Page 20 of Dallas Rivals

I turn back toward the cabin, ready to return it, but freeze with my hand on the doorknob when I hear raised voices inside.

“You never listen!” Lucien’s voice booms, rough and furious. I’ve never heard him like that.

“I was helping, Dad! It’s not like I broke into his mansion and made myself coffee—I was helping him catch⁠—”

“I don’t care!” he shouts. “Do you want him to throw us out? I told you not to bother him on the weekends, Cala!”

“I didn’t bother him! I just⁠—”

“I don’t want to hear it! I’m too damn mad right now!”

“Lucien, please, calm down,” his wife pleads.

“I can’t calm down! Our lives depend on a girl who can’t follow simple orders!”

Ouch. That hits low.

Unfair, too.

She had sacrificed everything—her entire life—so they could have a roof over their heads and food on the table. Hearing Lucien speak to her with such harshness felt deeply unjust. After all she had given up for their well-being, his words cut all the more sharply, and it didn’t feel right to witness her being treated that way.

Footsteps move quick toward the door, and before I can back away, the knob turns.

Miss Saint-Clair bursts out of the cabin, slamming the door behind her like it’s on a hinge made for drama—and stops dead in front of me.

Face to face.

I’m stiff as a fence post, standing there beside Joan the Mad.

“You heard all of it, didn’t you?”

Her black eyes shine wet in the dim light, anger and frustration fighting for space on her face. And something else—something I can’t read. Never seen her like this before, and I don’t blame her. Lucien went too far. Hell, even I’m not that mad anymore.

I nod, uncomfortable admitting it.

“I’m sorry,” I say, holding out the thing that brought me here. “Found this in the grass. Thought you’d want it back.”

Her hand goes to her chest instinctively, searching the spot where the necklace should be.

“Thank you.” She extends her palm, and I drop it into her hand instead of placing it there. For some reason, touching her feels… too personal. Even something as small as her hand.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it,” she says softly. “That necklace means a lot to me.”

She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand and forces a smile—masking whatever’s still breaking underneath.

Questions crowd my head: Why’s it important? What does it mean? Where’d she get it?

But my mouth—traitor that it is—chooses something else entirely.

“Lucien’s overreacting,” I mutter. “I’d never throw you out. Any of you.”

Her gaze softens instantly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, and for one damn second, I feel… good. Too good. Which is probably why my next words come out sharp enough to ruin it.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t call you out when it comes to work, though. What you did earlier could’ve gone bad fast. You don’t need me to remind you what happened to your father.”

The words are barely out before I want to punch myself in the balls with a rock. Nice going, Walker. Real smooth. Give her proof you’re a patronizing ass. Mansplainer of the year.

She just nods, taking it like she always does—absorbing my rough edges without complaint.