Page 8 of Drifter’s Heart

Defending my coworkers has always been a weakness of mine. Tonight, my moral line blurs with the effects of the alcohol fast wearing off thanks to West’s relentless line of questioning. My protective streak blares at full strength, mostly because with West I know I can get away with it.

I mean, he might fight me, but I also know he won’t hurt me.

This man has been my safety zone for longer than he knows.

West watches me quietly, and his silence is unnerving. “I stand corrected. Let me walk you to your door.”

I remember to shut my mouth as he slides out of the truck without another word, closes his door gently, and walks around to open mine.

“What in all the duck hells just happened?” I mutter as he holds out his hand to help me down.

Those glittering eyes still study me. “You educated a poor farm boy,” he says in that same quiet voice that I hate.

“That’s not what I meant—” I start, regretting poking this particular bear. I want the West who will fight me, who enjoys the banter and will walk away with his head held high no matter what I throw at him.

I don’t understand this version, and I don’t know what rules we’re playing by right now.

West ignores me and turns away, leading me up the steps to my townhouse. “Key? Is Sally asleep?”

I swallow at my daughter’s name, and responsibility drowns me. “She’s with a friend for the night. I got a babysitter so I could crash afterward and head to work without waking or worrying her. It’s a rarity,” I confess the truth of the lie I told him in the club earlier.

West says nothing at all as he opens my door and hands my key back.

Color heats my cheeks as I step over the threshold, my hand still locked into his firm, warm grip. I tug gently. “Aren’t you coming in?”

He surveys me with those same shadowed eyes that I can’t interpret, but then all contact drops away. “Good night, Winnie.” West’s hands disappear deep into his pockets.

I freeze on the threshold to my townhouse. “What?”

“I’ll wait while you lock up. Make sure you’re safe.” Those unyielding eyes never leave mine. Not once. He doesn’t look down or back away.

And I have not one single throwaway comment or sassy line ready when he rejects me.

Just. Like. That.

Self-pity wells in my throat as I back up a step.

“Well.” It’s all I’ve got. Retreat. Now. “Good night, Mister West.”

Unable to find the repartee I need on the spot and unsure why, after all the years we’ve known each other, tonight anything should change, I close the door in his face. An inch-thick piece of hardwood set with more locks than any one person logically needs stands between us. Cord insisted and installed them all himself last season when he was down after Lanie moved out of my place and into Coyote Falls. My fingers don’t fumble a single one, knowing West still stands on the other side.

I can almost hear him counting down each turn with me. When I’m done, I lean against the door, barely daring to breathe. On the other side there’s silence, like he’s listening too. A heartbeat lies between us, soft and pensive, unlike the relentless man who refused to take a no from me tonight.

The cowboy I once hoped would one day be a fun fling officially put me out to pasture. The game changed between us somehow. West’s silent rejection stings more than anything.

Footsteps break the pensive silence, leaving me alone with my eyes closed and a head full of the ghosts from fantasies that will never be real.

THREE

WEST

All The Places I’ve Never Belonged

Home is a concept I misinterpreted in my early life. Teenage me thought it meant safety, but ended up running from it before I turned seventeen. That was when my love-hate relationship with the dysfunctional word was defined by my father’s choice to cast my mother aside as an insufficient punching bag and turn his shitty temper on me. When she refused to leave, I did, walking away from the version of family that I knew and understood.

And when I found the next thing I thought was family, I stayed until I wore out my welcome there too, sick of living under someone else’s roof, working by someone else’s rules for too long. All my damn life. Those were the words I threw in Cordell’s face the last time I saw him, right before I stormed out of the ranch house that I helped build but was never created to house a man like me. My time at Coyote Falls lasted almost as long as my first family, nearly to the calendar day. Afterward I drifted again, to end up here, right back where I fucking started.

Same shit, different boardroom. Only this time, it’s my pet project I’m about to present. It’s not the only project I have on the go, just the one that’s going to take several months to get started if we get approval today.