Page 8 of Alpha's Promise

CHAPTER 5

DAKOTA

Dakota’s gaze clung to Landon like ivy to an old building, her eyes tracing the line of his jaw, rugged as the Copper Canyon terrain itself. His laughter, rich and warm, and his easy demeanor had wrapped around her like a lasso, pulling her toward him with an irresistible force. She turned back to watch from the door as he climbed into his pickup truck, the muscles beneath his shirt shifting with an ease that spoke of strength and an untamed spirit.

He hopped back in his vintage truck and turned over the engine. "All right then. Take care, Dakota," he'd said, with that half-smile that hinted at secrets and shared confidences.

"Always do," she’d replied, but her voice had faltered, betraying the weariness she was feeling.

Landon tipped his cowboy hat—a silent promise that lingered in the air. As the truck pulled away, Dakota felt the weight of her reality sink in. She was homeless, all but broke and adrift in a small western town. It wasn’t the first time, but never before had the thought clawed at her insides quite like now, as she watched Landon disappear into the night.

The diner was a sanctuary of sorts, its walls steeped in the aroma of coffee and fried food—a comforting blend that usuallyeased her mind. But tonight, the scents seemed too distant, as if they belonged to a world where she could not fully participate.

"Can I get you something, hon?" The woman behind the counter had a voice like melted butter, smooth and inviting.

Dakota turned from the window, her eyes having to adjust to the interior light. She counted the coins in her palm, their coldness a stark reminder of her situation. "Just a coffee, thanks."

"Coming right up." The waitress offered a smile, one that carried the warmth of home and hearth, things Dakota scarcely remembered.

She slid onto the stool, her fingers absently tapping the ancient Formica, the vinyl cool and smooth beneath her, and rested her elbows on the counter, gaze lost in the grain of the surface. As the waitress placed the steaming cup before her, Dakota forced a smile, her mind already weaving through the possibilities of what came next.

"Thanks." Dakota sipped the bitter brew, its heat seeping into her bones.

"Awful late for a young thing like you to be out by yourself." Concern laced the waitress's words, though she tried to mask it with casualness.

"Sometimes late is just early in disguise," Dakota quipped, her lips curving with wry amusement.

The woman chuckled. "You sound like one of those philosophers. You know, the kind who sees the glass half full no matter what."

"Or maybe I'm just good at pretending." Dakota's tone was light, but her gaze fell once more to the window where night clung to the horizon.

“Can I interest you in a piece of pie?”

“Thanks, but no. I’m good.”

“You sure? No charge. I was just going to take it home and eat it. We bake the desserts fresh each day. Come on, do me and my diet a favor and eat it.”

Dakota smiled, thinking one should never discount the kindness of strangers. She gave the waitress a small smile. “Thanks.”

The taillights of Landon's truck bled into the dusk, a dull red glow that flickered and then dissolved into the advancing night. Dakota's heart hitched, each throb an echo of longing for the man whose scent still lingered on her skin—a mixture of earth and leather.

‘Normal,’she thought to herself—a word that tasted foreign on her tongue. What was normal for a girl with no home, no family, nothing but a cryptic message from a grandfather long since gone? In the hollow quiet of the diner, amid the soft clink of cutlery and low hum of conversation, the weight of her isolation settled upon her like a shroud.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glare on the chrome and Formica that had known countless weary travelers like herself, searching for reprieve or perhaps redemption.

"Another cup, sweetheart?" The waitress's voice held the warmth of a Southern summer night, but Dakota could only nod, her thoughts adrift. "Rough day?" the waitress prodded gently, pouring the coffee with practiced ease.

"Something like that." Dakota managed a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes, which remained haunted by a storm of what-ifs and maybes.

She cradled the warm mug between her hands, the steam rising in gentle wisps, carrying the rich, bitter aroma to her nostrils. She focused on the heat seeping into her palms, letting it ground her in the present, away from the fear of shelters and the shadowy figures of her past.

"Say, you're new around here, aren't you?" The waitress leaned in, curiosity brightening her features.

"Passing through," Dakota replied, her voice low, a safeguarded truth. She wasn't passing through—not really—but the less people knew, the safer she was.

"Ah, well, Redstone has its charms, if you know where to look." The waitress winked and moved down the counter to serve another customer, leaving Dakota to her solitude once more.

Dakota sipped her coffee slowly as she ate the pie, each mouthful a small anchor to the semblance of stability the diner offered. She allowed herself the luxury of closing her eyes, tuning in to the ambient sounds of the place—the gentle murmur of patrons, the scrape of silverware, the occasional laughter.