Page 19 of Anything for You (Veterans of Silver Ridge #7)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Dorian

D ove’s words flapped around me like mangey birds at the beach for the rest of our tea, diving and pecking at me mid-thought.

In that, you’re not alone.

Even two years ago, I might’ve fought her on the idea. Now, there was no refuting it. And right now , as she threw her head back and cackled at something I’d just said— yeah, me —I couldn’t help but acknowledge she made me feel less alone than I’d ever felt.

It was glorious.

It was also awful.

I’d never liked a woman like this—in a soul-deep kind of gnawing way that meant I had to remind myself not to stare at her pretty, heart-shaped face or those pink lips, or her bright blue eyes, and also in the sense that I wanted to gather her up in my arms and shield her from anything that might threaten this sparkle she got when she was being a little silly.

Every second spent in her vicinity was a new bridge formed between my heart and hers. I had no idea if she’d allow passage, but I wanted it.

And yet.

I’d just explained the myriad reasons any bridge-crossing would be foolish at least and cruel at worst. I’d healed enough to recognize that being with someone in a romantic capacity wasn’t shackling them to me.

I was doing well and knew myself and my diagnoses well enough to manage them.

But someone like Dove? Someone so knitted into the fabric of her community, who worked in town and reveled in being near people and wanted to be surrounded on all sides by her family and friends?

Not quite a match made in heaven.

“You went serious on me there, Dorian Q. What’s wrong?”

Her voice interrupted my brooding thoughts. “Sorry. My brain waylaid me.”

Amusement twitched her lips. “Brains can be jerks sometimes.”

I huffed a laugh. “Indeed, they can.”

“So listen, can you confirm you’re the person who’s been sending in food to the Romance Readers Book Club?” Her eyes dipped to her plate, and she fiddled with a remaining piece of her slice of roasted vegetable quiche.

“I am. It wasn’t a secret.” Except that you asked Jo not to tell anyone. “Or I didn’t mean for it to feel like one. More just didn’t want the pressure of people knowing.”

Her gaze narrowed on me, and despite the searching glance, or maybe because of it, my pulse ticked higher .

“Uh, well, yes. Yeah. That’s me.” Why were my cheeks hot? Why did my heart start pounding with the admission?

When I looked to Dove, her mouth was open slightly and her eyes wide.

“Did Jo happen to… convey any sentiments shared at the first one you did? Or… you know, any of the ones you’ve done these last few months?”

Was she blushing? This made no sense.

“She said everyone really loved everything. Sometimes, she’s told me which things disappeared first, but… is that not true? Are people not eating the food?”

She bounced in her seat. “No! No. I mean, yes, they are eating it. We are eating it with gusto. I don’t think I’ve had a single thing I didn’t like and some of them were truly…” Her plush lips pressed into a thin line.

Curiosity sparked low in my gut. Something about the way she was clearly holding herself back made me feel restless.

“Truly…” I prodded.

She shook her head, finally circling her eyes back to meet mine again. A bolt of connection or familiarity or something struck.

“Can’t actually say what I was going to say so, uh—” She glanced up to the ceiling like the answer might be written there.

The word orgasmic filtered through my mind and I swallowed hard. She wouldn’t use that word now, of course. We were both a bit bolder in our letters. But what would she say? And did it make me pathetic for wanting whatever word she might supply? Fortunately, she saved me by speaking again.

“It was all just so good. Are you thinking about starting up a business? ”

My turn to shift restlessly. I settled my saucer back on the table and plucked a few apple slices from one of the platters. “No. I don’t think I’d enjoy it that way.”

She nodded like this made sense. Did it? Was it foolish to go around aggressively baking just for the joy of it? Just because I liked to and other people seemed to like the literal fruits of my labor?

Her phone buzzed loudly and she jumped, then plucked it from a small purse I hadn’t noticed and looked at it warily. Her shoulders slumped, and she shoved it back into her bag without answering.

“Do you need to get that?” I asked, not wanting her to miss an important call, though selfishly wanting her time and energy all to myself while she was here.

Brow furrowed, she loaded her plate with more food as she spoke.

“No. No, I was afraid it was my brother again, but it wasn’t, thank goodness, and anyone else can wait.

