Bumping around less-traveled dirt roads and graded gravel paths that surrounded our hometown, it wasn’t but ten minutes before she’d scooted over to the middle of the truck bench and slipped her arm under mine as she rested her head against the top of my shoulder.
We must’ve drove for hours that morning, sitting in silence mostly because just being together didn’t require a whole lot of words. Dakota by my side felt like a warm hug from a thick blanket on a cool night. A pair of old jeans that fit just right. That warm, flooding feeling that hits a man when he knows he’s come home again. It was a feeling all those millions of dollars sitting in my bank account could never buy, and it was a feeling I’d never been able to replicate since her.
“So tell me what I’ve missed,” I said, breaking the silence as the truck bumped and rolled down a rutted road. The question packed more of a punch to my gut than I’d anticipated the second I said it aloud. “What’s life been like for you the last ten years?”
She sat up, clearing her throat and tugging down on her top. “It’s been mostly good.”
“Mostly?”
“Considering where I started and how I got here, I think I’ve come out a little bit on top.”
“I’d say.”
“I graduated from Kentucky and went straight to the city. Met my ex-husband when I auditioned for a local news show there. Convinced Addison to move and got her lined up with a job. All I’ve done since is work.”
“But are you happy?”
Dakota nodded. “As happy as could be expected. I’d conquer one obstacle and suddenly it wouldn’t feel good enough, so I’d keep reaching higher and higher, searching for that next big thing that might define me.”
“It never feels the way you expect it to.”
“Nope.” Dakota slid her right hand down her thigh. “I’m probably going to get promoted after this interview.”
“You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”
“I am thrilled,” she said, though unconvincingly. “I really am. This could be huge for me. This is a result of everything I’ve ever worked for up until now. The only thing bigger than this promotion would be landing my own primetime news show.”
“And I have no doubt in my mind that if Coco Bissett sets her mind to it, she’s going to achieve it,” I said. “But the important question is, what does Dakota Andrews want?”
I expected her mood to shift like the wind on a stormy day. I expected her to jerk away or turn all sullen on me. Instead she pulled in a deep breath and turned my way.
“I’ve been asking myself that all week, Beau,” she admitted. “I thought I knew. And now all I know is that I don’t know a damn thing anymore.”
A hint of her Kentucky drawl came out to play, like a tiny promise that maybe my goal of getting her back wasn’t all that unrealistic anymore.
“I thought I knew where I was headed.” She shrugged. “Now all I know is I’m stuck between who I am and who I thought I was.”
“And that’s perfectly okay.” My hand found her knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to be so perfect all the time, and you don’t have to have everything figured out all the time either.”
Even in high school, Dakota was a girl who stuck close to her routines and ambitions. She lived her life with a Type A tendency toward structure, giving herself self-imposed deadlines and holding herself accountable the way her mother never could. I couldn’t blame a girl who raised herself since she was old enough to understand she didn’t have a choice in the matter.
The sun held noon in the sky after a bit, and I turned us around to head back home.
“I’ve got a few chores to take care of,” I said as we pulled back up the drive to the house. Back when we dated, she’d watch me do chores. Every Friday night I had to scoop the barn out or salt the cattle before I could take her out on a date. “You’re welcome to watch if you’re feeling nostalgic.”
She bumped into my arm. “I’ll pass. I’ve got to catch up on some emails, and then I’d like to head into town for a bit. I’ll be back for supper.”
I shifted the truck into park and set the brake before slipping my arm around her and leaning in to kiss her soft cheek. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”
We climbed out the cab and I stood back, watching the way her hips swayed as she headed back into the house, completely unaware of the way she walked around with my heart between her teeth.
The things I was going to do to her that night.
Chapter Twenty-One
10 years ago
Sixteen hours and thirty-four minutes. That was how long my labor lasted.
Seven pounds and one ounce. That’s how much my baby weighed.
Eight forty-six in the evening on May seventeenth. That was her exact birthdate.
Three. How many people knew she existed.
Me.
Rebecca.
Sam.
“You want to hold her?” the nurse asked as she rolled the bassinet toward my bed. A stack of adoption paperwork sat untouched on the hospital bedside table next to a huge jug of water.
I stared down at her, sleeping peacefully and wrapped in a thick, flannel blanket with Mercy General Hospital’s logo all over it.
“A social worker will be in here shortly to go over everything with you,” she said tenderly.
“If I hold her, I might change my mind.” I blinked away tears, though unable to take my eyes off her. She looked like a little doll with the tiniest nose and a full head of thick dark hair.
Beau should’ve been there.
I shouldn’t have had to endure my labor with only Rebecca and a bunch of strangers by my side. It should’ve been him.
“Knock, knock,” Rebecca’s voice called from the doorway. She’d stayed overnight at the hospital, and she’d held my hand until three in the morning when I pushed my baby into the world. I’d sent her home to get some sleep. “Brought you something.”
She placed a vase of pink roses on the desk and treaded carefully toward the sleeping baby. Rebecca stared down as if she wanted to touch and hold her, but she was afraid.
“You can pick her up.” The words cut me like a knife. I hadn’t even held her yet.
“You sure?”
I nodded, forcing a smile.
I missed Addison. I wished she were there. The last time I’d seen her was during winter break, and I’d strategically worn hooded sweatshirts the entire time.
Rebecca picked up the baby. My baby. Her baby.
“My goodness,” she said in a soft, motherly voice that came natural to her. “You are just the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen.”
The baby opened her eyes at the sound of Rebecca’s voice.
“Well, hello there!” Rebecca cooed, her lips spreading into the happiest grin I’d ever seen on her.
A knock on the door ushered in Sam, who stood back apprehensively as a social worker pushed past him. With sandy brown hair and a waddle to her walk, she stopped the moment she saw my face.
“I’m going to have to ask the adoptive parents to step out for a moment,” she said, studying me.
Rebecca placed the baby back and stepped out of the room with her husband.
“How are we doing?” the social worker said, pulling a chair up to the side of my bed. “I’m Sandra. I’ll be assisting you with your paperwork. I’m a social worker here at the hospital.”