Page 118 of Forget That Guy
I deposited it all into my bank account, then paid off the rest of my student loans, and bought myself a new truck with Denver’s help.
In the weeks following my mother’s abrupt departure from my life, and Juliana’s abrupt departure from her girls’, I’d been happy.
Deliriously happy.
I felt like I was living someone else’s life.
I had a job that I loved.
A man who treated me like his whole world.
Three girls who thought I hung the moon.
And my heart horse back.
Today was my first day off in weeks, and Denver was on a poker run with his club brothers.
I was lying by the river, reading a book, and watching Constance Pratt, the wildlife preserve manager, taking photos of Joe.
Deedee was at a friend’s house. Catalina was at a school FFA event.
And Jetty was taking over ranch duties while everyone was otherwise occupied.
When Joe finished, she offered to walk Constance back to her car.
I lay on my blanket and continued to read, snacking periodically on carrot sticks and ranch until the daylight started to give way to dark.
Headlights rode up just as I started to fold up my blanket.
“Care for a ride?” Margery asked saucily.
I grinned and hopped inside. “Thanks! That would’ve been a long walk in the dark. I was lost in my book.”
“As you should be when you’re reading,” she said as she drove, not to her house, but to the big house where her son, Sawyer, lived. “We’re all having dinner here today. Denver’s bringing whoever doesn’t have a girl at home. Sorcha cooked for everyone.”
“Sounds perfect,” I breathed.
And it was.
Everything was absolutely as it should be.
Denver rode up on his bike as we were pulling in, parked, and pulled me out of the golf cart upon seeing me.
As he kissed me soundly, several other bikes pulled in, and wolf whistles were heard.
“Get a room, child,” Margery ordered.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I pushed away from Denver with a laugh.
He pulled me into his arms just as his phone rang.
He pulled it out of his pocket and turned it onto speaker so I could hear.
“Hey, you got something yet?” Denver asked.
“Wish I had better news,” he admitted. “You know a woman named Constance?”
