Page 80 of Resisting His Charm
“Okay, here you go. Say hi to Jaxson and to your boyfriend.” Alice smirks.
“You can call him Sammie.” I roll my eyes.
“I could, but it’s been a long time since you had a boyfriend, so I’ll stick with that term for now.”
“Whatever. Love you.” I pull a twenty out of my pocket and pop it into the tip jar. Alice won’t take my money for the food, but she won’t stop me from giving tips to the waitstaff.
Once I’m back in the truck, I call Jaxson.
“Hey, how was your flight?” he asks.
“Awkward. Can you meet me at my parents’ house?”
There’s silence on the line—well, other than the sound of cowboys yelling shit at each other.
“Unless you’re busy,” I add.
“No, I can meet you. What’s wrong? Why are you going there?”
“I want to look for something, but I don’t really want to go alone,” I explain. “And I can’t tell Alice what I’m looking for.”
“What are you looking for?” Jaxson presses.
“My mom kept journals. She used to sit up in the attic and write. I want to see if there’s anything in them that can help Sammie find out what actually happened. That’sifwhat he believes is true,” I tell my cousin.
“You don’t believe him?”
“I want to. Because the alternative? Me being with someone whose family killed my mother? I can’t live with that truth,” I admit.
“I think he’s certain that it wasn’t the cartel, Poppy. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t. It just means he believes in his family. That’s not a bad trait. I also think he really cares about you.”
“He says he does.”
“That’s it? He says he does? Poppy, he up and leaves at the drop of a hat to fly across the country for you. That’s a bit more thanhe says he does. Actions speak louder than words.”
“Yeah,” I agree. They do. And Sammie’s actions tell me he really does care. “I’m leaving the diner now. Can you meet me?”
“I’m already heading there. I’m in the south paddock, though. It’s going to take me about thirty minutes.”
“Thank you.”
“You got me pie, right?” he asks.
“I’m not an amateur.” I laugh, putting the phone in the console. I press the button to start the truck up.
I look around the dark, dusty space. I searched this house for a note from my father after he was found hanging in the barn. I didn’t come up here, though. My dad never came up here. My parents used the attic for storage and my mom would come up and journal. She said she found it peaceful, like she could get her thoughts out easier. I think the place is creepy and full of cobwebs and dust.
“I didn’t realize how obsessed your parents were with you, Popps,” Jaxson says, picking up an old photo album. He flicks through the pages. “Poppy, age four. They literally took a photo of you every day.” He laughs.
“I was photogenic.” I shrug.
“You still are,” he says.
“Aw, thanks, Jax. Careful, I might mistake that as you getting soft on me,” I warn him.
He closes the album and sets it back in the box. “What are we looking for?”
“Like I said, my mom used to journal up here. She kept her notebooks in a white wooden box. It has to still be up here somewhere,” I tell him.
