Wynonna shrugs. “You know, where he’ll go when he gets out.”
I try to hide my disgust. “You mean, come back here?”
“Well, it is his trailer, isn’t it?” My sister’s eyes are wide. “And he’s our dad.”
All the more reason for us to get the heck out of here. “I don’t want him back here, Wynonna. We’re doing fine on our own.” Which is another lie, but I still firmly believe we’re doing better just the two of us than if dear old Dad showed up again.
Plus, the last thing I want is my ex-con father around while I’m involved with Boone.
“You’re being unfair,” Wynonna says, flouncing away toward her room. “He’s still family! Family means everything!”
I don’t disagree with her . . . but I also no longer consider my father part of the family. For the last six years, it’s been just me and Wynonna. No one else counts.
And I’m a horrible sister, too, because I think of Boone, and how I’m sneaking around to see him behind my sister’s back. Some “family” devotee I am.
I can’t do this. I’m being pulled in too many directions, and something’s going to have to give.
Chapter Eleven
Boone
One week later
She’s ghosting me.
I text Ivy for the hundredth time in the last week. What are you up to, baby girl? Got any houses for me? I don’t expect much of a response at this point, but I can’t help but keep trying. I’m stubborn like that. Her response comes right away, and it’s negative, just like I knew it would be.
Ivy: Work is terribly busy right now. Sorry. Will text you later.
Sure she will. That’s her response every time I send her a message, be it email, phone, text, or any other way I can think of. She’s always very polite, but she pushes me away. She’s got no time for me, at all. She never calls me; I’m always the one calling her, tryin’ to get her attention. If I waited on her to contact me?
I’d still be waitin’.
I must have scared Ivy off. Maybe calling her my fiancée freaked her out. Maybe my brothers were dicks to her, though it didn’t seem that way. I’ve been racking my brain for the past week trying to determine where I went wrong. Maybe the sex was bad?
Nah. I rocked her world. At least twice each time.
Bottom line is, though, she ain’t friendly anymore, and I need to fix that.
So I text her back, because I don’t like no for an answer.
B P: I understand you’re busy but . . . it’s Saturday.
Ivy: I still have clients on Saturdays.
B P: Just . . . not this client?
Ivy: I’m currently with someone at the moment but I’ll research another house for you when I get home tonight!
B P: You know I ain’t asking about the houses, Ivy. I’m asking about me and you.
Ivy: I’ll text you about it tonight.
I sigh, because she is almost as stubborn as me. Almost.
B P: Can’t we be mature adults and talk about this?
Ivy: Absolutely! I’ll send you a message tonight.
B P: Why don’t we meet to discuss it?
Ivy: I’m having dinner with my sister.
B P: Fantastic, I’ve been waiting to meet her.
Ivy: I can’t, Boone. I’m sorry, I just can’t.
B P: Do you hate me now or something?
Ivy: No!
Ivy: That’s not it at all.
Ivy: It’s just . . . complicated. I’m sorry I can’t say more.
B P: Me too, baby girl. Me, too.
I toss my phone aside, frustrated with how the conversation went. I can normally win Ivy over in a matter of moments—so what’s troubling her so much that she won’t even see me? It’s complicated tells me absolutely nothing, other than there is something, and she doesn’t want to talk to me about it. I think for a moment, and then text one more time.
B P: Are you pregnant?
B P: I know we rubbered up, but accidents happen.
Ivy: What? No!
B P: So you got your period?
Ivy: I am not discussing this with you, and are you freaking insinuating that the reason why I’m avoiding you is that I’m hormonal?
B P: So . . . you are avoiding me, then. And here you’ve been telling me all week that it’s work.
She’s silent. I knew she would be. Ivy hates to be confronted. And somehow, having her admit that she is, in fact, avoiding me just makes things worse. I need to figure out what’s going on so I can fix it. Protectiveness toward Ivy surges through me.
No one better be messing with my woman.
I’m actually a little bummed that there’s no baby. I picture Ivy’s stomach rounded with my kid and . . . I kinda like it. Of course, it’s early in the relationship yet, but Ivy pregnant with my baby? I’m up for that.
Course, I gotta get her speaking to me, first.
***
I get an idea of how to break down Ivy’s barriers a few days later. She’s been utterly silent and driving me crazy with lust, but I’m a patient man.
