Page 42 of Riding the Line (Willow Ridge #2)

‘I know you struggle to like this side of yourself that you think is weak, but you gotta remember that no one is strong all the time. This pain you feel, it’s not your choice, it’s not your fault, so you don’t have to deal with it alone.

You’re allowed to let others take care of you, to give you the love you need on the days when you can’t find enough for yourself.

It doesn’t make you weak – it just makes you human. ’

‘You’re always strong,’ I respond, trying to ignore the tears welling again already. Especially as another cramp burns between my hips, this time slightly less intense, hopefully owing to the painkillers starting to kick in.

Duke laughs – despair underlining the sound. ‘No,’ he shakes his head, ‘I’m not. Believe me.’

I know there’s parts of him he hides away, that he plays the shoulder for everyone else in Willow Ridge, because it’s easier. But he’s slowly letting me see between the cracks of that facade, and somewhere behind them lay the Duke that’s willing to take a risk on us.

‘When do you ever need taking care of?’

He’s silent for a long stretch of time, forehead creased as his gaze flicks between me and the canvas.

A few pencil strokes later and the hardness in his face dissolves.

‘There’s three days in the year when I usually need someone the most. December eighth – the anniversary of my father’s death, May twentieth – Mom’s death, and July thirtieth – Grandfather’s.

It’s not like grief doesn’t hit me on other days but those are the hardest. The ones where I can’t help but count up the years that have gone by, wondering who’s next.

Wondering how I’ve kept going without them. Wondering if I’ll ever stop worrying.’

My brows shoot up. ‘Duke, tomorrow’s July thirtieth.’

An unexpectedly beatific smile dances on his lips as he swaps his pencil for a paintbrush, dipping it in the water and then into the first colour. ‘Mhm. And I’ve got you with me for my whole shift.’

‘But you organised our shifts before we even started—’ I nod to him, unsure what word to use ‘— this .’

‘I know.’ This time he looks up, eyes softening as they drift over me for a long moment—like I’m too enchanting to rip his gaze away – before dropping back to the canvas.

‘You … soothe me, Cherry. Distract me, I guess. When you’re around, my mind likes to focus on you, instead of all the worries swirling about.

Like at Sawyer’s rodeos. I always need a bit of someone else’s strength at those too. ’

He gently the paintbrush across the canvas, wetting his lips as he concentrates.

‘I’m scared that he’ll get hurt, and we’ll lose him.

That I’ll lose someone else. Every time he climbs into that chute my heart stops and my mind can’t help but flash reminders of sitting with my mom in hospital, knowing I was about to lose her and feeling totally on my own.

But having you there … I don’t know, it reminds me that I’m never completely alone. ’

There I was lamenting the way Duke always ended up saving me, trapped in this constant cycle of always having to rely on others, when really, he was just giving back the same care I unknowingly gave to him.

Holding me up when he had the strength, knowing I’d shine a light for him on his darker days too.

Hope flares in my chest, coercing out my smile. ‘I guess I have no choice but to keep coming back from college to watch them with you then.’

He flashes me a quick smile back, a silent promise in his brightening eyes. ‘I guess so.’

If I hadn’t been falling for Duke Bennett all these years, then there was no doubt that I was now.

We settle into a comfortable silence as Duke continues to paint me.

Eventually, the painkillers work their magic, and my cramps turn into dull aches, though still never completely gone.

The pizza arrives and I lazily chomp on slices while trying not to move too much.

For once, I let myself just lie there, allowing that today I might need to share my strength with him, and give my body the rest it needs, not berate it for how it works differently to everyone else’s.

And when Duke’s gaze is filled with nothing but awe and reverence as he admires me, accepting myself comes a little easier.

Being stuffed full of pizza sends me to sleep at some point, my body jolting awake what must be at least an hour later when Duke’s fingers softly graze my legs to wake me up.

My eyes flutter open, and Duke’s sitting there, displaying his finished piece to me, pride lighting up his face.

I practically scramble over to the end of the bed to take it from his hands and look at it closer.

‘Careful, it’s still wet,’ he scolds me with a smirk.

My eyes roam over the canvas, exploring the paint strokes that softly outline my silhouette, even under the baggy T-shirt, a faint desire underlining the effort gone into capturing my shape.

I’m brighter than all my surroundings, golden hues used to highlight the muscles of my legs, the rise of my cheekbones, the sunshine glittering against the strands of my hair, in a way that almost appears like I was divinely created. Celestial. Powerful .

‘Duke, this is incredible.’ This time I don’t fight back my tears, letting them spill softly. ‘You’ve made me look so … so beautiful .’

A faint blush rises in his cheeks – something I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. He shakes his head, though, reaching out to wipe away my tears with his thumb, my head falling into his hand. ‘All I did was paint what beauty was already there, Baby Hensley. It’s all you. It’s always been you.’