
It was foolish. He was probably doing farmer duties, out in the field or something. If he was gone, would she just hang out in his driveway?
She totally would. Because on the long drive out to his place, she finally admitted she loved him, too.
Barking greeted her when she pulled up. A young yellow lab, tongue hanging out, tail going wild, danced around her car. Elle guessed Dottie was barely past her puppy days.
Furry shadows disappeared around the house. Those must be the cats Dillon had mentioned.
She parked in the driveway, but remained in the car. Her stomach fluttered with nerves and the part of her that had distanced herself from Dillon since she’d met him urged her to back out and head straight for home.
The front door of the house opened and an attractive woman in her late fifties walked out.
Oh shit. Mama. Elle’s nerves exploded. Meeting parents was something she’d always avoided with her few past boyfriends. They tended to ask about her personal life. The more she involved herself in a relationship, the harder it was to constantly evade answering.
Elle inhaled a fortifying breath. She was an adult professional and she could do this. Even if Dillon rejected her pleas for forgiveness for having no faith in him, or them, his mother was likely a reasonable adult. It was just one woman greeting another. Elle stepped out of the car.
“Hi.” She left the door open as an escape route. “Is Dillon around?”
Mama—what was her name?—cocked her head and studied Elle with a pleasant expression. “He ran to town for— He’ll be home in an hour.” She covered the distance between them to where Elle stood with a death grip on her open car door. “I’m Christy. Dillon’s mama.” She said the last word with a rueful smile.
“Elle.” She tensed, awaiting judgment.
A knowing expression lit Christy’s features. “Nice to meet you, Elle. Listen, I was just taking off to back to Sioux Falls. I threw a roast in for Dillon when he gets home. Why don’t you wait inside?”
“Oh, I should’ve called first.” The anticlimactic moment did nothing to douse her nerves.
Christy touched her elbow. “Dillon would rather have you here than miss your call.”
The woman’s soft touch and reassuring words were everything Elle had missed growing up.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” Elle didn’t want to face driving back to her house with all of her questions unanswered.
“It’s perfect because you can distract Dottie when I leave. We’re trying to train her not to run after cars, but she’ll ignore it all as soon as I drive off.”
The minor duty justified Elle’s reason for staying. “What do you need me to do?”
“I’m already packed. I’ll pull out of the garage and you can pull in. We’ll coax Dottie into the garage and you can stay with her while I shut the door. If that fails, I have dog treats.”
Fooling the dog wasn’t easy. She was a lab, she loved everyone, but she knew Christy and wanted to go with her. Elle wrestled the lunging dog into a bear hug and Christy hit the controls to shut the overhead door.
>
Elle held Dottie’s collar in the garage as the door rolled down. She cooed and rewarded the enthusiastic dog with a treat. By the time Christy’s car disappeared, Elle was sweaty and smelled like dog. After several minutes, she opened the garage door to let Dottie run out.
Wishing to tidy up before Dillon arrived, she tested the door to the house that was in the garage. Unlocked. She hesitated. Dottie had run back out into the yard. Were the cats supposed to stay out of the garage?
Just in case, she closed the overhead door before she went inside. She dropped her purse on the table, intending to head to the bathroom, but the fridge caught her eye. Was it really no longer filled with beer?
She resolutely shook her head. Her goal here wasn’t to inspect his living conditions. He said he was in recovery, and she either believed him, or she didn’t. Elle was lying to herself if she didn’t admit to the residual fear of seeing beer lining the shelves. With a sigh, she turned away from the fridge.
The delicious smell of the roast cooking teased her empty stomach. Hoping she’d be invited to stay for dinner, she went to clean up.
***
Dillon exited the church into the cool evening air. He threw a goodbye wave to his sponsor. “See ya next week.”
The mental brightness he felt after each AA meeting made it the best hour Dillon spent each week. His first meeting in Moore had gone well. His fear of anonymity had gone out the window. He didn’t care if people saw him leave the church every Monday evening and figured out he was in the program. He’d rather be a reflection of the program then a closet drunk.
He glanced at his phone to see a text from Mama. Dammit. She had left a roast in the oven. Plans of finding Elle were curtailed so he could go home to rescue dinner before it dried down to jerky.
It was for the best. Patience was key, and he was willing to wait as long as Elle needed. He had threatened her career pushing for a relationship and then stomped on her trust when he’d refused to acknowledge his drinking.
Living amends. He could only move forward, doing his best.
Pulling into his yard, he decided to park outside. There were a couple hours of sunlight left. He’d eat and drive out to check the fields, finalize planting plans.
Dottie greeted him when he got out of his truck. Ensuring she didn’t lack for attention, he scratched and played with her a few minutes before he figured it was time to take the roast out. He went through his sliding door next to the kitchen and gathered a couple of hot pads. The purse resting on the table didn’t register until he set the hot pan on the counter.
Had Mama forgotten her purse? He’d have to call her.
Mid-dial, he heard movement and glanced up, tensed and ready to pounce. Some learned instincts wouldn’t die, but he accepted they were a part of his life.
The vision entering the room stole his breath. “Am I imagining things? Did Elle Brady break into my house?”
Her smile was hesitant. “Your mom let me in. Was that okay?”
He soaked in the sight of her, but a part of him warned to keep his happiness in check. “Why are you here?” he asked softly.
