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Everything that’s amazing in this moment is ripped away when I see headlights heading directly our way.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Natalie
I tense in his arms. “Dalton.”
“What the fuck?” he whispers. “Who could …”
He doesn’t finish that sentence when we both realize we’re here, naked and about to get caught by either my dad or my brother, both of which means we’re completely screwed.
We jump up and race to get dressed as the truck comes closer and closer.
With the high beams shining directly on us, I slide my shirt over my head, and Dalton stands, buttoning up his pants as the truck screeches to a halt and the door flies open.
The sounds of the roaring engine and the cocking of a gun are all that surrounds us when my dad comes rushing up to Dalton, shotgun pointed in his direction. Thomas must have told him I’ve been secretly seeingDalton. I told mom I was riding Brandy so he must have figured out I’d be back here with him.
“Get the fuck off my property!”
“Dad!” I yell, running toward him.
“Natalie, get in the truck,” he bites out.
“Dad, stop. Don’t do this.”
Dalton holds up his hands as he stares down the barrel of a Remington shotgun. “Sir, I’m sorry. But I love your daughter.”
“You have three seconds to get off of my property, or I’ll shoot you with my daddy’s gun. We’ll call it retribution after all these years,” Dad says firmly yet as calm as he could be.
“Daddy, stop! I’m sorry, but he’s not like them. I love him!” I plead.
He doesn’t take his eyes off of Dalton. “Natalie, I said, get in the truck. One.”
Dalton looks at me, wondering what he should do.
Dad holds the gun steady, pointed right at Dalton. “Two.”
“I’m sorry, Natalie,” is all Dalton says before turning and racing across the creek.
Dad drops his gun and stomps back to the truck.
“Dad, talk to me. You need to understand. He’s different,” I beg.
“Get in the truck.” He walks to Brandy, untying her knot and hitting her side. “Head on home, Brandy.”
With tears rolling down my face, I hop in the truck, terrified about what just happened.
Dad puts the truck in drive and skids the tires as he flips the truck around to head back to our house. I’ve never seen him drive so erratically. Seeing him gripthe steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are white frightens me, but the way he’s staying silent downright terrifies me.
“Dad—” I say, but he cuts me off.
“Not a word, Natalie. Not now.”
He practically flies through our ranch back to our house, the truck sliding and bumping with every dirt pile we hit. When we get there, Mom is standing at our back door, worry written all over her face.
Dad kills the engine and gets out, slamming the door before rushing past Mom, still staying completely silent.
Mom races to my side.
