I don’t deny it. I drop the papers onto the desk and steeple my fingers in front of my face. “You know how many people die in traffic accidents in the state every year?”
“We comparing what happens to the Justice women to traffic accidents now?”
I ignore his sarcasm. “It’s 1.33 per every 100 miles driven. A third of those deaths are single vehicle accidents. Every time someone gets into a car, there’s a chance they can die. I know that those chances go up if you’re not wearing a seatbelt or you’re drinking or texting, but sometimes it’s a fluke.”
“Is this your way of saying Birdie isn’t going to drive? Next you’ll say she can’t leave the ranch, can’t have people over, can’t do anything but sit in that damned room Earl painted black. You’ll drive her crazy just like Earl did to his second wife.”
I open my mouth to argue with Tucker, but a scream pierces the air. Birdie. We both jump to our feet and race out of the office down to the back porch, where we run into Birdie and Sterling. Literally.
“What the hell is going on?” I grab Birdie and pull her up to my chest.
“Bees. There’s a hornet’s nest just outside the door.” She points a shaking finger toward the screen that Sterling has slammed shut. Just in time too as a horde of yellow jackets swarm against the metal mesh.
“Now where’d those come from?”
“Must’ve been a nest in the eaves?” Sterling takes off his Stetson and sweeps a hand through his hair. “I could’ve sworn we would’ve seen that doing a sweep of all the gutters in the spring. Doesn’t it take some time for those hives to develop?”
“Once a queen moves in, the rest of them follow. It only takes about a week for them to build a base. Every day after, they build on it,” Tucker says. “I’ll call a beekeeper to come out and relocate.”
“You okay?” I rub Birdie’s arms. She seems pretty distressed over a few bees.
“I’m allergic,” she admits. “And my kit is upstairs. I lost my pen before the show and haven’t had time to look for it.”
Fear spikes through me. Her upset is warranted. “I’ll start carrying one.”
Tucker makes a sound of disgust. I send him an angry glare.
“You do what you want. You always do, but I’m washing my hands of this.” He slams on his hat and stomps out, leaving behind an upset Birdie and a saddened Sterling.
“Three accidents in less than a week,” he mutters almost to himself. He shakes his head. “Poor Birdie.”
“Why poor me?” she asks, straightening up and pushing away from me. I let her go.
“Because of the accidents,” Sterling says and then doffs his hat. “I’ll see you in Dallas sometime, I hope.” He takes off after that cryptic statement, leaving Birdie completely confused.
“What’s he talking about? See me in Dallas?” Her brow furrows. She looks adorable and sweet and sexy and everything I could ever want in a woman. Tucker’s not wrong. I want to lock her up in a padded room where nothing and no one can hurt her. I’d drape her in fur and jewels, have all her favorite dishes cooked, buy all her favorite movies and music. Would she really want for anything? Would she go mad like Earl’s second wife?
Even Sterling accepts that Birdie should be gone, and the boy is only eighteen. What kind of example am I setting by putting my own wants and desires over the life and health of someone I love?
“Birdie.” My throat is tight. I can barely get the words out. “I’m going to have to take you home.”
“Home?” The furrows in her brow deepen.
“To Dallas. Where you belong. I’m sorry.” I close my eyes to shut out the flash of pain in her face. “Tucker,” I yell. I know he’s on the back porch with those damned yellowjackets waiting for me to come to my senses. “Come and get her.”
The door opens and Tucker appears, stone-faced. “I’ll help you pack, Birdie.” He takes her by the arm, firmly and gently, leading her up the stairs. She looks over her shoulder at me, helpless and hurt. I turn away because I know this is for the best, but I can’t watch it happen.
Chapter Twenty
Birdie
I stare at my inbox. I should be jumping up and down with excitement, but the past few days have been a bit of emotional overload. The highs and lows are too many to count. My dreams are finally coming true. Everything I’ve been focusing on since I was little is being handed over to me. Yet, no matter how hard I try to focus on the good, I can’t stop thinking about everything that went down with Calder.
One would think that designers asking me to form collaborations and being told I was going to be getting shows in upcoming fashion events would have me feeling over the moon. Not to mention a few A-list celebrities asking for exclusive dresses. The happiness about all of those things only lasts for short bursts of time. Thank God I have Frederick. He’s been handling a lot of the responses and keeping me sane.