Dirty Money(30)

"Wow, that sounds like hell." Wynonna crosses her arms and leans on the  counter as I take a sip of water. "At least you had fun, right?"

"Wasn't all that fun," I lie. They're just piling on at this point,  those little white lies. "Stuff like this is why I never go out." Well,  that and I spend most weekends working. It doesn't matter, though. She  can't know what I did this weekend. I love my little sister but I can't  let her know I'm doing something as foolish and selfish as sleeping with  a client.

A client that is so ridiculously rich that he bought a golf course just to torch it, I think to myself.

"I'm going to go take a shower," I tell my sister with a quick smile.  "After that, you want to eat dinner and watch some TV? Get some quality  sister time in since it's going to be in short supply once you start  college?"

Wynonna rolls her eyes. "It's not like I'm staying in the dorms," she  says, a wistful note in her voice. "We'll still have plenty of time to  hang out."

I feel an unhappy surge of guilt. "I wish you could stay in the dorms, Wynonna, I really do. But the costs . . ."

"I know." She gives me a bright smile. "We can swing college, but not that part. I get it."

We can't really swing any of college, but she doesn't have to know that. "Right."

"Oh, and before I forget, I'm going to visit Dad a week from Monday. Want to go?"

I freeze. "You're driving out to Huntsville?"

She nods eagerly. "I talked to him on the phone and he said that he  might be up for parole soon. He wanted me to go and discuss options with  him."

My father. I wish I could feel anything other than disgust when his name  comes up in conversation. Wynonna has a rose-colored view of him, but I  remember him for who he was. Karl Smithfield was a mean drunk, a meaner  dad, and incredibly shady. I somehow doubt he's going to get out of  prison early due to good behavior. He's served six years out of a  twenty-two-year sentence for armed robbery and aggravated assault. I  wish I could say it was all a misunderstanding, but it's not. Karl held  up a gas station because he wanted beer and smokes, and didn't have the  money for either. While that was bad, he also beat the attendant within  an inch of her life for no good reason at all, other than he was drunk  and mean. He tries to blame it all on my mother, because my mom had just  split with his paycheck. And while I hate her for leaving, I hate him  more for knowing he had two young daughters to take care of and deciding  to be a degenerate asshole anyhow. "Options? What kind of options?"         

     



 

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.