Waiting On Forever ~ Dallas Walker

Chapter One

Man, he really didn’t want to get shot again. Ever. Dallas Walker closed his eyes, and let the hot water of his sister’s camp cabin shower beat down on him. This was no pay-by-the hour motel shower. There was no smell of mildew, no trickle of lukewarm water from a rusted pipe. No obscene sounds from other rooms he wished he could forget.

His first month here he’d been adjusting, connecting, and processing. Trying to live in the present, trying not to worry too much about the future. But it was the past five years that he’d lived as someone else that dominated his thoughts. What he’d done. And what he hadn’t done.

He reached down low for the shower faucet positioned for children in wheelchairs. He increased the heat as if the scalding water could wash away the filth of sin he’d buried himself in.

He already knew it couldn’t burn away the memories, make him forget the things he’d seen, the eyes of the ones he hadn’t saved.

Dallas ran the soap over his shoulder. It still ached from the first gunshot that had spun him around to face his shooter. He made a quick pass over the small, puckered circle the bullet had left on his chest. The one that had, according to the EMT’s, taken him from this life for just under a minute.

There was no intense pain, not anymore, just the memory of the heat, the force of the bullet that had knocked him back, left him bleeding on the dirty floor. But the shooter…he couldn’t quite see the shooter. It was just…blank. His boss, the doctors, the cop shop shrinks, had all said it was normal to have blank spaces. Didn’t make it any easier.

He rinsed off, making himself think of the students in his Criminal Justice class. After only a few weeks on the job, he could already predict who would be prepared for today’s quiz, who wouldn’t. He smiled thinking of the handful that would plead ignorance and drop elaborate excuses. He’d been the prepared one while his twin Zach had excelled at dropping excuses and charming teachers.

He turned off the water, stepped out for a towel and cursed at the empty towel rack. He had a bad habit of using his bedroom doorknob to dry towels. Dripping head to toe, he made his way out of the bathroom and— “Hell!”

Dallas stopped dead in his tracks in front of his brother Luke’s fiancé.

“What?” Ava stood stock still, eyes wide, ten feet away from him across the room. Her hands were out to brace herself against an unseen obstacle.

Dallas cupped the area between his legs with his hands. “You don’t knock?”

“I do. This time I pounded after Luke and Hannah both tried texting you. But if you don’t want breakfast…”

“Sorry. Sorry. I… I was in the shower. I forgot my towel.”

“You…”

The slight, blue eyed blonde traced her gaze over him and damn it, he knew she couldn’t see, but he felt his face flame.

“Are you telling me you’re naked?” Ava bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“It’s not funny.” Water ran down his body, making a puddle at his feet.

“It kind of is. You’re blushing aren’t you?”

“No. What I am is freezing.”

“You’re cold?” Ava cocked her head and grinned like the devil. “You don’t need to make excuses, I can’t see it.”

“I’m not making— I— You know what? I thought you were the sweet one but you’re not. You’re bad.”

Now she did laugh. “Just wait until I tell Luke I found you naked.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that. For God’s sake.” Blind or not, no man wanted his wife—or soon to be— in the same room with another naked man.

“Jeez.” Ava waved her hand. “Relax. You know, you didn’t have to tell me. I wouldn’t have known.”

“Yeah. I’m figuring out that mistake.”

“You’re too honest,” she said softly, sending him a soft understanding smile.

He shook his head even though she couldn’t see him. “No, I’m not.” He’d lied so much over the past few years it was hard to know what he was. But she didn’t know where he’d been, what he’d done. None of them did.

“I’d give you a hug if you weren’t… you know.”

His brother was one lucky son of a bitch. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want to fight Luke.”

“Well,” she said, turning to leave. “Breakfast is ready. Hannah made enough for an army, but Zach and Luke have already been there for thirty minutes, so I’d hurry if I were you.”

“Got it. Thanks.” The door closed behind her and he made a beeline for the bedroom and a towel. He muttered curses as he rubbed the towel roughly down his legs. “I have got to find a house.”

