Page 64 of Wild and Wrangled

“Friends.” I sighed. “We’re friends. Aren’t we?”

“Ash, I tried friends. I really did. But friends don’t feel the way I do about you,” he said as he pulled me even closer to him. Our bodies were touching now. “Or the way you feel about me.” I could feel his breath on my face. “I’ve waited half a lifetime for you, Cam.”

Dusty breathed me in. “And I would wait a whole one if I thought I had to, but here we are. Together. No distance, no timing, no ring…nothing is keeping us apart.” Our dancing had slowed and the song had changed, but we were still out on the dance floor. Dusty used his finger to lift my chin, gently this time. “Except you,” he whispered.

I refused to meet his eyes.Except me.

“So I need you to look at me, Ash.” It was like my eyes couldn’t help but give in to him. “And I need you to tell me why.”

Because I’m not the girl you fell in love with. Because I don’t even know who I am. Because loving you is the bravest thing I’ve ever done, and I’m not brave anymore.

Because I can’t take the pain of losing you again.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise.” My mother’s voice cleared our bubble, and I instinctively pulled away from Dusty—putting more distance between us than just physical. I tried to pretend I didn’t see his face fall, but he quickly steeled his expression. I tried to do the same.

“Hi, Mom,” I said as I leaned in to give my mother a kiss oneach cheek. “You look beautiful.” And she did. Lillian Ashwood was dripping in understated beauty. She was wearing a floor-length silver gown that was impeccably tailored to her slender frame, and a diamond choker that my father gave her for one of their earlier anniversaries, and matching earrings.

“You look…” She surveyed my appearance. I was used to this perusal and instinctively tried to brace myself for whatever was coming. “Comfortable” was what she settled on.

“Camille,” my father said next to her.

“Dad,” I said as I looked over at him. I looked most like him with my dark hair and features and my height. He ignored me. His eyes were shooting daggers at the man I was with.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ashwood.” Dusty nodded. No pleasantries or good-to-see-yous, not between these three.

“Interesting to see you here, Mr. Tucker. I don’t think you were on the invite list,” my father said. “You don’t quite fit in.”

“And thank God for that,” Dusty said. “I’m Cam’s plus one.”

With that, my parents started to strategically shepherd us to the outer space of the room—off the dance floor and into the shadows—where they’d always preferred to keep me. As we walked, Dusty’s hand found its way to the small of my back again. I focused on that feeling—channeled everything I had into his touch on my spine.

“You didn’t tell us you were bringing anyone, dear,” my mother said. Her voice and face were tight. “There are a few lovely bachelors here tonight that I think you should meet.”

I felt my shoulders sag.

My dad didn’t say anything. He was still sizing up Dusty.

“Please…not right now,” I said as firmly as I could, but it was meek at best.

“Not ever, actually,” Dusty said. His jaw was set.

“This is none of your concern,” my father responded.

“Cam is my concern,” Dusty said. “She always has been.” Right then, a waiter, who either didn’t notice the tense posture of our quad or didn’t care, held a tray up for us. I reached out to take something off it. I didn’t even know what it was—I just needed something to do with my hands.

“That’s fried, Camille,” my mother chimed in. “Best to wait for something else to come around.” My hand stopped midair, and I brought it back to my side.

“You are a piece of work, Lillian,” Dusty said, and I went all the way still. “You always have been.”

“I beg your pardon?” my mother said as she brought her hand up to her chest. Aghast was the word I’d use.

“I can’t believe I ever thought that it would just be better, easier for Cam to try to ignore your bullshit. I guess I was young, stupid. But I’m not anymore. I’ve changed, but you haven’t, and I’m tired of seeing the way you tear this woman down and saying nothing about it.”

“You have no right to talk to us this way,” my father said. I could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“No, Rutherford, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s you that doesn’t have a right to talk to me or Cam or any other person that way,” Dusty said. The arm around my waist pulled me closer to him.

“Now you listen.” My father put his pudgy finger in Dusty’s face, but Dusty cut him off.

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