Page 61 of Stay Wild Darlin’

“I’ve got one more place I wanna bring ya to, if you don’t mind?”

I shook my head, already curious. “As long as Beau and Fable are okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, checking his phone. “I texted a bit ago. She’s good. Fed. Happy.”

“Alright then . . . where are we going, cowboy?”

“I’ll show ya, darlin’,” he murmured.

We drove in comfortable silence, dusk settling on the horizon as we headed back toward Lindley. Dalton didn’t say where we were going, and I didn’t press.

Eventually, he turned off onto a narrow gravel road tucked between a couple older houses, winding around until we came to a stop in front of a small lake. It was calm and glassy, the surface catching the last streaks of gold and orange from the setting sun.

He shifted the truck into park and leaned on the steering wheel for a beat.

“Used to come here when I was a kid to go fishin’,” he said.

I nodded and opened my door, stepping out into the soft breeze. It was peaceful in the kind of way that made you feel like you were standing in someone’s memory.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmured.

He walked around the front of the truck and stood beside me. “My dad wasn’t the hands-on type,” he said quietly. “But he liked fishin’ every now and then, so this was where we came.”

I glanced over at him, but he wasn’t looking at me. Just staring out at the lake, his jaw set, eyes a little distant.

“You still don’t talk to them?” I asked gently.

He shook his head. “No. I should probably tell them about Cora—it’s been months now—but they don’t care about me. They never did. Don’t call, don’t check in.”

I didn’t say anything right away. I didn’t need to. Instead, I stepped a little closer, enough that my shoulder brushed his. A quiet acknowledgment. A way of saying I see you.

I did.

More than he probably realized.

“I was young when I moved to Lindley. Beau and his dad took me in and showed me how to ride, but my parents haven’t talked to me since then. They do well for themselves, and having a bull rider as a son wasn’t in the cards.”

“That’s hard, Dalt.”

I knew what it was like to sit on the edge of a couch, desperate for someone to ask how you were doing—and knowing they never would.

To hear “I love you” only when it was convenient or expected, but never when you needed it.

To feel invisible unless you were doing something wrong.

I didn’t press Dalton for more.

I didn’t offer some empty comfort or push him to say what I already understood.

Because that kind of ache . . .

It didn’t need fixing.

It needed someone to stay.

“My family was the opposite. They didn’t care if I messed up or succeeded. Didn’t care what I wanted or didn’t want. Nothing I did mattered.”

Dalton turned toward me a little, eyes scanning mine.