Page 9 of Homebound

“I know,” I admit. “And I saved every single one of them.”

That stumps her for a second. Good. But she shakes her head and sucks in a trembling breath. “And you never thought to respond? What did I ever do to you to deserve that?”

I slump forward. Even though I left, I never stopped feeling guilty about that choice. I’ve always had the guiltiest conscience.

Dakota once made a homemade Twinkie cake for the Fourth of July that was so sickeningly sweet, I threw up the entire thing that night. But she spent four hours in the kitchen, so I couldn’t tell her it was awful. Every summer until I left, she continued to make that Twinkie cake for the Fourth of July, and I continued to eat a slice and vomit it up.

Christ, I had it so bad for her.

Still do.

“I’m sorry,” I rush out my apology, not caring that we’ve got an audience. “For leaving. For going quiet on you. My life got crazy busy after I had Vi, and I’m sorry.”

Parenthood sucked out all the old parts of my life and replaced them with something better, harder, but still better.

“Ah, yes. That’s right,” she drawls, rubbing her hands on her chaps. “My dad told me you had a daughter. An adorable baby girl, in fact. I thought you would have mentioned that considering you used to call and tell me what you had for breakfast, but I guess your Healthy Harvest Egg Casserole is more important news than your beautiful little girl, but hey,” she says, holding up her hands. “I’m not one to judge what’s important to someone.”

Despite her sarcasm, I get stuck on the fact that she called my baby girl beautiful. I wonder if Dakota’s been keeping tabs on me.

“Dakota,” I plead, latching onto her hard gaze. “I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be. I should’ve called, or texted, or something. I shouldn’t have cut you out of my life like that, but I’m back now, and I’m determined to make things right this summer.”

She blinks like she didn’t hear the words and then casually flicks her scratched-up wrist.

“Hey, don’t you worry about it. Becoming a parent is a huge life change, and that was a long time ago. It’s ancient history.” She turns to the paramedic. “Why don’t we head on out? It’s getting a little bit crowded here, don’t you think?”

That’s it?

Her nonchalance is almost worse than her anger, but she’s always been one to bury her heaviest emotions. She’d rather feel nothing, and I want her to feel everything when it comes to me.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” I ask, narrowing my gaze on those mesmerizing honey eyes.

I want her to yell, cry, fight me, spit on my boot, something, anything, but she doesn’t do any of that. Instead, she jumps off the chair and rushes up to my face, her lips less than an inch from me.

The heat of her breath mingles with mine, and I drop my eyes to her mouth, thinking how easy it’d be to kiss her, to finally taste her. But we’ve never kissed, and she’s not looking at my lips like I’m looking at hers.

I’m tempted to lick those lips, but she looks like she’s about to bite mine off.

Her eyes lock onto me with an intensity that sends a hot shiver down my spine, but then she gives my shoulder a hard pat.

“Ah, it’s all good, sugar. All’s forgiven,” she says in a husky murmur that sounds a lot like fuck off.

With a toss of her brown braid that hits me in the face, she loops her hand through the model paramedic’s and pulls him away, leaving me in the dust. I can’t stand watching her with him, but I deserve it for cutting her out of my life like that.

Damn, she’s going to hate when I show up to the barn later with all my luggage and beg her to let me stay with her.

“Like I said!” she calls out without a backward glance. “It’s ancient history!”

Ancient history, my ass. We’re getting our happy ending this summer.

4

JAKE OR JAMES OR CARL

DAKOTA

“Who was that guy at the rodeo earlier today?” the sexy paramedic asks as I straddle him, topless, on my leather couch.

“I don’t want to talk about the rodeo,” I nearly growl, mostly because I want to get my orgasm over with so I can get a good night’s sleep before my dad lectures me tomorrow on everything I could’ve done better for those eight seconds.