Page 69 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

He’d chosen me and Jake for this impossible task, then.

“They went into town?” Jake asked as we both looked at Cameron.

The spell of the shady spot overlooking the creek was broken.

“Yeah,” Cameron said. “I tried to talk ’em out of it. Said you guys would take us eventually. But Xander was acting all tough. Like he had something to prove. And off they went.”

My concern was more about Jake’s truck than Xander and Dillon, who should have known better than to pull a stunt like that. At least I had thought so.

“We’ll go get them,” I said.

“Yes,” Jake said.

This agreement meant untangling ourselves from each other without falling off the boulder. Cameron was already gone by the time we were on the path.

We stopped for quick kisses and my heartfelt promise to do right by Jake. Then we headed for my blue car, which would be the fastest way into town. When we got to the car, we found Lucas outside, beneath a blazing sun, on his phone, raking his fingers through his hair.

“It’s the sheriff,” he told us, and then went back to listening. “Yes, I’m sending someone. They’re not hurt?” He nodded and hung up, then held the phone out like it was a live wire that might bite. “Two of our kids?—”

“Dillon and Xander,” I said.

“They drove into town. All the way to the Dairy Queen, where they ran smack-dab into one of those metal tables.”

“How’s Daybreak?” I asked because it seemed Jake wasn’t going to.

“Busted headlight,” Lucas said. “Can you go get them?”

“Yes, sir.” Jake looked at me, and I could see in his eyes that he’d rather be on that boulder in the shade than doing this. But since Lucas had asked, he was willing.

“I’ll drive.” I headed toward my car, patting my pocket for my keys, wondering where my phone was. Beneath the driver’s seat, probably, overheating in a hot car. But that didn’t matter as much as getting to those kids and assessing the damage. Then making sure Daybreak was taken care of. Jake, he was most important to me. “You okay?” I asked him over the roof of my car.

“Yes.”

I doubted it.

I drove as fast as I could into town, doing at least ten miles over the limit. I pulled into the small Dairy Queen parking lot to see Daybreak snug up against the same metal table where Jake and I had sat. When our relationship had been new.

Even before I got out of the car, I could see shards of glass. A half-circle of bright chrome on the paved ground.

Jake was right behind me, but he tugged on my shoulder. “Easy, Dalton.” As if I were the wild one in this scenario. I usually wasn’t, but I was pissed. Jake loved that truck, and he’d gone through enough crap in his life. Those kids wouldn’t get off easy if the car wasn’t fixable.

Xander was sitting right where Jake had sat, curled forward, his hood over his head, hands buried in his sleeves. I couldn’t see his face. But I could see Dillon’s. He seemed more concerned with Xander than the yellow truck, and that irritated me, too.

“You here for the kids from the ranch?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said, gritting my teeth at a question whose answer was obvious.

In one more step, I’d be at Xander’s side. But Jake stopped me. His hand was fully on my arm now, and he pulled me back. “Let me handle this,” he said. He looked at the sheriff. “Is that okay, sir?”

The sheriff gave him a short nod. “Jake, right? This is your truck, so you go ahead. I’ll give you some space, and then you tell me what you want done. Warning. Ticket. Some form of detention or arrest.”

Any and all of those sounded reasonable to me, though I was distracted by the way Jake hunkered down in front of Xander and looked up at him as calm as could be.

“Xander.” His voice was low, almost soft. “I can see what happened. I know you wanted a trip to Dairy Queen. But is there a reason you couldn’t wait? Somebody would have taken you.”

Not answering, Xander shifted on the metal bench seat, like he couldn’t find the answer and was just about to make something up.

“I would have taken you if you’d asked.” Jake didn’t touch Xander, but he was right there, in Xander’s space. “I happen to love a good Butterfinger Blizzard. Dalton here,” he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, drawing me into the conversation, “he hates the things, but I reckon he would have joined us and gotten a little vanilla cone or something. Just to go with us for a truck ride and partake in the treat.”