Page 55 of Wild For You

That one sure as hell wasn’t as infuriating as Erin.

“Erin,” I yell.

I strain to listen for any sounds, but Josh did a great job at remodeling the house and gave it enough acoustic privacy. I’d have to stand directly in front of her bedroom door for any sounds to carry outside…which I’m obviously not going to be doing.

“Erin,” I yell again, even though I’ve no idea why the fuck I’m calling her. I don’t want her to help me. I don’t want her around.

Or do I?

Am I deluding myself?

I want her gone because she shouldn’t witness my moments of weakness. Yet it seems as though I’ve grown used to hearing her in the kitchen or watching her outside on the veranda.

That’s all there is to it.

When she doesn’t answer, I clamber back to my office and shut the door, switching on my computer.

Work is the cure to anything. Managing my clubs is what I’m good at. That and riding bulls.

“Was,” I correct myself.

I pull up a spreadsheet and stare at the numbers, trying to make sense of the figures Jack highlighted for me.

For the first time in years, we’re in the red.

I need to get back to Chicago. I need to get us back to the top and then sell. It sounds like such an easy thing to do. If only—

A loud thumping noise jerks me out of my thoughts.

Closing the spreadsheet, I get up and head back into the hall. The sound’s coming from one of the guestrooms, where Dad’s set up the equivalent of a hospital room. That was right before our big fight and my consequent imposed ban on him entering my house.

Erin’s there, surrounded by countless boxes. Busy as she is packing up the equipment, she doesn’t notice me standing in the doorway.

“What the hell are you doing?” I peer from her to the boxes and then back to the boxes.

“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” She stops in her motion, but she keeps her back turned to me. I can see from her tense stance that she’s angry.

Nothing new there.

The woman just doesn’t like me, which makes her resolution to stay unfathomable.

“I’m packing up and sending the gear back to the hospital because, let’s face it, you don’t need it. It’s not like you plan on bull riding again, or are you?” She’s not even trying to hide her sarcasm.

“You can’t do that.” I take a few steps toward her, moving at the speed of a snail.

She turns sharply, and her big, blue eyes slice into me. “Why not? Did I just hit a nerve? Seeing that you like to feel sorry for yourself and I’m ready to give up, I don’t think there’s a need to pretend that this isn’t a waste of time. Let’s face it. You don’t need therapy. You don’t need me. What you need is just yourself and a secret room where you can hide like the coward you are.” She points a finger to the equipment. “You don’t need this anymore.”

For a moment, I just stare into her eyes, struck by the determination I see in them.

“You can’t take that with you.”

“Try me,” Erin says.

“My father paid for those.”

She nods. “I know, which is why I’ve arranged with the hospital to grant him a full refund. Obviously, you’re doing fine without all this stuff, so—” Shrugging, she resumes the packing. “—you’re not going to need it.”

I know what she’s doing. She’s bluffing to force a reaction out of me. I should laugh off her effort, walk away, anything but—

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