Page 82 of Forget That Guy
I giggled. “That’s fantastic.”
His eyes settled on the SUV. “What do you think she’s doing here?”
“Best guess?” I asked. “She knows that she is going to lose the suit she brought against me and wants to ask me to split it beforehand so that we ‘don’t have to go to court.’”
He jerked his head toward the barn. “Let’s saddle up and head over there to talk. Sorcha, please call Jedidiah and get him working on that.”
Sorcha rolled the papers up into a tube and bopped him on the shoulder. “Yes, little brother.”
Denver and I were saddled up and heading over to my old property ten minutes later.
My mother was standing in front of her car, wearing a black dress and her Louboutins.
I nearly rolled my eyes right out of my head when I saw those red bottoms.
She would come out here wearing that.
She saw us coming and stiffened, hanging up her phone.
“Where’s the house?” she demanded.
“Buried,” Denver answered. “Why are you on my property?”
“This isn’t your property, it’s mine. I bought it.”
“Actually, it is. Go check the county records. It’s been mine for months,” Denver countered. “What are you doing here?”
My mother’s face didn’t change expression at all.
Most likely because the Botox wouldn’t allow it to.
Her eyes, so much like my own, settled on me.
Her white hair, again like my own, lifted with the wind.
Mine did, too.
But unlike hers, mine was up in a ponytail and easily restrained.
I just tucked the tail of my pony into my shirt and stared, not saying a word.
“Aren’t you going to say hi to your mother?” my mother asked.
“Hello.” Denver rolled his eyes. “Last time. Why are you here? The next time I won’t ask, I’ll just toss you off my property.”
My mother peeled her gaze away from me and raked her gaze along Denver’s big body.
She obviously found him lacking.
Clearly, she was delusional.
Because he was wearing a white t-shirt that hugged him in all the right places, tight Wranglers that fit him like a glove, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat that made me want to steal it and wear it forever.
Literally, a woman’s wet dream.
If my mother couldn’t see how attractive that was, she was blind.
“You could try,” my mother decided on. “In the meantime, while you find someone to toss me out, I’ll talk to my daughter.”
