Dirty Money(35)

He laughs and opens up a file cabinet, pulling out a package of socks. "Fair enough. Now, come on. I wanna show you my rigs."

A few minutes later, I'm wearing new socks, boots, a hardhat, and my  hand is in Boone's as he leads me forward. The work on the rig doesn't  stop as we approach up the ramp, but we also don't get too close.  Instead, Boone pulls me aside and points out how the process works, and I  try to follow along. From what I can tell, they constantly add more  pipe to the hole as they dig, then someone brings in a chain and wraps  it around the pipe to tighten things, and then it all starts over again.  I'm pretty sure I'm missing about eighty percent of the process, but  Boone seems pleased with how things are going.

"See that guy right there?" he tells me, pointing at one with a broom. "The worm?"

"Worm?" I ask.

"That's my little brother, Seth. I'm making him work for the summer  before he gets his shares, so he knows what this shit is about."

I nod slowly. "So he gets a share of the company?"

"Family share. It's Price Brothers Oil, and he's a Price. I have  majority, but all of my brothers get an equivalent family share."

"How much is the share?" I can't help but be nosy.

"Right now? Probably a billion or so."

My eyes go wide. I stare at the scruffy, lean guy in a hardhat. He's the  blond kid from before, with the downy beard on his jaw. He's wearing a  dirty jumper and the other guys pause every now and then to give him  shit, which he ignores.

He's going to be a billionaire at the end of the summer.

I feel like I've stepped onto another planet right about now. One summer  of hard work and you get a billion dollars. If only it were that easy.  Shaken, I turn to Boone. "W . . . which is the job you did? Before you  hit oil?"

He points at a man standing at what looks like a control panel. "I was  the driller, but I've worked all the positions and gotten my hands  dirty." He winks at me. "Something you'll never have to do."

"Ah." My stomach tightens.

Boone puts an arm around my shoulders. "You want me to go in there and show you how it's done?"

I watch as someone flings a chain around the pipe and all the roughnecks  move into motion. Mud sprays and everyone steps backward. "No, I'm  good, actually."

He chuckles. "You wanna go dowsing, then?"

"Sure." I pause as he turns away. "Are you going to say hi to your little brother?"

Boone shakes his head and leads me back down the ramp. "Nope. He needs  to concentrate. Could lose a finger if I mess with his mojo."

I blink in surprise, because that sounds awful. And then I remember that  Boone's missing a finger, too. Is that how? The work seems a lot more  dangerous all of a sudden. I look back and watch them tighten the chains  on the pipe, all of them covered in mud as the driller shouts at them.  I'm rather glad that Boone's in charge and not on the rig any longer.  The thought of him being in any kind of danger makes me feel . . .  nervous and unhappy. I slide my hand around his waist and tuck my  fingers into his belt loop. "I'd like to see the dowsing."         

     



 

"You just wanna see me play with my stick, don't you?"

I snort.



Several hours later, I feel as if I've crawled all over the flats of  West Texas. Boone and I met up with another one of his workers, this one  with a topography map, an iPad, and two all-terrain vehicles. We'd set  off on the vehicles, me clinging to Boone's back, and then arrived at  the spot Boone wanted to investigate. From there, Boone pulled out his  dowsing rods and I watched as he moved slowly over the ground, calling  out locations for his worker with the map to mark down. It's the most  bizarre thing, but both Boone and the worker took it extremely  seriously. Boone even handed the dowsing rods to me and asked if I  wanted to give it a shot. I did, but didn't feel a thing, and quickly  handed them back.

Perhaps some people are just better at finding money than others. If  that's the case, I'll never be able to dowse a thing. Money seems to  elude me.

By the time Boone seems satisfied, there's at least twenty spots noted  on the map that he goes over with his employee, and the sun feels like  it's baking me to a crisp in my suit. Boone notices I'm starting to wilt  and claps the guy on the back. "We'll finish early today and hit the  next field tomorrow." Then, Boone comes to my side. "You ready to head  out, darlin'?"

