Page 29 of Homebound

Gritting my jaw, I dip my chin. “Yes, ma’am. I’m pretty fast on the ice, so I’m sure I can have you panting in no time.”

Her brows shoot skyward.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, boy?” Colt Cutler demands.

I jolt.

Shit, I forgot he was here, and now my ass is sweating from that glower on his face. It’s scarier than his daughter’s.

Mr. Cutler’s blunter than that old pocketknife he carries around, but I look him dead in the eye. “Nothing, sir. All I meant was I could give her a good workout. We do high-intensity training in the gym, so I could apply those same tactics here.”

Dakota scoffs at my manners, but it’s a habit I refuse to break. I call all men sir and all women ma’am. It doesn’t matter whether they’re eight days or eighty years old. It was drilled into me as a kid. I got my manners from my Southern mama, and she’d kick my ass if I ever stopped being polite.

Mr. Cutler gives me a once-over with that legendary glare. His brown eyes, so much like Dakota’s, strip me down.

He’s only in his forties, so growing up I thought he looked more like her brother. He’s always been a tough old boot, twirling around his pocketknife to intimidate the guys she brought home, but he never used to twirl it in front of me.

He pulls out the pocketknife from his jeans and starts using it to peel an orange, so that’s changed. His withering stare scalds my cheek as he seems to consider something. “You know, darlin’, that’s not a bad idea.”

Have I mentioned I love Mr. Cutler? Best man I know. Cream of the crop. Salt of the earth. He can slice my skin right off with that pocketknife if it means he pushes me toward Dakota.

“Please,” she scoffs. “Patterson couldn’t handle me in the gym.”

Like hell I couldn’t.

A muscle ticks in my jaw.

It usually takes a lot to light my fuse, but her comment strikes a nerve. Lately, fatherhood has left me feeling less like myself. The random food stains, the lack of sleep, the bags under my eyes—being a dad has become my entire personality.

“Trust me, I could handle you just fine,” I grit out.

Her lips part like she’s shocked by the comment, and maybe she is because I never used to say things like that when we were younger.

She seems to collect herself. “What about Vi?” she asks, switching gears. “Who’s going to watch her while we’re training?”

I zone in on her, shocked the first thing she asked was about was my daughter because, usually, I’m the only one who thinks of her first.

“What?” she demands when I stay silent.

“Nothing…” I shake my head. “I’m just surprised you thought to ask about her, but my parents can help whenever I need them to. They’re amazing. So, what do you say?”

“I say…” Her honey eyes bounce between mine, and I think she’s going to agree, but then they narrow to slits. “No. You have your little girl, and I don’t want to take your time away from her this summer. Go be with your girl. You don’t owe me anything.”

I’ve known her for so long that I can hear the double meaning in her words—I don’t want anything from you. I’m not all that surprised. She hates relying on people and prefers doing things on her own, but I want to help get her stronger.

“Dakota, please let me help. I want to. My parents have Vi most mornings anyway, and I need to stay in shape for next season. Not to mention I owe you one for letting us stay at the barn.”

“It’s your place. You can stay there whenever you want, so I don’t need you to train me.” She tries, and fails, to keep the sharpness out of her words.

This woman. She’s so damn stubborn. “Give me one good reason why not.”

She struts up to me, fringe chaps swaying in the wind, and lowers her voice so her dad can’t hear. “’Cause I’m still pissed at you for cutting me out of your life like that, Wyatt Patterson. What did I do to you? I get that you had a little girl, but you could’ve texted every once in a while. I wasn’t asking for much.”

Her eyes turn glassy, so despite her tough exterior, I can see the thread of hurt shining in her gaze. I stuff my hands in my jeans so I don’t crush her against me. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? ’Cause I am, and I’ve said it a million times, but I’ll say it a million more if that’s what you need to hear.”

“No,” she says, her voice rising so that a few cowboys look our way. We’re causing a scene, but that doesn’t matter to me. “I want you to say that you missed me as much as I missed you because I fucking missed you, Patterson.”

Her voice cracks.