Page 33 of My Secret Santa Dallas

The lady gave him a sidelong glance. “So now we know what the Sheriff wants, we can use that thinking for all the gifts we can give.”

“Yep, Laura,” he said, then coughed into a fist, “Waterproof and size thirteen.”

A titter went through the room, and I couldn’t even hold back a smile. These people were so far removed from those I usually rubbed elbows with back home in Georgia and at my job in Texas.

They were so refreshingly genuine and wholesome that I suddenly craved that back in Texas. These people were no big wigs out to twist a contract to benefit them, or were some corporate mogul ready to screw the little man over. They were not two-faced, not ready to stab you in the back for profit, or were willing to kick you when you were down.

“We have some new faces around here,” Laura said, craning her head around. “I think we all know one of our own is back home.”

“Fuck,” Dallas muttered under his breath.

I sipped my drink, “You’re up, bronco.”

He lifted his hand, and every eye turned to us. Dallas plucked his hat off and rested it on the table. “Dallas Donovan, yes, I’m back.”

A ripple ran through the room, and Dallas held his head up, letting the rest of the room look at him freely. I had to give him credit for facing another fear of his. I couldn’t understand how facing a whole town of people you abandoned decades ago felt. That slice of humble pie had to be going down the wrong way.

A few women were looking his way, and when their eyes skittered over to me, I held my reaction.

“Good to see you back, Dallas.” The sheriff nodded. “And who is the pretty little lady near you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Blair Cullen here,” I waved, “I’m Warrick’s business partner here overlooking the processing plant construction.”

“Ah,” Helen nodded. “Welcome to our humble town.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“Now, we have the first sign-up sheet going around,” Sheriff Callahan said. “Drop your John Hancock on it, and when we’re done, we’ll have the other sheets for you to keep and pass around the community. Get all the sheets in two days before Black Friday, and we’ll have all the time we need to tally the names and get them into the bucket.”

“Any questions?” Laura asked, her eyes spanning the room.

A few people asked questions about what if they were duplicates or if someone didn’t want to sign up, and they got the answers they were looking for while Dallas was drinking coffee at a rate where the beans would probably go extinct.

I leaned in. “What’s going on in your head?”

His eyes flickered up, brows tightly furrowed. “Too much to say right now.”

Sitting back, I gave him his space but god damn, Dallas. When are you going to let go of all the ideas in your head telling you these people had nothing but unending forgiveness for you and were lining up with pitchforks to skewer you alive? Why would they do it now if they hadn’t done it when word got out that you were here a week ago?

Aren’t you smarter than that?

Or was it a can’t see the forest for the trees' kind of thing?

Did I dare talk to him about it, or just let it slide?

The quick meeting adjourned, and as we made it to the truck, a steady stream of people came to talk to Dallas. Some asked him where he’d been, others were concerned if he was sticking around, and others wanted to know if he would help Warrick with the ranch.

At first, his answers were light and amiable, but as the questions continued, I could see how nervous and uncomfortable he was, and by the tick in his jaw, I knew he was a second away from blowing up. I had to step in.

Poking my head out the window, I said, “I am sorry to interrupt, but Frankie texted me. He said there is an emergency at the ranch, and we must return there ASAP.”

“Oh, oh,” the lady questioning Dallas jumped. “Oh god, go, go. I won’t keep you.”

Nodding, Dallas jumped into the truck and got the engine throttling in seconds; we peeled out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell to the ranch. When we parked at the steps, Dallas yanked the handbrake up and slumped against the door. He plucked the hat off and rubbed his eyes, those long fingers with sparse hair dotted at the knuckles.

I didn’t say a word.

When he did peel his hands from his eyes, his gaze was baleful. “Thanks for saving my ass back there.”

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