DON’T STOP (Lila and Darrell) novel Chapter 2

Taking her Innocence 2

Lila

I stood on the porch, arms crossed, watching the dust cloud rise behind my parents’ car as it disappeared down the gravel drive. I didn’t wave. I didn’t even lift a hand. Mom had tried one last hug, all teary-eyed and “call us anytime,” but I’d just nodded. Dad, predictably, had waited until the last second to roll down his window and launch into the lecture.

“Respect your elders, Lila. Help out around the house. No attitude. And stay out of trouble.”

Classic Dad. Like I was still twelve.

I didn’t reply. I just watched until the car was a speck, then nothing.

The screen door creaked behind me.

“Ready to see your room, sweetie?” Delaney’s voice was bright, like she was trying to fill the silence my parents left behind.

I forced a small smile and turned. “Sure.”

She led me upstairs, chattering the whole way about fresh sheets and how she’d put extra pillows because “city girls like options.” The room was at the end of the hall—big, airy, with a quilt on the bed and windows looking out over the pastures. It smelled faintly of lavender and wood polish.

“It’s perfect,” I said, setting my bags down. It wasn’t a lie; it was pretty. Just not home.

Delaney beamed. “I’m so glad. Now, how about I give you a quick tour of town? It’ll be fun—just us girls. We’ll be back before you know it.”

I opened my mouth to say no politely, and firmly, but she was already grabbing a light cardigan from the hook by the door.

“It’s tiny, Lila. One main street. Ten minutes, tops.”

I sighed. No choice.

We walked.

The town was exactly as small as she’d promised. One dusty main road with a general store, a post office, a feed supply shop, a diner with a flickering neon sign, and a big community hall at the end that looked like it hosted everything from weddings to livestock auctions.

Kids, maybe six or eight years old were playing some kind of makeshift baseball in a field beside the hall, shouting and laughing as a dusty dog chased the ball. Delaney waved at them, and a couple waved back.

Everyone knew her. Everyone knew me, somehow.

“That’s Mrs. Hargrove. She runs the library on Tuesdays,” Delaney said, steering me toward an older woman watering flowers outside the store. “And this is Lila, Sarah’s girl. All grown up now.”

Mrs. Hargrove’s eyes lit up. “Lila! Lord, last time I saw you, you were knee-high, chasing fireflies at the Fourth of July picnic.”

I smiled. It was tight, and automatic as hell. “Hi.”

More introductions followed. Mr. Jenkins at the feed store. The diner owner, Carla, who insisted I come in for pie sometime. Two old men on a bench outside the hall who tipped their hats and said I’d “turned into a real beauty.”

I nodded, smiled, said “thank you” and “nice to meet you” until my cheeks hurt.

All I could think about was how far away the city felt. How trapped I was here, surrounded by people who remembered me as a gap-toothed kid in pigtails.

Delaney looped her arm through mine as we headed back toward the ranch. “See? Not so bad. Everyone’s excited to have you.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing one more smile. “Excited.”

Inside, I was counting the days until I could go home.

Sixty left.

Fifty-nine if I was lucky.

And Ryder still hadn’t shown up.

Back at the house, Delaney turned to me with that same bright smile, though it felt a little strained around the edges now. “You hungry, sweetie? I’ve got some chicken baking. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s hearty.”

I shook my head, exhaustion pulling at me like weights on my limbs. “No, thanks. I’m not that hungry but I’m really tired. Long drive.”

“Of course,” she said quickly, touching my arm. “Let me show you back to your room.”

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