Page 75 of Wild Hearts

"Walker got a call from the school about Dakota and needed to leave."

His brow furrowed. "Is she okay?"

"I think so." I didn't want to overstep and say something that Dakota wouldn't want me to share. "But Walker's laptop and paperwork are still in the conference room."

"Thanks for letting me know. I'll get it and take it to his cabin for him. He likes to have it at home so he can work at any time." Oliver stood and moved around the desk. "Remote work is good when you have kids."

"I bet," I said as he moved past me.

Oliver raised a brow. "Do you need anything else?"

"I'm done with my meeting with Noelle, so I'll let myself out."

"Have a good evening." Oliver disappeared into the conference room.

I shouldn't have felt anything because we only just started dating. But I wanted to be part of the family.

I turned and headed for the lobby. I shouldn't be thinking about Walker in this way. I had to remember that he walked away last time. I couldn't trust that this would last. I was supposed to be seeing how it would go, not falling in love all over again.

17

WALKER

Iwas researching the logistics of adding hot tubs to the cabins when Addison stopped by to see me. It was a nice reprieve from work, and I had missed her. But it only took one call from the school to remind me where my priorities should be—with my daughter.

She came first, and she needed me. The counselor said she came into her office upset but wouldn't share the reason. She'd talked to her teachers, and no one could figure out what precipitated it.

I hadn't heard that anyone was bullying her or making fun of her. I suspected this was grief rearing its ugly head. Addison had told me it could pop up at various times with no rhyme or reason.

I was racing toward the high school, my heart in my throat because I hated that Dakota was feeling anything other than happiness. This is what being a father was, constant worry and stress. Was I doing the right thing? Did she need something I wasn't giving her? The questions rolled through my head unanswered as I parked in the visitor spot and ate up the distance between the lot and the front door.

I rang the doorbell, said I was there to pick up my daughter, and they buzzed me through to the office. When I introduced myself to the front desk person, she showed me the counselor's office where Dakota was slumped in a chair clutching a tissue.

When she saw me standing in the doorway, she cried harder.

I moved in front of her, dropping to my knees. "Are you okay?"

"Can you take me home?"

"Of course." I stood and turned toward the counselor. "Do we need to do anything? Sign out?"

"I can do that for you."

"Thank you." Dakota stood, and I placed an arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the door and outside into the bright sunlight.

I helped her into the truck, then turned on the engine and headed for home. I remembered something I read about not asking a lot of questions but letting her talk when she was ready.

"Nothing happened."

I glanced over at her. "Okay."

She looked out the window. "I'm just feeling sad."

"You miss your mom?"

She nodded miserably. "I had this overwhelming sense that I wouldn't see her after school. That I'd never see her again."

My stomach dropped. She hadn't dealt with her mother's death because she was too busy moving across the country and settling into a new school. Maybe it would have been better if we'd stayed in Virginia where everything was familiar.

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