Dirty Money(47)

Boone: Yeah, but this is my way of saying hi to my kid and to his gorgeous mom at the same time.

Boone: I miss you.

Boone: Been hours since I saw your face.

I snap a photo for him, with my hand on my belly, and send it off.

Ivy: Better?

Boone: You get sexier every time I see you.

Ivy: How's Big Lake?

Boone: Hittin' pay dirt as usual. Seth's fucking up on the rig. As usual.

Ivy: So . . . a good day?

Boone: Define good. I mean, my sexy little mama is in San Antonio and I'm three hours west. That's not good by my standards.

Ivy: You'll be home tonight. I'll make it up to you.

Boone: Now we're talking.

Ivy: Don't work too late, all right?

Boone: Leaving the site in about an hour. I'll be home to eat. And then we can have dinner, too.

Months later, and the man still makes me blush like a schoolgirl.

Ivy: You're bad.

Boone: I know. But my beard misses your pussy. Rest of me, too, but especially my beard.

Ivy: My pussy will make it up to him, then.

Boone: My beard likes hearing that.

A hand knocks on the window of the car, and Wynonna gives me an exasperated look.

"I'm coming," I call out at her, texting fast. God, caught red-handed.  I'd be a little embarrassed except . . . Boone is amazing. I'm the  luckiest woman alive to have him.

Ivy: I have to go eat lunch w/Wynonna. Love you! See you in a few hours.

Boone: Love you too, baby. Send me dirty pix if you get a chance.

I laugh as I get out of the car, ignoring the squicked-out look on my  little sister's face. Boone's going to have to wait a while for the  dirty pictures. But he'll get them, just like he got me, and the baby,  and the house of our dreams.         

     



 

I've never been able to refuse that man anything.





Keep reading for a preview of the next novel in the Roughneck Billionaires series

DIRTY SCOUNDREL

Coming soon from InterMix





  Clay


My brother Boone doesn't even give me a decent greeting when I knock on  his door. Normally I'd comment about how the heavy wood double doors to  his new ranch mansion are bigger than my trailer, but I don't feel much  like laughing today. Instead, I've got a cold knot in my gut that's been  there for days and feels like it's growing larger by the moment. It  grows any bigger and I'm gonna start looking like delicate Ivy, all  ponytail and belly.

Well, 'cept for the ponytail, I guess.

Boone just eyes me as he opens the door. He's silent, too. My brother  usually has something to say about everything, but maybe he's got the  same knot in his gut I do. He eyes my clothing, noting my best jeans and  the only long-sleeved white shirt I own, which has also sat in the back  of my closet since the last funeral I went to. It's tight around the  chest and neck, but fuck it. Ain't nobody gonna give a shit today. I  glance down at my boots, but the heavy rain today is washing away any  dirt I have on them. I'm mostly presentable. Mostly.

My brother isn't happy, though. He just shakes his head. "No jacket?"

Another smart-ass comment rises to my mind but I bite it back, too.  Doesn't seem right to joke, even if that's my natural instinct. Not  today. "Nah. Don't have one."

He grunts. "Seems like none of my brothers do. But Ivy wants everyone in jackets, so come in. You can borrow one of mine."

My brother's been married for almost a year now, and his new wife has  pretty much turned him upside down. New house, new clothes, looking at  investments, you name it. What Ivy wants, Ivy gets. It's a good thing  Ivy's the sweetest girl and doesn't have a gold-digging bone in her  body, because Boone's absolutely batshit crazy for her and would give  her his fortune if it'd make her smile. It's kinda cute, in a henpecked  sort of way. "Ivy dressing everyone?"

My brother just arches an eyebrow at me. I ain't wrong, I bet to myself  as I shake off the rain in the echoing foyer. When I don't drip on the  marble flooring, I step forward and follow Boone into the downstairs  living area. Sure enough, Ivy's there, running a lint-brush over Seth's  borrowed jacket. Gage is seated on a nearby chair dressed to the nines  in some Gucci or Armani shit, but he's the only one out of all of us.  Knox is nearby wearing another one of Boone's jackets, but the way he's  adjusting the collar, I imagine he's deciding whether or not to  five-finger it home. Doesn't matter that Knox is as rich as the rest of  us-he likes to lift things. Dunno why. No one knows what's going on in  Knox's head.

Ivy takes one look at me and hurries over with her lint brush. "Clay,  you're not dressed." Her brow wrinkles and she looks unhappy, studying  my appearance. "We'll have to get you one of Boone's jackets."

