She’s driving me to dinner with the family. I’m kind of excited, because it’s almost like she’s taking me home to meet her parents, even though that’s not the case at all.
After the kiss yesterday, I came home to an empty house. I woke up to an empty house too.
“What did you do last night?” I ask when I can no longer suffer through the silence.
“I stayed with Callie.”
Automatically, I’m gutted for coming on so strong. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” I tell her.
She stares at the road ahead of us. “No, it wasn’t because of that. Callie just broke up with a guy she went out with a few times and was upset.”
“You sure about that, pretty girl?”
“Yes.” She glances at me one quick second. “And in case you’re wondering, I still don’t want you.”
I relax in my seat, unbothered by her lie. “Good.”
She laughs, and it’s soothing to my ears. I can honestly say that I want her. Bad.
I’ve never met someone so happy all the time. Well, unless she’s around me. Yet, I sense it’s all an act. Maybe she’s afraid I’ll hurt her. Given my track record, it would seem it isn’t a question of if I’ll hurt her, but when. She’s wrong, though. I’ll never hurt her.
She flips on the radio, and we ride in comfortable silence for miles and miles. I gaze out the window at the golden wheat fields as far as the eye can see and wonder how anyone can live this far away from a big city. The further we drive, the more I can understand it. It’s peaceful and I might be so relaxed I sing along to a few country songs on the radio with Sydney.
Best decision I ever made. The smile doesn’t leave her face as I screw up the words.
Too soon, we come to a wooden arch that reads Reilly Ranch. Once we pass through it, the scenery changes. It’s lush green grass with horses spread out in the pastures. A sprawling white house—more like a rancher’s wet dream—comes into view. It’s a two-story home with lots of windows and a wrap-around porch. Brock, wearing his Stetson, stands near the steps as Sydney pulls around the circular drive. A petite older woman with a silver bob waves at us. Why are my palms sweating?
Sydney throws the truck in park, and I take a deep breath before stepping out. I have to remind myself that this guy is trying to woo me, not the other way around. This doesn’t even identify like a job interview though. Instead, this feels like me wanting to impress an overprotective father because I’m dating his daughter.
That thought hits me square in the chest, and I think about it for a second. What would it be like dating her?
I stare at her as she bounces up the porch steps and wraps her arms around the woman in a yellow dress with an apron over it. “Hi, Granny.”
“Hi, love.” She squeezes Sydney tight. “Introduce me to this fellow.”
Sydney makes the introductions and Opal sizes me up as Sydney greets her father.
“Hi, Daddy,” she says, happier than life.
As soon as their hug is over, I reach out to shake his hand. “This is quite the spread you have here.”
“Close to one hundred acres. I’d have more, but I don’t have time to work the land.”
“It’s stunning. I’ve never been on a ranch before.”
“There’s only one thing you really need to understand,” Opal says. “If anyone tells you they need to go see a man about a horse, that means they want out of the conversation. Don’t follow them.”
I grin. “Good information.”
Brock leads us into the foyer.
“This is cool,” I say, admiring the open layout with high ceilings accented by wooden beams. To my right is an enormous living room, featuring a stone fireplace and lots of plump furniture filled with colorful pillows.
“If you’d like, Sydney can give you a tour while I cook dinner,” Opal says.
“I’d love that,” I say.
“Thought you would,” Opal says with a cheeky lift of her brow. “I need you to finish peeling the potatoes, Brock.”
“You got it,” he says.
They head to our left and when they disappear, Sydney’s eyes meet mine. “We’ll start over here,” she says, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder toward a long hallway. “Dad’s office is down at the end, and I think you’ll really like it.”
I connect my hands behind me, following her down the oak floors. “Lead the way.”
Her hips sway as she moves down the hallway, and I can’t stop my eyes from checking out her ass. She’s gorgeous in a red sundress with strappy brown sandals. As I’m imagining lifting her dress to see what color panties she’s wearing, she opens a door and steps inside a large room.
I follow her in and let out a low whistle when I see all the platinum and gold record plaques hanging on the wall. “This is amazing.” I check the names, in awe of such royalty. “I didn’t know they signed Gene Gray with Reilly Records.”