* * *

A long electronic beep signaled the end of class and a group of twenty-five sixteen and seventeen year olds bolted from their seats. He didn’t blame them. As riveting as the material was, it was the last class before the freedom of the weekend.

“Happy Friday. Make good choices,” Dallas said, returning fist bumps. “Don’t do drugs, and all that.”

“Later, Mr. Walker.”

Mr. Walker. So strange. He watched them file out, throwing out a few more reminders about the legal drinking age and being safe. They hit the hallway in pairs or groups. A few left solo, not a word to anyone. Maybe by choice, maybe not.

The cliques were the same as when he’d been in school. The athletes, the band kids, the small group of rebels dressed in all black. And the kids that didn’t fit into any group.

He thought about who he’d been in high school. God, it felt like ten lifetimes ago. The quiet twin. The bookish twin. A girl had once called him the thoughtful brother with the sad eyes. But he hadn’t been sad, not before his parents had died. He’d been happy to stand back while Zach stood out. But after? Yeah, he’d been sad, confused. Angry.

And he’d worried. About the tension in the house between Luke, older than him by two years, and Nick, two years older than that. What would happen to Hannah without a mother. What would happen to all of them. But it’d worked out and he’d found his place. These kids would find their place too — some sooner, others later. And like him, they might lose that place and have to find a new one.

The jury was still out on whether or not this new one was going to stick for him. But for now, teaching worked. The high school had needed to fill this position quickly for the remainder of the year and since he was retired, he’d needed to fill the time.

Retired. Damn that sounded even weirder than the Mr. Walker. But that’s who he was now. A forty-year-old retired cop who taught high school civics and criminal justice.

He gathered his laptop and stuffed the essay style quiz papers into the side pocket for some weekend reading. He was making the rounds, picking up trash and checking for forgotten items when Hunter Whitten, English Lit teacher, poked his head in the doorway. He was young— mid-twenties, and wore skinny jeans with pristine white tennis shoes. He imagined in Hunter’s eyes he was edging toward old. Maybe past edging.

“Hey, Walker.”

“Hey, man. How’s it going?”

“It’s going. Same three kids didn’t turn in their papers.”

“Guess some people have to learn the hard way.” Dallas dropped a balled up piece of notebook paper in the metal trash can beside his desk and grabbed his laptop bag. He flicked off the light and closed the door on his way out.

“Yeah.” Hunter shook his head. “I just don’t get it though. It was an easy assignment, comparing and contrasting Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. Fun even.”

Dallas fell into stride beside the man. “Sounds titillating.”

“Mmm.” Hunter sipped the mug of tea he was rarely without.

As the only other male teacher in this wing, he and Hunter had formed a habit of eating lunch together.

Another teacher, Leena Cane, passed them in the hall, wishing them a good weekend. “Oh, Hunter,” she said, pausing and turning back. “You still using Matchmaker?”

“I am,” Hunter said. “You looking to join?”

She grinned. “Maybe. If you prove to me it works.”

“I’ll keep you posted,” Hunter said with a wink.

He and Hunter walked on, out the side door and through a courtyard to the faculty parking lot. “How’s the house hunting going?” Hunter asked.

“Nothing’s hit the mark yet. I’m going to look at another one today.”

“Well, I wish you better luck with your hunt than I’m having.”

“Oh. Uh…so nothing yet?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Dallas regretted giving Hunter the opening. Hunter had been on a dating site for as long as Dallas had known him and kept him apprised of all progress whether he asked or not.

“Lots of luck,” Hunter said. “But, man, so many choices. There’s the stewardess, the web designer, the sex therapist—who by the way asked me for sexual references.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

“I know, right? Slippery slope,” Hunter said, shaking his head.

They parted ways for their cars. It was almost four, but looked later under the low, steel gray clouds. He’d wanted to get a look at the house before dark. And he’d make it, just.

