Page 57 of Duke
“I’ll cross my fingers and toes for you. I’m actually wearing a pair of my Bellamy Brooks right now!”
I smile, even as an arrow of something unpleasant arcs through my middle at the thought of Mom sitting by herself in her boots in the house I grew up in. I really do feel for her—getting a divorce so late in the game has to be an incredibly lonely experience.
“Lemme guess. A pair of the pink shorties?”
“You’re good, Wheeler Marie.”
“Yup.” I smile. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the boots, Mom.”
“I get so many compliments on them.”
Of course you do. I made sure they’re fabulous, just like every other pair we design and manufacture.
Another pause. My stomach rumbles. I’m nauseous, but I’m also kind of hungry. Which makes no sense, as it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon, and supper isn’t until five at Lucky River Ranch. I’ve been here for a few days now so Mollie and I could be together for our summer launch. She’s still not feeling well enough to travel.
Wonder what Patsy is making for supper? I hope it’s meat loaf. Weird craving, but hers is so delicious, especially when she makes it with this sweet pea risotto that’s buttery and creamy and just, yeah, out-of-this-world delicious.
“So how’s the ranch? You line dance with any cowboys recently?”
My heart somersaults. It’s been a little over three weeks since Duke and I parted ways after that incredible weekend in Aspen. I wish I could say I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t thought about him or his laugh or the way his hands felt on my body.
That I haven’t been plagued by a sense of never-ending regret for not taking him up on the invitation to watchTitanicat his place.
But that would be a lie. I think about him constantly, which is why I try my best to avoid him. I just don’t see a path to happilyever after for us. My sense of self-worth is…wobbly at best. And my career is finally taking off. I have to honor all the blood, sweat, and tears I’ve poured into Bellamy Brooks over the years by making hay while the sun is shining. That means working more than I have. Ever.
I’ve made it a point to not sit down for meals in Patsy’s kitchen, opting instead for the doggie bags she’ll make for me. I’ll usually eat in here in the primary bedroom, camped out at the desk in front of the big window that overlooks the front yard.
Duke has texted me a few times. He even called the day after we got back and the day after that. I wanted to pick up the phone so,sobadly. But that seemed unfair of me, so I sent his calls to voicemail.
He hasn’t reached out since.
Part of me appreciates the fact that he’s respected my request for space. He’s always polite when we do interact. Always friendly but nevertoofriendly.
And then part of me wants to grab him by the shirt collar and yank him in for a hard, hot kiss.
What the fuck is wrong with you?I’d breathe into his mouth.Why won’t you chase me any harder?
Because that’s not messed up at all, me wanting him to pursue me despite my very clear instructions to leave me alone.
“Ha. No cowboys, Mom.” I’m hit by a vicious swirl of nausea. I put my hand over my mouth. Really, what’s going on? Did I catch a stomach bug or something?
“You know, it’s important that you take the time to stop and smell the Stetsons. I mean roses.”
“You’re funny,” I manage.
“I’m okay, Wheeler.” Another pause. “Really. I want you to keep living your life. I know it’s not easy to forget about what’s going on with me and Dad, but…” She sighs. “It’ll all work out, so you shouldn’t put your life on pause. Your love life, I mean.”
I wish I could believe that things will work out. Just like I wish I could stop feeling like I’m going to throw up.
“Hey, Mom? I have to run. But let me know how your meeting with the mediator goes tomorrow, okay? I’ll be thinking about you.”
“Okay. Congrats again on your collection.”
You didn’t congratulate me the first time, but whatever.I wish our relationship weren’t so…complicated.
“Thanks. Love you.”
I hang up and sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips, making my stomach slosh. A fist of sudden, violent pressure darts up my throat.
