Page 41 of Wild Rose (Blue River Springs #1)

Rose

“You tellin’ me they took one look at that girl and still wanted a paternity test?” Wes mutters, leaning beside me at the dinner table.

The long wooden table stretches between the seven of us. Serving dishes are piled with roast beef, green beans, cornbread, and sweet potatoes. Oh, and plain French fries per someone’s request—thank goodness for Ellie. I hate sweet potatoes.

Ellie sits across from me, next to Dallas. Wilder at one end of the table and Mr. Thorne on the other. Silas—who I tried not to be all weird around when he introduced himself, because I love hockey—sits on the other side of Wesley. And I’ve conveniently taken the seat to the right of Wilder.

I nudge my brother for his less than appropriate comment, even though I doubt anyone heard him. But I have to agree. Ellie’s features are all Dallas. Dark hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones. She’s beautiful.

“Can I have jelly on my cornbread?” Her voice, though the smallest at the table, carries the most weight.

“Now there’s an idea,” Silas calls out. “Wild, you got any here?”

“He does,” Dallas answers, then looks at Ellie, his voice soft and a touch playful. “You like grape or strawberry?”

“Strawberry, please.”

I watch him disappear into the kitchen. Three days ago, he was coming up with ways to avoid being alone with his daughter.

But I’m willing to bet he’s got nothing to fear.

He’s a natural. It could just be his charm—like that first day he met me.

But there was an unmistakable twinkle in his eye when he looked down at her to find out which she preferred rather than getting up and just getting whichever they had.

“You’ve got that look,” Wesley mutters.

“Hmm?” I turn to him, but not before noticing he’s caught Wilder’s attention too, who’s to my left.

“That look when you’re watching behavioral patterns or whatnot to get insight into their ‘mental state.’” He puts air quotes around those last two words because I use them on him often.

“It’s called clinical observation.” I glance at Wilder and then at Ellie. “And I guess I didn’t realize I was.”

“And?” Wilder asks.

“My assessment is one day at a time, but I think they’ll be all right.”

Wesley blows raspberries through his lips. “Three and a half years of tuition and that’s all you got?”

I know he’s joking, but it still stings because .?.?. sometimes, I wish I had finished. And I really was so close. “You’re right. Good thing I quit, huh?”

Shaking his head, he turns to Silas, and they talk about the upcoming hockey season. With my brother’s eyes turned away, Wilder reaches for my hand in a comforting way.

And it does comfort me. Instantly. Because I love how in tune he is with me. Even with everyone here.

“I like your name,” Ellie says to me, and I smile immediately.

“Thank you. I never liked it. It makes me sound a hundred years old.”

She giggles. “I don’t think so. Flowers don’t live that long.”

Dallas chuckles as he hands her the jar of jelly. I frown, wishing he’d thought to spread it for her.

“Well, I like your name. It’s kind of a cool-chick name,” I tell her.

“What makes it cool?”

I consider it for a moment. “It’s strong but soft, short and playful, and .?.?. it suits you.”

She seems pleased with that.

“But it’s still not as cool as my best friend Willow’s name.”

“Willow,” Ellie repeats. “I like it.”

“It’s a pretty name,” Dallas agrees. “What’s she like?”

“A bit nosy and demanding,” Wilder mutters, and I stifle a laugh.

Wes snaps his head over, curiosity in his eyes, and Wilder clears his throat when he realizes his slip-up. “Silas, you staying in town for a while? I can get you in a guest cabin for a few weeks.”

Silas shakes his head. “I’m staying with Dad until next week, then I have to head back.”

“Uh-oh,” Ellie whines, holding her hand up and spreading her fingers.

“Oh no, how did you get jelly all over your wrists?” I ask.

“I almost dropped the cornbread and caught it with my arms.”

Dallas smiles down. “I saw that. Nice catch.”

Her worried expression softens, and I stand. “Come on, I’ll help you wash up.”

We hurry to the bathroom and I give her a good scan. “Oh, you’ve got jelly on your shirt and chin too.” I pull up my sleeves to clean up the stickiness she seemed to get everywhere.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be sorry. Those boys out there are probably making a bigger mess. Can’t let them have all the fun.”

She giggles, and I take her back out, biting my tongue on the million questions I have for her about how she feels about all this.

Not the place. Not the time. And probably too soon.

We take our seats, and I catch up on the conversation, which seems to have a focus on Silas. Wilder reaches for my hand. “Everything all right?”

I nod, not wanting to say what I’m thinking. Dallas didn’t think to help her with the jar. Or take her to the bathroom to clean her up.

They might be all right in the long run, but right now, this man’s going to need help.

Maybe I’ll get him a book. A few.

“Dallas, how’s the house coming along?” Connor asks, his deep voice carrying from the other end of the table.

Dallas’s expression shifts to irritation. “Going to spend some time on it this week.”

And I don’t blame him. Maybe instead of pressuring the man to move out of Wilder’s, they can offer help.

Dallas gives some updates on all the things he still needs to do before it’s livable.

“What is that?” Wes barks, his eyes sharp on the side of my plate.

I jerk at his tone and then realize he’s not looking at my plate. His laser focus is on my arm, resting openly between us.

I pull my arm back.

Wes tugs at it with a good grip, and I stop breathing. “Rose. What are these cuts?”

“Cuts?” Mr. Thorne echoes from the head of the table. “Rose, you didn’t hurt yourself on the field, did you?”

“No,” I answer quickly. “And can you let go, please?”

“Not until you answer me.”

“Wes,” Wilder’s voice slices like a knife. “Let go.”

He releases me and I inhale, glancing at Wilder as if he could help right now.

His expression is the picture of calm. Collected. Like answering Wes’s question should be a breeze.

No. No. I’m not ready.

Wilder clears his throat, flashing me a look I’m too clouded to read. “Yeah, Rose. Why don’t you tell him?” Wilder suggests all too casually.

I wince and swallow hard. Wilder might be the all-righteous, truth-telling saint, but I’m taking this to my grave.

How do I explain several deep cuts along my arm? Thankfully, they’re mostly faded lines now, and Wes never has to know how deep these once were. Wilder will be disappointed, but I have to lie.

“I—”

“Those damn branches didn’t just do a number on our golf cart when Rose drove it through the bushes that night. Scraped her arm up pretty good, isn’t that right?”

He holds my gaze for a moment, still so cool compared to the turmoil in my stomach right now.

“Holy crap. Did you clean it well?”

Yeah, real well, after I pulled out seventeen shards of glass from my skin.

“Of course I did.” My voice is small despite my relief.

Wes shakes his head, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say something like when will you learn? or serves you right , but instead, he runs his fingers gently along the scars. “Keep it out of the sun, OK?”

I nod and lower my sleeves, turning to Wilder with a small, grateful smile.

I can’t read his expression. It’s stoic but slightly warm with a gratefulness of his own. I can’t imagine what for. The only thing that comes to mind is that he’s the only other person besides my best friend who knows the truth I don’t dare share with anyone else.