Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
You have me.
For how long?
For as long as you need.
Forever?
“Sweet dreams, Indie girl.”
I bury my nose in his shirt, inhaling deeply one more time before whispering, “Good night.”
11
THERE GOES MY HEART
“Since Jolene is home, we’re having dinner tomorrow night. Our first …” Milo keeps a close eye on his men herding the cattle into the tractor trailers. Even on Thanksgiving, Fletcher’s men work in the morning.
I rest my arms on the fence next to him so our elbows touch. “Your first date?”
Without taking his eyes off the cattle, he nods.
“This is unreal,” I say. “You’ve been in the same room with her a handful of times. You’ve never gone on an actual date. You’ve never held her hand or kissed her. You didn’t propose. Yet … just like that … you’re getting married in seven months. Make me understand what Fletcher did to deserve this level of loyalty and gratitude from you. Did he give you a kidney? Part of his liver? This can’t be loyalty because he took care of you after your brother went to prison. It … it doesn’t make sense.” My words spill out, each one sounding a little more desperate.
Just the mention of Jolene’s name makes my stomach twist. I don’t want to see her. And imagining her and Milo going on a date crushes everything inside me.
“Indiana, this is not a surprise. This has always been part of the deal. You know your freedom has a price. Well, so does mine.”
I turn, crossing my arms and resting my backside against the fence so I’m facing the opposite direction as Milo.
The cattle protest, their hooves clapping the ramps while the men whistle to get each other's attention.
The breeze carries the pungent scent of the cow piles.
“Don’t kiss her, Milo. Don’t let her into your bed. Don’t smile at her. Don’t … just … don’t.” Emotions burn behind my eyes, but I keep my composure. I keep my head above water, but just barely.
“She’s home for a week. Then she’ll go back to school. She’ll come home again for Christmas, but then she won’t return until after graduation.”
I grunt. “Did you know our graduations are on the same weekend? Whose graduation will you be attending?”
Milo doesn’t answer.
I turn my head, but he’s a statue with a cowboy hat shading his solemn face. He can’t make this go away by ignoring it. And I can’t stop it by resisting the events that will take place whether I accept them or not.
I hate it all.
“Milo?” one of the workers calls him from the trailer.
He pushes off the fence, and I take off toward the house.
“Indie?”
Nope. I can’t look at him. I can’t speak. And I’m done listening to the painful truth. If he can’t help me understand, then I don’t want to listen to him.
“Indiana …” Jolene squeals when she and Pauline spill into the foyer with their designer luggage and overbearing perfume.
My posture jerks to attention like a good girl, like I don’t have a choice. Fletcher’s made it clear that I don’t have a choice. He owns my car, my phone, and my whole fucking life.
For now …
I stiffen when Jolene pulls me in for an awkward embrace. Why is she hugging me? Why is she smiling like she’s happy to see me?
“Listen, honey …” she pulls back, keeping me at arm’s length.
Honey? Why does her term of endearment sound so condescending?
“I don’t have room for you to be a bridesmaid, but I’m making you my personal attendant. How does that sound?”
It sounds like I should take a bus to anywhere but here before the wedding.
Fletcher clears his throat, shooting me a stern look while he helps them with their bags.
I smile on cue. He knows Jolene and I have never been friends. He knew it when Ruthie was alive. Ruthie and Fletcher didn’t argue often, but her protecting me against Jolene’s vileness brought out the fighter in her.
If Jolene took a breath to really look at me, she’d see the confusion on my face. How can you marry a man you don’t love?
“What time are your dinner reservations tomorrow?” Pauline asks Jolene.
“I made them for six,” Fletcher says as everyone funnels toward the dining room for Thanksgiving dinner. Two of Fletcher and Pauline’s cousins have joined us, along with their wives.
“Come on,” Jolene says, retreating a few steps and grabbing my wrist. “I feel like we left things on a bad note. I don’t even remember what all the fuss was about.” She pulls me toward the table. “Silly childish stuff, I suppose. After dinner, I want to show you the fabric swatches for my dress.” Her words barely register. They’re an echo, like a weird dream.
No. This is a nightmare.
She’s not being nice. She’s torturing me under the guise of a truce. Jolene is rubbing this in my face. The wedding. The inevitable inheritance. The attention. And she’s claimed me as her personal attendant—that’s code for I’ve been deemed worthy of waiting on her hand and foot. Like Cinderella, but I don’t think there’s a glass slipper in my future.