Page 40 of Don't Take the Girl
"You assumed that because we are breeders, we function the same. Yet another reason you should visit. If you change your mind, let me know."
"Oh, come on, please say yes," Katie startles me, squeezing between us. "I want to see some more horses. We can leave now," she suggests with a big smile.
"I'd love to give you a tour, Katie," Trigg eggs her on.
"Ranch tours?" an impossible voice collides with reality. "The wedding is this weekend."
Time slows as my mind struggles to process. I'm too stunned to move, too scared to turn around and match a face I neverthought I'd see again to the only one my heart ever wanted. This could all be a coincidence: the voice, the last name, the revelation of a brother. I haven't been sleeping well, and my mind is still adjusting to staying in a new place. My eyes are pinned on Trigg when he notices my frozen state. There's a slight crease in his forehead before he throws his arm around my shoulder, sensing my sudden discomfort.
"Well, the invitation said I could bring a plus-one. What do you say, Laney? Do you want to be my plus-one this weekend?"
My heart is beating so fast it feels like it's one second away from stopping, the thumping too hard, the pace too exhausting. At the new angle Trigg has pulled me into, I have no choice but to look in the direction of the voice I'd know anywhere. My eyes slowly trail up the dark jeans, his legs thicker, his waist still narrow, but his chest is different. Even through his black button-down Wrangler, I can tell it's more developed, more solid, but it's when I allow my eyes to reach his well-defined, dark, bearded chin that true recognition crashes into me. My fingers have trailed that jawline, my mouth has covered those lips, and those eyes…those damn eyes…I've dreamed a million lifetimes in them. My heart lurches painfully in my chest, and my knees weaken as the world around me goes silent, my senses compressed singularly in shock and disbelief at the sight before me. It's him.
"Dallas, what's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a damn ghost," Trigg mocks beside me.
Wait, what did he just call him? Dallas? That's not his name. That's not even his middle name. He stands rigid, his stillness mirroring my own as the electricity crackles between us with an intensity that threatens to steal my breath. This isn't the reunion I imagined a million times in my head. It's not even close. While I knew he didn't want to talk to me, I thought that desire was rooted in longing—an insurmountable pain—the same pain that lives inside of me over love lost. However, as color returns to his face, his expression transforms. What was once raw shock turns into something more menacing—hate.
"She can't be your plus-one," he finally speaks, his words firm.
"And why the hell not?" Trigg's arm loosens, and he steps back, his eyes darting between us. "Wait, have the two of you met before?"
London doesn't answer Trigg's question, but his silence answers mine. Trigg doesn't know who I am. I don't know how London is here and not behind bars, but I get the impression Trigg doesn't either. With that, I steel my spine and hold out my hand.
"No, we've never met. I'm Laney."
There's a tic in his jaw, as though he doesn't like my response, but before I get a chance to dissect what it might mean, Katie chooses that moment to pop out from my side. "And I'm Katie."
His eyes dart between us, lingering on mine before gravitating toward hers, then snapping back to mine with a flash of something unreadable before settling on her again. "Hi, Katie. I'm Dallas." He shakes her hand.
"I like your hat," she says.
"Yeah?" He drops down to one knee. "Let me guess, you like the braid with the turquoise bead in the middle." She nods, suddenly shy. He removes his hat and sets it on his knee before pulling the braid off. "I hope you'll accept this as my apology." He offers her the braid, and she happily takes it. "Trigg offered something he can't give." Then, standing, he gives me one last glance before pinning Trigg with a menacing glare. "She can't come to the wedding," he says before storming away.
"Dallas," Trigg calls out to him, but it's for not. He won't turn back.
Every footfall as his boots thud against the stone floor is an echo of the night I watched Sheriff Townsend drive him away. He didn't turn back then either, but that's not what's making this time harder than the first. No. This time, he's choosing to walk away. Last time, there was hope—hope that I could plead a case and bring him home. Now there's a wedding.
Chapter 12
LONDON
Islam the front door and head straight to the kitchen, where I know I'll find him. It's 3 p.m., so he's either making a fresh pot of dark Folgers or working on his bourbon. Bourbon is what he should be doing. Horses aren't his passion; it was his father's, but the problem with Baylor Hale is he's stubborn. Stubborn, I can deal with. On his good days, he's driven and focused, and on a bad day, it's his character flaw, too proud to be wrong. But today, his arrogant self-righteousness crossed the line. Today, he became a traitor.
I turn the corner and find him leaning against the counter, a cup of dark coffee in hand, staring out at the ranch. "Did you tell Trigg?"
His eyes stay pinned out the window. "You're going to have to be a little more specific," he says, bringing his mug to his lips.
I come around the massive island adorned with copper candelabras and stand before him. "You know what," I say, crossing my arms.
There are a limited number of people who know my story, how I ended up here and not behind bars. The only person in Bardstown with those damning secrets is him, but the way Trigg was pushing me today, his sidelong glances piercing like daggers,scrutinizing my every reaction with what felt a hell of a lot like awareness, I'm not sure that's still true. I may have been temporarily immobilized, my heart hammering hard against my ribcage as panic clawed up my throat, rocking me to my core with dread so heavy I could barely stand. Still, through my fear, I could sense the knowing behind his so-called innocent glare. The air between us crackled with unspoken accusations. I didn't need words to understand the truth: Trigg knew that the woman beside him meant something to me, and that knowledge hung between us like a death sentence.
His eyes, as black as the coffee he's sipping, lock on mine. "Now, why would I do that?"
"Because he's your son!" I shout, unable to contain my annoyance with his lackadaisical reaction when I'm clearly anything but calm. I know he heard the door slam as I walked through the front door.
"Boy, don't go taking that tone with me," he says, setting his coffee on the counter. "I'm not in the business of telling stories that aren't mine to tell."
He stands straight, unfazed by my charge, his hands resting against the kitchen counter, strong hands bearing the small scars and marks of a lifetime working on this ranch. I've only known Baylor Hale for a few short years, but I know those eyes. Deep-set dark eyes, black as coal, peer out from beneath a weathered brow, and I know he's telling no lies. I may not know every trial and tribulation or every secret, but I know those eyes. They're my father's eyes.
