Chapter 20

When I leave my cabin the next morning, it’s to find Dakota waiting in his shiny pickup truck, his arm hanging out the window. He taps the side and gestures for me to get in.

“You’re late,” he greets.

I glance at my phone. “It’s five o’ one.”

“So you’re one minute late,” he replies. “Wasted time out here means wasted potential.”

I climb into the passenger seat sheepishly. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

He takes off without another word about it, heading down the gravel road and out of the ranch.

“Where are we going?” I ask, glancing over at him.

“A lot of what I do deals with orders and supplies. I make sure we have everything Wiley and Levi need for the horses and cattle, and deal with contracts. Today, we need to pick up another order of vaccines for the newest calves, make sure the new tractor I ordered has come in and is what we need, and I also need to drop off some items for some of the folks in town. We supply a bit of meat to the older folks.”

“That’s so sweet of you to bring it to them,” I comment.

“It’s the least I can do. Most of them worked on the ranch at least once in their life. Maybe under my pa, but still. We show loyalty to those who were once a part of the family around here.”

Dakota is gruff and to the point but at least he talks. I find I enjoy myself as I continue to ask questions. How many calves do they expect? What’s the cattle drive everyone keeps talking about? How long until that happens? Do we have to send all the cows to slaughter? He answers every single question, not once scoffing at my lack of knowledge. I’m interested in the inner workings of such a large-scale ranch. Clearly, they need more help for their level of growth. Even I can see that.

We do just as he says. We stop at the feed store first to pick up a large cooler of vaccines. Dakota talks animatedly with the owner, clapping him on the back, at ease with him in a way he isn’t with me. When we move onto the tractor place, I stare up at the massive machine as he does the same with the man there. Dakota, it seems, is friendly with everyone, and there’s not a single person who dislikes him. At least not from what I can see. We only have to stop at three places to drop off some meat, all to older people who seem to have a hard time getting around nowadays. They each hug Dakota tight and the last lady tells him to wish his pa well.

Which gives me pause.

“Did I mishear that your dad has passed?” I ask hesitantly when we finish. I’d thought he had said so but maybe I’d misheard.

Dakota glances at me. “He died ten years ago now. You didn’t mishear.”

“But. . .”

He nods. “Darlene has dementia. We don’t know how much longer she can stay outside a home, but her daughter takes care of her most days. Sometimes, she recognizes me as the little kid she used to bake miniature pies for. Some days, she remembers me as a teenager at the whims of his dad. She rarely remembers that I’m a grown man, and when she does, it’s usually a really good day.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, reaching out to touch his arm in comfort. “That must be hard.”

He looks down at where my hand rests on his arm. “It can be. But on her good days, she reminds me that she had a good life and she’s okay with the end. That’s the only consolation I get. Until then, I visit every Thursday and bring her some meat for the week.” He looks back at the windshield. “One day she won’t be there. That’ll be the hard day.”

Then he puts the truck in drive and pulls back out onto the road. I assume we’re headed back to the ranch but when he instead pulls into a boot store, I glance at him in confusion. “Another order?”

“Nope,” he says. “It’s time we got you some proper clothing.”

I blink. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can buy it?—”

“Nonsense. Consider it part of your uniform that the ranch supplies. Now come in. We don’t have all day.”

Dakota is a no-nonsense cowboy. Everything is late. We’re always running out of time, so I expect him to go into the store, pick out a few things and buy it without a fuss. Instead, he gestures for me to look over the clothing.

“Pick out at least three pairs of jeans, preferably five. Make sure they’re bootcut. Wranglers and Levis are the best. What size shoe are you?”

I blink at him. “Seven.”

He nods. “I’ll go find some boots to try on. Go pick out the jeans. And look over the shirts, too.”

I do as he says, skimming over the racks and pulling out ones in my size. I’m not a skinny girl, but this store seems to cater to curves a little, but it still takes me time to dig deep into the piles to find my size. I pull out a few colorful button-downs like the ones I see the guys wear and walk over to where Dakota is making a stack of boots.

“The fitting room is in the back. Go on and I’ll meet you back there,” he instructs, before picking up the boxes of boots. I follow his direction and slip inside the small room with a curtain in front.

“So how are these supposed to fit?” I ask as I tug on the first pair of black jeans. They’re tight but comfortable, a little bit of stretch in the waist. I pull on one of the button-down shirts in a light blue plaid and come out, striking a pose.

Dakota blinks over at me, surprised I’d come out. “Well. . . are they comfortable?”

“Yeah,” I nod, turning around. “They fit okay I think.”

He forces his eyes on mine, refusing to look down lower as I turn. “They look okay. Get the ones that are comfortable. Nothing that cuts off your circulation or else you’ll be cursing them after a day of work.”

“Ay, ay, captain,” I say, saluting him and going back in. I tug off the jeans and pull on another. “Do I show you all of them?”

“That’s not necessary,” he says as I step back out. “This isn’t a fashion show.”

“Why isn’t it?” I ask, grinning. “You’re telling me this isn’t playing dress up? I get to try on cowgirl clothes!”

He snorts. “I suppose it is.” He stands and grabs a green felt cowboy hat from the rack on the wall. “But it’s not complete without this.” He plops it on my head, and I grin up at him. His lips twitch into a smile, but he hides it away a moment later. “Now hurry up. We’ve got places to be.”

I head back into the room and try on the rest of the clothing. When I come back out with a handful, he stands to come help me. I leave the hat there. The green doesn’t feel like me. I have my eyes on a black and white cow print one over in the corner.

“If I only knew how to lasso,” I tease as he takes some of my stack. “I could rope me a cowboy right here.” I mean him, but I realize a moment later he could think I mean any one of the men currently in the store. Whatever he thinks I mean, he leans in close, close enough to have me pressing back against the door frame and looking up at him in surprise. My arms are full, so I can’t do anything but watch as he rests his arm on the doorframe above, my clothes in his other arm ad he towers over me.

“You don’t want a cowboy,” he muses. “They often ride off into the sunset.”

“I don’t know,” I breathe. “If they have a ranch, they seem pretty stationary.”

He lips curl up, but he doesn’t move right away, holding himself over me. I realize he likes the way I react when his eyes sparkle and he slowly moves to take the rest of the clothing from my hands.

“Try on the boots,” he commands, his eyes bright.

“Yes, sir,” I answer, going to do just that.

When Dakota demands something, I’ll do it. Whether it’s trying on boots. . .

. . .or getting on my knees.