Okay, I’m actually not, but I’m a calculating man. And I need a plan. It finally comes through for me on Monday, when Clay sends me a text message.
Clay: Meeting with suits @ new drill site in West Tx. Tmrw @ 8 am. You need to be there.
I’m about to text him that all of our brothers need to be there, because the company belongs to all of us even if I have the majority share. But as I start to text, I get an idea. Ivy has herself barricaded behind her desk, citing work.
I just gotta get her away from work.
I drive over to Ivy’s office. The lobby has a few clients inside it, sitting lined up in fancy chairs and sipping coffee. One’s in a suit and reading Forbes magazine. It’s a two-month-old issue. I know that, because it’s my face on the cover, along with my brothers as we pose with sledgehammers in front of one of our many rigs. I thought the picture was kinda stupid, but eh. It’s amusing to see this starchy, snooty suit reading my magazine, though. He barely gives me a passing glance before turning the page.
The receptionist cocks her head and gives me a puzzled look, as if she can’t quite make me out. I guess Ivy’s number she did on my hair improved things more than I thought. Well, that and I’m not covered in dirt today. Thought it might be bad manners to show up to woo my woman covered in mud. “I’m here to see Ivy.”
“I’m afraid she’s not in at the moment,” the woman says, picking up her pen and a notepad. “Did you have an appointment?”
“Sort of.”
Her brows draw together. “Who shall I say came by?”
“Oh, I’ll wait.”
Her mouth opens and then closes again, and she gives me the tiniest of frowns, as if she disapproves of this choice. “I’m not sure how long she’ll be—”
“That’s fine.” I move to one of the chairs in the lobby and drop into the seat, sprawling my legs out and getting comfortable. I’m prepared to wait. If Ivy’s here, she’ll have to come confront me at some point. And if not, well, I’ll run into her when she heads in again. Either way, I’m seeing Ivy today.
I ain’t taking no for an answer anymore.
About a half hour after I sit down, the front door opens and a very pale, tired-looking Ivy enters, a stack of flyers in her hand. I immediately get to my feet, and as I do, surprise moves over her pretty features at the sight of me. “Boone! What are you doing here?”
“Getting you a seat,” I tell her, taking her by the arm and leading her toward my chair. She looks . . . sick. Unhealthy. There’s a sheen of sweat on her face but she’s also paler than I’ve ever seen her, and my heart is about to jump out of my chest with worry for her. Is that why she’s been pushing me off? She’s ill? “What’s going on, Ivy?”
She blinks her eyes at me, confused. “Going on?”
“Why do you look like you’re about two steps from passin’ out?”
She puts a hand to her forehead. “I’m fine. Truly. I just . . . need to eat some crackers and drink some juice.”
That’s weirdly specific. “You just donate blood or something?”
“Or something.” She sags against me as if all the strength has gone out of her.
Worry slams through my chest. She’s so fragile, and the weight she leans against me is slight. I’m full of panic, because I don’t know what to do. I feel helpless at the sight of her like this. But I have money, and as long as I have money, she’s gonna get the best care possible. So I scoop her up into my arms and immediately head out to my truck. “You hang tight, baby. I’m gonna get this all taken care of for you.”
Ivy makes a small sound of protest as I open the door to the cab and gently set her inside. “Where are you taking me?”
I buckle her in, gently close the door, and then race to the other side of my truck.
“Boone,” she demands as I jump into the car. She sits up a bit more, no longer looking quite so scary-pale. “Seriously. Where are we going?”
“Hospital,” I tell her as I start the truck and roar out of the parking lot. “If I have to buy them a damn wing to get them to look at you, I’ll do it.”
To my surprise, she laughs and her hand touches my arm. “I promise you, I’m fine. You’d be better off driving me to Starbucks than the hospital.”
I glance over at her. Some of the color is returning to her face and there’s a hint of a smile on her lips, though she still looks mighty pale and worn. I’m torn, but I pull into a nearby Starbucks and order the drink she tells me. And then I order a few more cookies, just because she needs ’em. We pull up to the window and I fling my credit card at the girl, grabbing at the drinks and food and hastily passing them to Ivy. I don’t relax until she takes a few bites out of a cookie and sips at her iced coffee, and she gives me a bigger smile. “Thank you.”
“You okay?” My heart feels as if it’s never gonna stop racing in terror. Her lips aren’t the same color as her pale cheeks anymore, though, so that’s good.