Page 43 of The Last Dance You Saved
I did my best to forget the entire conversation as I ran upstairs and put my bikini on under my shorts and tank. I’d just come back down and reached the bottom step as the doorbell rang. Fallon screamed out she would get it, running in from the sitting room with cash in hand. I watched with a smile as she talked and flirted with the cute, teenage delivery guy until Rafe stalked past me to the door.
“Thanks for bringing it,” he told the kid, grabbing the pizza boxes from him. “You can go now.”
He shut the door in the kid’s stunned face, and Fallon glowered. “Dad!”
“He’s too old for you.”
“He’ll only be a junior.”
“And you’re fourteen and not dating. We’ve had this discussion.”
She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. The bikini top she had on with a pair of cutoff jean shorts left a lot of skin bared, and Rafe’s face was a sea of disapproval.
“What the hell are you wearing?” he demanded.
She rolled her eyes. “A swimsuit.”
“No.”
She ignored him, twirling away and saying, “We’ve got the cooler packed in the back of the Jeep. Uncle Adam isn’t coming. I’m assuming you couldn’t convince Mom either, so it’s just the four of us.”
“Did you drive the Jeep?” he asked.
“Yes. Right up to the back door so Maisey and I could load it.” His jaw clenched. “I’ll drive the boat too. Spence always let me. We’re leaving in five minutes.”
She sounded nothing like the tortured teen I’d cleaned stalls with. This Fallon was completely grown-up and put together. The expression on Rafe’s face said he didn’t like it one little bit.
When I took the final step into the entry, his gaze shifted to me, taking me in from head to toe in that way that sent warmth spiraling through my chest into my stomach. I returned the slow look he’d given me, lingering over the pair of navy swim trunks he’d replaced his jeans with and the tan, muscular legs they revealed.
He had sneakers on his feet and a beach towel hung over one shoulder, and if I’d thought he’d appeared relaxed and casual before, this took it to another level, as if I was getting an intimate look into a Rafe very few people got to see. And just like seeing him in his cowboy boots this morning, I wanted more of it. More peeks behind the curtain he kept drawn tight around him.
He was the one to break our stare, waving a hand toward the hallway and saying, “I have a feeling she’d actually leave without us.”
A soft laugh escaped me. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want you to tag along at all.”
I’d expected him to laugh in response, but instead, my comment seemed to strike at him, and we were quiet as we headed out the back.
Fallon had parked a battered Jeep from the seventies almost right up against the door. It had no top, just a black roll bar in a dented gray frame and black vinyl seats, worn and cracked from exposure and time. A cooler was shoved into the tiny space behind the back seat, and Fallon was behind the wheel. The friend who’d shown up for the trick riding lessons sat up front with her.
Rafe opened the driver’s door and simply stared at his daughter. Several long seconds passed before Fallon threw her hands up. “Fine! You drive.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and climbed into the back where her friend joined her, leaving the front passenger seat for me.
I’d barely climbed in when Rafe shoved the Jeep into gear and headed down the road, setting off a cloud of dust behind us. He may not have been there for years, but you never would have known it from the speed and confidence with which he drove.
The sun had shifted west but would still batter the earth for a few more hours before it fell completely. It meant the heat of the day was clinging to the air as it whipped, heavy and warm, around me as we drove past the freshly baled alfalfa fields and untended pastures of wildflowers. As we crested a small rise, the lake was revealed, the white light of late afternoon sparkling and dancing off vivid blue waters.
We parked in a tiny gravel lot next to a grove of oak trees leading down to a pebbled beach where a wooden dock, stained and well maintained, sat next to a boat ramp. Four speedboats were tied to it, built for entertainment, screaming of skiing adventures and lazy days rather than fishing. County laws prohibited motorboats on the lake back home, and it was so small it really wouldn’t have been good for skiing anyway, but this one stretched so far I couldn’t see the end of it.
As Rafe climbed out of the Jeep, his brows were furrowed. “Who the hell do all these boats belong to?”
“Uncle Adam leases out dock space during the summer. This way, people don’t have to drive all the way to the county park on the other side.”
“And they have access to our property?” he snapped.
Fallon shrugged. “Just the gate code. Sometimes the owners rent out the old homestead for summer barbecues.”
Rafe yanked the cooler from the back while the girls and I grabbed the food and our bags. We made our way down the dock to a dark blue and white speedboat that wasn’t new but had obviously been well-maintained.