Now I feel guilty. "I don't want to keep you from working-"

"If there's oil in the next field, it's been there for sixty-five  million years. It can keep for another day." Boone glances back at his  employee. "I'm taking my fiancée home. I'll see you in the morning. Take  the rest of the day off."

"Will do. You have a good one, boss." He tips his hat to both of us and gets on his ATV.

Boone drives us back to the trailer and I change back into my heels. We  get in the truck and Boone looks over at me. "Is the motel okay? Big  Lake doesn't have anything fancy like the place I took you last week."

"If it has a shower, I'm completely fine with that." I'm sweaty and  gross and ready to change out of my clothing. "I don't have anything to  change into."

He grins. "One shower, coming right up. As for the change of clothing . .  ." He puts the truck in park and grins at me. "Be right back."

I watch as he races back into the trailer and returns a few moments  later with a plastic package. He tosses it over at me as he buckles back  in. It's a T-shirt: Price Brothers Oil. I chuckle. "Perfect."

"It'll go great with your silky panties." He winks at me as he puts the truck in reverse.

That it might.

The motel is across the street from a truck stop diner, which, Boone  tells me, makes incredible hamburgers. It's a tiny place but the lady at  the front desk knows Boone and beams a friendly smile at me as she  hands him the keys. The room is small and dark, but the sheets look  clean and there's fluffy towels and a shower that's practically  screaming my name. I pry off my heels and it feels as if a shower of  dirt emerges from my shoe even though I wore boots most of the  afternoon. "Good god, how is it I got so dirty?"

"It's the wind. It carries the grit and it just gets into everything."  Boone pulls off his cap and tosses it on the king-size bed then glances  speculatively over at me. "Thought you liked being my dirty girl."

I giggle and give a small shake of my head, shrugging off my jacket.  "It's amazing how you can manage to make everything sound completely  filthy."

"Ain't it?" He wiggles his brows at me as I toss my jacket onto the bed. "So what's your plan now?"

"Shower? Then sleep?" I'm exhausted from the day, and I think some of  that has to do with all the plasma donations I've been giving. I can't  say that, of course. Boone will flip his lid if he finds out, and my  story will go bust. He'll want to know why, and someone giving plasma is  downright suspicious, so I know he'd see through it. And . . . I don't  know if I'm ready to be done yet. I keep telling myself it's a bad idea  to be with him, because once he finds out the truth, he won't want me.  But I can't seem to help myself.         

     



 

"That sounds good," he says, and pulls his shirt off. "I'll wash your back."

"You . . . you want to shower with me?"

"Fuck yeah, I do." He grins, all white teeth and gorgeous, smiling face.

The idea of a shower is suddenly taking on an entirely new meaning, and I  mentally picture Boone naked, his big body towering over mine and his  hands moving over my skin. I shiver, rubbing my arms. Why is it that  just thinking about the man touching me makes me go crazy with need? "I  do need my back scrubbed," I lie. I need something, all right, but it  has nothing to do with soap.

He just gives me another one of those lazy, gorgeous smiles, and his  gaze sweeps over my body appreciatively. "You show me what you need  done, baby girl, and I'll get it taken care of."

"Mmmhmm." I need him to want me for who I truly am, not who he imagines  me to be. But maybe, over time, that won't matter. Maybe it won't be a  big deal if he finds out that although I'm doing my best to reinvent  myself, I still grew up in a trailer, my mom's a deadbeat, and my dad's  in prison. It won't matter that I'm uneducated and know more about how  to run a fry machine than how to host a dinner party. Because he'll love  me and will understand that I've worked hard to change who I am, just  like he has.

But even as I think it, I know it's a lie. Boone hasn't changed who he  is, one bit. He's got money, but I suspect that if I went back in time  five years, Boone Price would be the same then as he is now-stubborn,  strong-willed, and utterly determined to get what he wants.

"You look troubled," Boone says to me, moving to my side. "What's  botherin' you?" His rough hand smooths the hair back from my face in a  caress.