After his awkward encounter with Ava this morning, he’d emailed his real estate agent and told her to widen the search. A little longer drive to school wouldn’t make much difference to him. It was just time after all and once school let out he had plenty. Maybe too much.

He’d expected to find the perfect spot in a matter of weeks, but that hadn’t happened. He was still adamant about wanting a house—he was done pouring money down the drain on rent—but he’d dropped the idea of perfect. Amanda, his agent, had emailed him an address earlier in the day and oddly enough it was on the back side of his sister’s farm property. An old country road even more remote than the one his sister’s Equine Therapy farm stood on.

Thirty minutes later, Dallas sat at the rural four way stop and watched the sheets of rain blow across the hood of his black Bronco. He’d beaten the dark, but not the rain. He drove slowly, squinting through his windshield as he rolled through the stop sign, searching for mailboxes, house numbers, a For Sale sign. Anything. But combined with the pouring rain and the overgrowth on either side of the road, he didn’t see what he was looking for. He slowed to a crawl.

Could be he’d missed a turn, maybe a dirt road off of this one. The agent hadn’t given him any details. But damn, it was raining so hard his windshield wipers couldn’t keep up.

He drove on, passing a vegetable stand on his left. Nothing more than a weathered table really, with a tin roof he was surprised was still standing in this wind. There was a red truck pulled in next to it. “Nobody should be that desperate for vegetables,” he muttered to himself. He couldn’t imagine they got much business.

He squinted through the windshield and made out a person, moving quickly around the stand. He slowed to a stop and watched as they made their way to the open tailgate of the truck.

As the person hefted the box up and slid it under the truck bed cover, the black hood of their raincoat slid back, revealing a clump of long, dark hair.

Huh. The cop in him didn’t like a female alone on a road that defined rural.

Curious now, he continued to watch as she jogged back to the stand, hunched against the storm. When she went back for another box, Dallas saw there were several more, so he pulled over and parked on the shoulder.

He couldn’t just sit here while someone struggled, especially a woman alone on a nearly dark road. Slamming the gear shift into park, he braced himself for the imminent soaking.

He zipped up the front of his jacket and grabbed the Red Sox cap from the passenger seat beside him. Not waterproof, but better than nothing.

A gust of wind grabbed at the door as he opened it and the rain pelted him. His khakis were soaked and sticking to his legs by the time he crossed the road. She went for another box under the table, stood, turned, and nearly ran right into him.

“Nice day,” he said, yelling over the pounding rain.

She was dripping wet even with the jacket on. Her legs disappeared into the top of tall black rubber boots. At least she had those. Strands of dark hair were plastered to the sides of a pale face with high cheekbones, and big, dark eyes.

He had about a foot on her in height, probably a good hundred pounds in weight, but there was not a hint of wariness in her eyes. Instead, he got a definite don’t mess with me vibe.

“What?”

“I said, nice day.”

She just looked at him. Okay. No time to joke. Noted. “I’ll just help you load up.”

Before she could respond, he grabbed a small wooden box of assorted gourds and mini pumpkins. When she headed toward the truck, he followed and slid his box in behind hers. “You want to come back for some of this later?”

“Can’t. But I got it.”

When she turned to make another trip, he pushed everything toward the back to make more room then caught up with her at the table. Two more trips for both of them and all the produce was in the truck.

She closed the tailgate and as this wasn’t stop-and-chat weather, hustled to the driver’s seat and got in.

“Thanks,” she said as rain water ran down her face and she shivered. She was soaked to the bone. So was he.

“No problem.” He stepped back so she could close the door and then paused before taking off for his own shelter. Long enough to see her turn the key through the rain washed glass. He was just about to leave when it registered there was no engine sound. She turned the key again and nothing.

He tapped on the window and waited for her to crack the door open. “Not starting?”

“No.” Her cheeks puffed out as she blew out a breath. “Damn it,” she muttered under her breath.

“I can give you a ride if you think you can come back for your truck tomorrow. Or I can try to give you a jump now.” He hoped she chose the first option as lightning flashed in the sky and a crack of thunder boomed.