"Eddie wouldn't care," I tell her, trying to smile. "He's an old  roughneck, through and through. I doubt he even owned a dress shirt.  Wouldn't expect me to own one."

"I care," Ivy says, ignoring everything I say. "And his widow will care.  And his children will care. It's important, Clay." She speaks to me  like I'm a child but it just rolls off my back. Ivy is a little fussy  about appearances but she means well, and she wants us to look right for  this. And even though every one of us Price brothers knows Eddie  Murteen wouldn't give two shits what we wore to his funeral, it's  important to Ivy that we are respectable when we pay our last respects.

So I shrug and put my arms out. "Come dress your Ken Doll, Barbie."

She thwacks me with the lint brush as I grin. Guess I got a bit of spark left in me, after all.

I jacket up, and Ivy fusses with my hair, removing my favorite baseball  cap and wetting and combing down my flyaways like a kid. I just let her  fuss. Ivy's the only female in our lives, so I figure she knows more  about this sorta thing than we do. I glance down at her big belly and  the tented black dress she's wearing. "Junior's getting big."         

     



 

"His name won't be Junior."

"Mason, then. That's a good name."

"Like the jar? No thanks."

Boone just grins behind her like a big dumb loon. Never thought I'd see  the day that my mule-stubborn brother would let a little blonde waltz  all over him, but he does. I bet this baby's gonna have some trendy,  crappy name like Juniper or Pastel or some shit. "Ford?" I suggest.

"Like the car?"

"Good, solid car."

"No. Absolutely not." Ivy finishes messin' with my hair and then runs  the lint brush over my jacket. "All right. You look good. Are the  wreaths in the cars? Everyone have umbrellas?"

"We have hats," Seth says, a bit of sulk in my youngest brother's tone.

"Umbrellas," Ivy repeats firmly. "This is a funeral, not a bowling  alley." She fusses with the string of pearls at her neck, looking  worried. "I want you to look the part. Everyone's going to be focused on  the fact that the Price family is showing up-"

"We look good, baby girl," Boone says, moving to press a kiss to his  wife's cheek. "They're just giving you shit. It's going to be fine, I  promise."

Ivy gives him a smile, reassured by his calm words. I wish I was so  easily placated. The knot's back in my stomach and growing. Ain't no  avoiding this. Eddie deserves a good send-off, and we'll be there. I  just wish . . .

Fuck, I don't know what I wish.



The funeral's a good one, I guess. I've only been to two, but compared  to my father's funeral, this one's done right. Eddie's in the most  expensive coffin that Price money can buy, since he died working on one  of our rigs. There are flowers and wreaths all over the small chapel,  and a shit ton more at the graveside. The service is nice and decently  attended, and I try not to look at Eddie's widow and the three little  boys she has sitting on the pew next to her. If I do, that knot in my  stomach just grows and grows.

Eddie was too old to be roughnecking. Well, not too old. Too broken and  too slow. It's a young man's job, and Eddie was pushing 45. He just  didn't have the moves he used to, and when equipment snaps-like it did  this last week-you have to move fast. The good news is that when the  pipe tripped and hit him, it hit him in the head. Never felt a thing.  Just snapped his neck like a potato chip and boom, no more Eddie. I  guess if you have to go, that's a good way to go. I wiggle my foot in my  shoe, feeling the gap where my two missing toes are. When I lost them  on a rig accident, it fucking hurt like hell and I bled like a stuck  pig. But Eddie would have gone instantly. One minute there, the next,  gone. The world is minus one Eddie Murteen in the blink of an eye.

I worshipped Eddie as a teen. He was a great guy. Worked with me when I  started on my first rig, just a shitty kid with a chip on his shoulder  and a broken heart. Bought me a beer when my dad died and I couldn't  sack up enough to stop crying, even on the job. He was mentor and friend  to both me and Boone, and when Price Brothers Oil hit it big, we gave  him work. He's not great at what he does, but he's loyal as hell. That  counts for a lot.

Guess that should be past tense, now. My gut churns again. I glance over  and Ivy's rubbing the widow's back while Boone talks. I know what he's  telling her. PBO is gonna cover the funeral expenses and make sure she  has a pension. The good thing about being rich is you can throw money at  people and it makes it seem like everything's gonna be okay. Except it  doesn't feel like it's okay. It just feels shitty and this knot in my  stomach won't go away.