But really—” She sat up and gave me a stern look.

“Really, he should wait, too, right? Like, why would I answer him after what he just did?”

Admittedly, I could be a little slow with things like this.

Had I missed something? Should I know who her brother was?

Maybe he was some bigwig in Silverton or Salt Lake and other people would understand the reference.

My tendency to stay tucked away here often resulted in me being oblivious to the goings-on of town or even society at large.

“Sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.” Damn but I hated the ignorance baked into those words and the realities of my life that caused them.

Instead of looking shocked or hurt, she slapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes flickered around, searching again for an answer, then she sighed heavily, a pained smile behind her hand as she released it.

“You wouldn’t. No one would, because I don’t talk about my family.

” She swallowed, fingers knitting together in her lap.

“So, you were just so lovely and honest with me, I could reciprocate, right? I mean, you’re not going to think I’m a total weirdo—well, you probably already do, so that’s no harm done.

And beyond that, it’s reality. I can’t change my past, right?

So maybe the way to be honest, the way to really let someone in and deal with my loneliness and everything is to, you know, just let it out there. Right?”

Those bright eyes blinked back at me, and I hoped with everything in me I could give her the right answer. I didn’t love that I’d laid out my past at her feet, but she hadn’t stomped on it. She hadn’t even sneered. If anything, she’d championed me.

I shifted forward, hands on my knees and just shy of touching hers. “I can say I’d like to know the truth about you. And I daresay it won’t change my opinion of you.”

Her eyes flashed, and for once, I thought I read what she was thinking. She wondered about those last few words—what did I think of her?

I wouldn’t dream of telling her right now.

Maybe someday.

The wariness written into the rise and fall of her chest and the tightness in her cheeks and around her eyes made me want to take her hands and press kisses along her knuckles. It made me want to hold her close and promise her she’d be okay and whatever she had to tell me wouldn’t change anything.

At this point, nothing could change the path I was on. Some part of me had accepted that the minute she rested her head on my shoulder weeks ago .

“I grew up in New Mexico for the most part. In a little community that had its quirks, you know? Women wore long skirts and after they were married, they covered their heads with bonnets or caps. From the outside, it might’ve seemed like we were Mennonite or something, except we used basic technology like cars and such.

There were a few horses on the property but we had four-wheelers and dirt bikes and stuff. ”

She flexed her fingers into one another, then spread them wide over the skirt of her dress and a low, bitter chuckle came out as she fingered the hem of the material resting just above her bare knee.

“Guess I wear shorter dresses sometimes just for the I’m an adult and you can’t tell me what to do flex . ”

When she lifted her eyes to mine again, I settled in to listen because here it came. Whatever it was, the gravity in her face said this was the crux of what she didn’t want to say, but for some reason felt compelled to.

“It wasn’t just a community. It was a cult.

I didn’t really get it because it was all I’d ever known.

I thought the way they treated the girls who arrived from somewhere outside our community was normal, that they were different and had to learn to adjust to our culture, thought my mom crying all the time was normal. ”

She exhaled long and slow, then continued, “That place was raided, and we moved to Idaho. I guess the cult leadership had been involved in some shady dealings and the FBI thought they’d find evidence. Someone tipped us off and we all left overnight. When we settled in Idaho, things got worse.”

This time, I did reach out, clasping her hand in mine. I couldn’t stand the thought of her living through something like that—being in danger, and ultimately not escaping it even then.

She took hold of me, her grip firm and unrelenting.

“Long story short, my parents passed when I was twelve and my brother was fourteen. He had some issues, and by the time he was free, he was old enough to be on his own. The community kept me close until I finally got through to one of the younger women who notified my only remaining relative. When I was fifteen, I came to live with my grandma here, but by then, my brother had opted out. He’s been all over, and I only hear from him every so often.

It’d been three years until a few hours ago when he called and told me to stop being a slut. ”

I jolted at the foul word like I’d been shot, and she held on to my hand tighter.

It’d been a long time since I’d felt this kind of vicious desire to harm someone. I would only need a little information, and I could find him. I could make this, at least, a little better for her.

After a slow, calming breath in, I spoke in a low, rage-roughened voice. “What is his name? Where does he live?”