Her lovely smiled died and she side-stepped like she was ready to dart around him and run. Wait—was her car in his garage?
He liked the thought too much.
“It’s okay.” Poor girl looked ready to cry. He wanted to wrap her up in his embrace, but forced himself to stay put. “I don’t want to get my hopes up if you’re just here to talk about the weekend’s excitement.”
“I-I just wanted to say…” She swallowed. “That I love you, too, and it terrifies me.”
Had he heard right? Again, he wanted to whoop it up, pump his fist, but her confession didn’t sound like a good thing to her. He shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t reach for her. “So now what?”
Her gaze darted from him to the roast and back. “Now, I want you to tell me it’s going to be okay.”
He let his grin spread across his face and crossed to her. She stepped into his embrace before he could pull her in. Her fists twisted into his shirt and she buried her face in his shoulder.
All was right in his world. “It’s going to be okay, Elle.”
A quick sob escaped and she pulled back. “I’m so sorry—”
He cut her off with a kiss. “Don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for. We can talk about what happened, but I understand.”
She cupped both sides of his face and brought his head down for a lingering kiss.
He broke apart before they recapped the snowstorm on the floor. “The gentleman in me wants to invite you to sit for dinner, but the man declares the roast will be just as good cold.”
“I’ll stay for cold roast so you can tell me what happened over the weekend.”
He caressed the side of her face. “I want you to stay a lot longer than that.”
“I work in the morning, but I can run home for fresh clothes before I go in.”
He bent down to swoop her up in his arms. “Good thing farmers are up early, then.”
***
Elle unloaded one of the last boxes and pushed it against the wall. There wasn’t much that she’d moved to Dillon’s house—her house. She blew a tendril of hair out of her eyes. Most of her stuff had been slowly migrating over, but now she was officially moved in. As if she hasn’t been staying overnight all summer.
Move in before harvest, otherwise I’ll be too busy and in the combine all day until well after dark. And you don’t want to haul your stuff in the snow. We’ll move you in July because by September, I’ll be the phantom sliding into your bed at night.
She smiled at the memory. He swore harvest season meant long days and late nights. And she’d acquiesced to moving in because it was the sensible thing to do. They were together all the time anyway and besides, she’d wanted to.
Much of her worn furniture and used and abused dishes had been donated. Dillon had also cleaned out his drawers and closets to make room for her stuff.
Dillon entered the house behind her.
She spoke without turning around. “I think I’ll unpack these tomorrow and make my Sunday exciting. As long as I have my clothes hung up, that’s all I really need.”
“We should do this one today.”
She twisted to check out the box he held.
Chewing her lip, she glanced up at him. The box was the same one she’d found when she was moving her dad. Old family photos, swim awards and medals, and other mementos she’d stuffed away, thinking it was for her own good.
“What are we going to do with them?” What did she want to do with them?
He gave her an encouraging look. “We’re going to find places to hang these up. Maybe even put up one with your mom.” Her reaction must’ve been obvious. “Or not. Or it’ll hang down in the basement. Whatever you’re comfortable with. But your stuff is going to hang on these walls and decorate any shelves I can find.”
Grudgingly, she smiled. “You’re incredibly thoughtful—and demanding.”
She sauntered over to him. They’d been moving all day and cleaning her house so she could give up the rental. Watching Dillon in action, with his strong body…
He stepped back. “Oh no. You’re not distracting me with seduction.”
“I’m doing no such thing!”
“You are, but I’m not letting you touch me until this box is empty.”
He knew her too well. That box by itself was no big deal. Displaying the items in that box pushed her out of her comfort zone.
“Fine,” she grumbled.
For the next hour, he diligently pounded nails and hung frames. The more she walked past her pictures hanging on the walls, the more comfortable and accepting she was. Dillon peppered her with questions about each item.
Before long, she was telling him stories from growing up and from her swim days. Sure, there were many bad moments during those years, and she remembered them all clearly, but dusting off the happy memories wasn’t as painful as she’d expected.
She scooted closer to him and whispered. “Can I touch you now?”
The box was empty. Her old house was empty, but Dillon’s place, their place, was full of love and promise.
__________
Thank you for reading. I’d love to know what you thought. Please consider leaving a review at the retailor the book was purchased from.
~Marie
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About the Author
Marie Johnston writes paranormal and contemporary romance and has collected several awards in both genres. Before she was a writer, she was a microbiologist. Depending on the situation, she can be oddly unconcerned about germs or weirdly phobic. She’s also a licensed medical technician and has worked as a public health microbiologist and as a lab tech in hospital and clinic labs. Marie’s been a volunteer EMT, a college instructor, a security guard, a phlebotomist, a hotel clerk, and a coffee pourer in a bingo hall. All fodder for a writer!! She has four kids, an old cat, and a puppy that’s bigger than half her kids.
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More Contemporary Romance—Coming Soon!
Fanboys:
Unmistaken Identity
Highest Bidder (Book 2—Coming Soon)
The Walker Five:
Conflict of Interest (Book 1)
Mustang Summer (Book 2)
Long Hard Fall (Book 3)
Mustang Summer
Chapter One
Brock hefted the oil filters under his arm and shifted his feet. The auto parts store was always a place that challenged every lesson his mother had taught him. Since his days in high school were long over, it topped his worst experience list.
Conflict of Interest (The Walker Five Book 1) Page 20
