Page 5 of Wildest Dreams

I stand on the bank of grass and watch as he tows Dixie's car into the sunset, and once again I am left alone with my haunted thoughts.

Kicking my boots off,I place my hat on the coat rack and lift my head listening out for noise.

“Ma?” My voice echoes around the silent house. I have no idea where Pacey is. Dad is with Buck. Riggs and Aspen are up Crooked Valley. And me? I'm here. Like always.

My legs move towards the living room but it's empty. Walking through the large dining room, I enter the kitchen but I’m met with the same emptiness.

“Ma!” I shout at the bottom of the wide staircase, and that's when I see Dixie standing at the top of the stairs.

Hate to admit that she looks like a god damn angel.

Long brown hair cascading over one shoulder, beautiful blue eyes that shimmer in any light like the sun reflecting off the ocean, pouty lips, buttoned nose. Her sun kissed shoulders areon show, a white off the shoulder dress wrapped around her figure. I didn’t even get a chance to let my eyes scope over her until now.

“She's just setting up the guest room.”

It's the first time she has said more than two words to me.

“Guest room?” My brows raise.

I watch as she slowly steps down the stairs, fingers knotted together.

“Yeah...” she looks over her shoulder, “just for tonight, I mean...”

“Cool,” I shut the conversation down in that second and storm towards the back of the house, slamming the door shut and instantly wince when I hear the sound of a baby crying.

Shit.

I fall into my chair, cradling my whisky and rubbing my hand across my mouth.

What the fuck am I going to do.

CHAPTER THREE

Islept awful.

The baby cried most of the night. Stopped myself from going in there far too many times, but my mom was there to help her if needed. But Dixie being Dixie, stood her ground and sent my mom back to bed. Not because she was rude or ungrateful, but because she had been so used to bringing herself up. So used to being the adult in every situation, even when she was just a kid herself.

We grew up together, I always knew of the kid whose mom died when she was eight. She was always scruffy and unkept, skin and bones, but I avoided her. My heart always ached a little when I looked at her. Messy long brown hair that was always tangled, wide fucking heartbreaking blue eyes. So full of wishes and wants, but always looked so damn haunted. She was such a lost little girl. It wasn't just me that avoided her, we all did. She dropped out of high school in her freshman year after her sister died. We didn’t see her again for a long while until one night she popped up down The Old Boot, guitar in hand, still theI am completely brokenlook all over her pretty face, but she started playing her guitar, and for just that moment, everything was forgotten. She wasn’t the heartbroken, grief-stricken girl sheonce was. When she sung, she seemed free. No longer haunted by her past.

We started hanging out, but no one knew. She was my secret, and I was hers. We loved fast and fierce until we didn't. She left, drove her car straight out of Lovelock Bay and never looked back until now.

And that's the bit I can't piece together.

Why now?

Padding downstairs, I was a bear with a sore fucking head. The house was warm. Too warm. Wooden shell, wooden floors, every part of this house was a wildfire’s dream. Large, open planned rooms that let the natural light pour through. High ceilings, beams and deer antlers on most walls. Family portraits of the Rivera family tree scattered through, and small pieces of history loop around the house, wrapping it in the perfect homely and nostalgic feel. Animal skinned rugs, a whiskey cabinet to die for, and views for miles. Snow tipped mountains on the backdrop of Montana, rolling green fields that never seem to stop. I never tired of living here. I never wanted for much more out of my life than to be happy, healthy and find myself a wife.

But as the years slipped past, I found myself becoming a little bitter. I didn't want any other woman. There was only one that held my heart in her hands, but she dropped it onto the dusty road and drove over it, leaving it bleeding out behind her in a kick up of dust.

But of course, no one knew.

She was just Dixie Walker.

Sad girl turned country singer.

But now she was back, and I couldn't wait for her to leave again.

Rounding the corner and walking towards the kitchen, Pacey and my dad are sitting at the dining table.