Page 101 of Will to Run

“I’m not trying to be a Debbie Downer here, but it’s not like you guys have years of memories, Jax. This feels kind of crazy, latching onto someone this strongly because you’ve only known her for months.”

Not put off by my sister’s negativity, I reply, “I know. How lucky am I that someone like Della came into my life and that we amassed so many fantastic memories so quickly? And stop sounding like Cayson.”

Hazel sighs before speaking.

“Do you not want us to work out?” I ask my sister because it seems like she’s dragging her feet here.

“It’s not that, Jaxon. No part of me wants her to leave. I just want her to operate independently of you. I want her to stay on her terms so if things between you don’t work, she won’t feel like she has to leave.”

If not a single other person believes in us, so be it. “It’s going to work, Hazel.”

My sister is silent for so long that I wonder if she’s still there. “If you’re hell bent on that, let me tell you what Mol and I have come up with, then. I’ll need your approval anyway.”

“What have the two of you concocted?” I smile.

When she tells me about the resident painter role, I sit in awe listening to my sister. It’s genius. There couldn’t be anything more suitable for Della here at the ranch.

Now I just need her to have extra incentive to stay. If I could help her feel connected not only to memories with me specifically, but to the things we saw and did here, it might help her realize Amberheart Valley is somewhere she doesn’t want to leave. The place she calls home.

How do I help her remember the good?

As I’m tapping my pen on my desk, the thought strikes me so powerfully, I rise out of my seat because it’s perfect.

Holy shit, this is probably the best idea I’ve ever had in my life. Granted, I’ve never had to grovel before, but I’m willing to do anything.

Without giving it a second thought, I grab my keys and head into town.

49

DELLA

For the next few days after Tripp was arrested, I’m tense around the clock. Even though Alan tracked him out of town when he was released, and I know he got on a plane, I’m still uneasy. Most of my time is spent at Painted Heart or with Hazel, Molly, and Lanie because I don’t want to be alone.

The landlord installed cameras and a brand-new sliding glass door over the weekend, and I was shocked at how quickly it happened.

But as the days go on, I relax because I don’t think he’ll be back. He has no allies here, and not to mention, he doesn’t want his secrets shared with the world.

After Jaxon’s apology in my apartment, the one I actually listened to, things start shifting. When I see him at the ranch, I kind of take him in with fresh eyes. We have a few words, a few laughs, and then continue on with our day. It is as if he is giving me just enough to leave me wanting more… and I hate to say it, but it’s working.

As time goes on, the lingering anger is being replaced by a sense of loss. When everything exploded that day in his house, I never thought that it would ever let up, but as each day passes, that’s exactly what’s happening.

The Saturday before my art show, I take a break from painting and end up outside the barn with Molly, Hazel, and Lanie. Molly doesn’t have as much time these days because the hay harvest is bearing down on her, so it’s nice stealing her for a bit.

While we’re laughing about something, Jaxon strolls by us on his way into the barn. He has no business looking extra delicious as he saunters by like he owns the place… even though he literally does. Tipping his hat to the four of us, he says nothing and just keeps walking to the stall. I smile at the flirt of the hard-to-get; this is playboy Jaxon. The one I never saw because our circumstances were so unique.

Checking out of the conversation with the girls, I watch him disappear into Wyza’s stall and then come out leading her back down the aisle. When he’s outside the barn, he puts his foot in the stirrup and hoists himself onto the horse in a practiced motion. The others aren’t paying close attention to him, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes away.

Wyza starts to walk, and he turns to us, “Have a great day, ladies,” he says, looking squarely at me with a knowing smile. Disbelief crosses my face.

“Get a life!” Hazel shouts at his back.

And he tips his head to the sky and laughs. It’s the laugh that I miss so damn much. The warmth of it wraps around me, and I watch his back flexing under the tight white shirt as he holds the reigns. I remembering how my fingers dug into those muscles, and for the first time since the shit hit the fan, a familiar arousal flickers to life inside of me.

When I get back to my apartment in the evening, there is a package at the outside door addressed to me. It’s wrapped in this pristine wrapping paper with a shimmery gold ribbon, and it’s just so pretty. But as soon as I think that, my heart jumps into my throat, because I wonder if Tripp is back, and this is something from him, but it’s not Tripp’s handwriting.

5:17 a.m.

The time is the only thing on the tag. What the heck? I take the whole package up to my apartment and set it on the kitchen table, debating whether to call someone in case I’ll need help, but I’m too curious. Slowly, I pull the string and open the top before reaching my hand in to see what’s inside. But I don’t need to see it to know what it is; I feel it. It’s a tube of paint. I pull it out and look at it. It’s a purple-gray paint that I know I don’t have because it was never in a stock set. Next comes the card, and I lose my breath when I read it.