Page 57 of Dallas Rivals

I tug her closer until she’s right in front of me—close enough to catch that faint fruity scent of her perfume.

“We’re going shopping.”

I’m doing something I’ve never done in my life—going to a damn shopping mall.

I hate crowds. Hate them so much that I hired a personal assistant just to deal with my wardrobe, and when it comes to work clothes, I’ve always ordered everything online. So being here, in an actual physical store, feels like stepping back into the Dark Ages.

Guess that vow I made—to never set foot in a place like this—went straight to hell the second I saw tears in Cala’s eyes. Somehow, we convinced her parents to come along, to buy the essentials until they can rebuild their lives and replace everything they lost.

Cala smiles at me as I push Lucien’s wheelchair through the automatic doors, and I try to return it—or at least my version of a smile.

“Why do you have this chair?” I ask my friend as we roll through the mall.

“Lis picked it,” he mutters, keeping his voice low since his wife’s a few feet ahead of us. “Said it was the only one she could find.”

“Well, we’ll fix that,” I say. “You can’t rely on someone to push you around all the time. You need an electric one.”

“Oliver…” he grumbles. “I’m fine with this.”

“We’ll see about that.” I wink at Cala, who’s walking beside us. She catches the look and smiles, like she already knows what I’m planning.

The first store we hit is one of those that sells a little bit of everything. The women go off looking for coats and work clothes while Lucien and I wait by the entrance, watching them drift in and out of the aisles.

Cala holds up a few things to show us—mostly jeans and flannel shirts for working around the ranch. I don’t say a word, but my eyes linger a second too long, tracing the way the denim hugs her just right.

I clear my throat and look away, pretending to study the ceiling. Damn it, Walker, get a grip.

“Oliver,” Lucien says.

Shit. He caught me staring at his daughter’s ass.

“Lucien,” I answer, matching his tone, trying to sound unbothered.

He cuts me a sidelong glance—one of those quiet, fatherly looks that carries more judgment than a whole sermon.

“I know what’s going through your head,” he says.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

“And what’s that exactly?” I ask, bracing myself.

“You feel guilty about us.”

The breath I’d been holding finally leaves me. Not what I expected—but maybe worse.

I sigh and cross one leg over the other, resting my ankle on my knee. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I start scrolling through a few messages from Killian.

“See what I’m doing right now?” I ask without looking up. “I’m ignoring you. Let me work while the women handle the rest.”

Lucien just smiles, shaking his head like he can’t believe me—and honestly, I don’t blame him. I barely recognize myself either.

And I’ve got a feeling his daughter—the damn intruder—has everything to do with it.

It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s a small victory after the mess of months I’ve been through.