Her left pointer finger tapped a fast beat on the steering wheel as she considered. He didn’t blame her. She was alone and he was a stranger.

She sighed again, then seemed resigned. “Okay. A ride would be great. Thanks.”

He nodded. “You got it. Want to wait here or I can pull up beside you.”

“I’m already wet. Can’t get much wetter.” She took her key from the ignition and grabbed a large leather bag from the passenger seat.

He beat her to his Bronco just by a hair, which gave him time to grab his leather satchel off the seat before she sat on it.

Lightning cracked again with a boom of thunder right on top of that. “It’s really coming down.”

“It is. Thanks for the ride.”

When he didn’t immediately start the engine, she cleared her throat. “I need to get home. My dog doesn’t like storms.”

“Right.” He started the truck and pulled onto the road.

“It’s just down here on the left. After you go through the next stop sign.”

“Okay.” He turned up the temperature.

“I’m dripping water all over the place,” she said, looking down at her feet.

“It’ll dry.” He sent her a small smile that she didn’t return. “So what was that back there? A farmer’s market?”

“Yeah, sort of. More like a stand than a market. It belongs to Hollis, my neighbor. He sets up there a few days a week. Beans, potatoes, pumpkins. I add stuff when I have it.”

So it was someone else’s stuff that she wouldn’t leave. “Does he get much business?”

“Some. He hasn’t been feeling that well lately, so…” She wiped wet hands on the soaked fabric covering her thighs. “I didn’t expect the rain.”

“Fall storms,” he said, thinking that was nice, that she’d help someone out.

“Yeah.”

He glanced over, caught sight of a single drop of water, sliding down her jaw line. Her hair was a dark, curly, dripping mass. He put his attention back on the road. “What kind of stuff?”

“Hmm?”

“What kind of stuff do you add?”

“Eggs mostly. Some vegetables when I have too many.”

“Blue eggs?”

“Yeah.” She slid him a curious glance. “And green. Brown.”

“You’re the blue egg lady,” he said nodding slowly.

“Excuse me?”

“I think my sister got some blue eggs from you. Hannah Walker—Hannah McKinney. I’m still getting used to the fact my baby sister’s married. Long blondish hair, usually in a braid. Lives a road over.” He lifted a finger from the wheel and pointed toward the window on his side. “I’m Dallas, by the way.”

“Right. I’ve met her. It’s coming up on the left.” She leaned forward slightly, peering out the water–blurred window. “Here. This one.”

He slowed at a narrow gravel drive. It was a straight shot between her small one story on the right and a wall of green on the left.

“You can stop here,” she said when the gravel opened up to a paved portion in front of a single closed garage door.

He’d barely stopped before she was reaching for the door handle. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.”

He might have given her his number, just in case she needed help going back for her truck, but he didn’t get the chance. She was already out and the door was slamming, leaving him with nothing but the sound of the rain.

He watched her jog to a side door and disappear inside.

“Well.”

He debated trying to turn around then backed out and nearly ran his rear wheels into a drainage ditch. “Shit.”

He stopped hard, skidding a little in the gravel. Righting the vehicle, he went slow, watching closely for the slight dip that ran along the road and the egg lady’s mailbox.

He was just getting all four wheels back on the road when he saw it through the overgrowth of the yard next door. Red and white, worn and dirty and hanging a little sideways, but that was it. A FOR SALE sign.

Dallas Walker is haunted. He won’t ever forget the horrors he witnessed while working undercover to bust a human trafficking ring, but he has a plan to start a new life. Coming home to his family is step one. Getting to know his alluring new neighbor could be step two. If only she’d give him a chance…

Maggie Ellis just wants to be left alone. She’d rather spend her days spinning clay into art and feel nothing than open herself up to another devastating loss. But her sexy new neighbor with a lonely look in his eyes isn’t giving up. And he makes her question everything…

Together, Dallas and Maggie might have a shot at happily ever after. But only if they can let go of the past and hold on to each other when it matters most.