Page 45 of Taming the Billionaire Cowboy
I bite my lip. Sure, Oliver said he would come, but… there are a whole lot of ’buts’. Like, what if he decides to skip town before then? Gets tired of Miralena, tired of me, and makes another impulsive move.
“You should ask him to dinner, too,” my mom says, “before then, so we can all get to know him.”
“Hey,” I glance at Bradley. “Go get the rest of your stuff.”
“Okay.” He runs back through the swinging door.
“We don’t need to invite him to dinner,” I tell my mom and aunt. “Okay?”
“Why not?” My aunt frowns as she polishes pint glasses.
But my mom is watching me with a frown. “What’s really going on, Carly?”
“Nothing,” I snap. “We just… Oliver and I… it’s not a serious thing. He might decide to sell the ranch for all I know and leave here for good.”
I look away from them, feeling like a petulant teenager but also resenting them for constantly pushing. This is exactly why I didn’t want everyone to know about me and Oliver. Once people get into your business, they never get out of it.
Bradley is back, his little backpack on, which means the conversation is over.
“Ready to go?” I ask him.
“I guess,” he says. He holds out his picture. “I want Oliver to see.”
“He’s gonna love it,” I promise, but my chest aches.
His face falls, a sad little frown. “Is Oliver selling the ranch?”
My stomach drops. Oh, no. I didn’t realize he overheard that.
“Uh, I… no.” I clear my throat, wanting to make him feel better but also not wanting to sugarcoat things. “Not now, anyway. Don’t worry about it, honey.”
“Okay.” His frown slowly dissolves, but I can tell he’s still worried. I guess that makes two of us.
I squeeze his hand reassuringly. “Ready to go have fun?”
His face brightens only the slightest bit. “Yeah.”
I offer quick goodbyes to my mother and aunt and try to put the conversation out of my mind as Bradley and I leave Ramblin’ Roses behind, but the thoughts keep niggling the back of my brain.
When we’re safely strapped into the car and heading for the theater, Bradley breaks the silence again. “Mom, are you mad at Oliver?”
“No, baby.” My hands tighten around the steering wheel as I glance in the mirror at him, his worried eyes staring back at me. “Why do you ask that?”
“Because he’s your friend, right? But you seem upset.”
“Yeah.” I nod, trying to figure out how to explain this to him in a way he’ll understand. “Oliver is a good friend.”
“And friends are supposed to be happy about each other,” he insists.
“That’s right.”
“So why aren’t you happy about Oliver?”
The question catches me off guard because I didn’t realize that’s what it looked like. “What makes you think I’m not?”
He shrugs, looking down at his lap. “Remember when you said he might leave?”
I inhale sharply, trying to figure out how to answer this. My first instinct is to comfort him, to assure him that Oliver isn’t going anywhere. But can I really say that with certainty?
