Page 4 of Parentmoon

Somehow in Michael’s explanation that Keli’s father had gifted them their honeymoon, I’d missed the memo that Dallas actually owned the free-standing cottage on the beach.

The resort has a central two-story building, like a fancy motel, complete with a covered outdoor dining area, small store, and indoor-outdoor bar. A series of outbuildings each contain two condos stacked on top of one another. Finally, there are three cottages on the northern edge of the property, one of which, apparently, Dallas owns.

He slowly smiles as my mouth hangs open and my eyes widen.

“But I thought . . .” I’d assumed the A-framed cottage belonged to the resort.

“This is my private getaway.” Dallas turns his face away from me, hitches his aviators back into place, and tips back his head, allowing the late afternoon sunlight to accentuate his perpetually tan skin and the sharp slope of his nose. He’s a study in duplicity—rugged meets wealth. On one hand, he looks tough, like he belongs in a motorcycle club or working out on the range. On the other hand, he’s stupid rich, owning wind farms in Texas, where mammoth-sized windmills harness the abundant natural resource for energy.

“Michael didn’t tell me.”

At the mention of my son, Dallas scoffs.

“What does that sound mean?”

“Your son broke my daughter’s heart.” Not sparing me a glance, his voice travels to the heavens above us.

From the moment I met Dallas, he’s hardly looked at me. After our initial meeting and his sudden disappearance that night, he rarely glances in my direction despite the countless video conferences and occasional dinners over the past year, planning the wedding that didn’t happen. He actively avoids looking at me. I’ve convinced myself I’d imagined those moments he focused on my mouth at that first dinner.

My mama-bear claws come out defensive and sharp at the reference to Michael. “Excuse me, but your daughter could have broken my son’s heart.”

The truth was, though . . .we didn’t know the truth.

“Did Keli say something to you?” I soften the question before holding my breath.

Three days ago, Michael announced to me that the wedding was off. He didn’t say who called it off or even why.

While Dallas remains silent, my thoughts race back to the distress on Michael’s face. The edge to his no longer boyish cheeks reminded me of his father. A dimple, which is another distinction he shares with his dad, had disappeared; erased like his happiness.

I need to get away, he’d said after I hugged him, wishing a hug could heal the wound of a broken heart. Tears had no place in our conversation. Not from him, the stoic, solid man he’d become. Not from me, because I was too stunned to think straight.

Then he’d begged me to swap airline tickets with him, fearing Keli would continue as planned to their honeymoon destination.

What would I do if I saw her? How was I supposed to face the woman who ripped my son’s heart in half? Or had Michael torn out hers? I just didn’t know, and the frustration made me want to shake my man-child son for answers.

Michael’s response to my concern had been quick and direct. Take care of her.

His answer told me one thing. My son still loved Dallas’s daughter.

Hell, I loved Keli. She was the daughter I never had. Despite my initial thoughts, which stereotyped her as a Southern belle, spoiled and princess-like, Keli was sweet and modestly confident. She’d latched onto me like the mother she hadn’t had in her own life.

“It’s always the man’s fault, darlin’.” Dallas’s voice draws me back to the present, mockery mingling with his Southern twang.

“You would know, I’m sure,” I huff, alluding to his womanizing ways.

He’d left the engagement announcement dinner for his only child to scuttle off with a random woman. And after all this time, I don’t know why it still bothers me. I know his history. He’s free to be with whomever he pleases.

Dallas smirks, curling his pouty lips, but not negating my response.

New concerns take over. If Dallas owns the house, and he’s suddenly present, I don’t have anywhere to stay. Glancing in the general direction of the resort, panic sets in. I can’t afford a night at this place, let alone ten.

“I guess I’ll need to find another place to stay.” I’m simply speaking out loud, spewing a plan as items come to me. I’ll also have to rebook my airline ticket for a flight home. Preferably tomorrow.

Shaking my head, I sigh. How did I get into this mess? Why did I let Michael talk me into a trade?

Dallas rolls his head against his chair once more. Without seeing those sapphire eyes of his, I sense him looking directly at me.

“You don’t have to leave.”