Chapter 20
Desperate Times Call for Shirtless Measures
Wheeler
Jack is heading up to first class for dinner with Rose and her terrible fiancé when I’m hit by an especially violent bout of nausea.
Bile surges up my throat in a bitter-tasting gush of heat. I launch myself off the couch and make it to the powder room just in time to throw up the peppermint tea I’ve been sipping all afternoon.
“Oh, Jesus, sweetheart.” Duke’s somehow right behind me already. “You all right?”
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I nod. “I’ll be okay. This shit comes out of nowh—”
I retch. More puke.
I’m shaking, and oh Lord, Duke is pulling my hair out of my face and holding it in his hand as I continue to lose the contents of my stomach in the toilet bowl.
The force of my sickness pushes tears from my eyes. I’m shaking.
I’m also so, so embarrassed that I’m vomiting in front of Duke. The smell, the noises I’m making, the way my body convulses—it is literally the unsexiest thing on planet Earth.
Why, God, why?
But Duke, being the stellar human he is, just takes it in stride.
“I imagine this really, really sucks for you,” he practically coos while gently placing his free hand on the small of my back. “I’m so sorry. Let me know if you wanna rinse your mouth out with water. Sometimes that helps.”
I nod, too embarrassed—too tired—to do anything else.
Next thing I know, he’s turning on the sink. Keeping my hair in his hand in a kind of ponytail, he gently guides me to the water. He even goes so far as to cup his hand underneath the faucet, allowing me to drink from his palm like some wounded baby animal.
“I hate you seeing me like this.” I sound as miserable as I feel.
Duke chuckles softly. “Blue, this is nothing. Ever witnessed a five-hundred-pound bull having explosive diarrhea?”
“That happens?”
“I’ve seen it firsthand. You’re fine.” He shuts off the water and grabs the nearby towel to wipe my mouth. “Well, you’re not fine, clearly. But this don’t bother me one bit.”
Suddenly we’re face-to-face. His brows are pinched together, eyes full of concern.
“Promise?” I ask.
Those eyes stray to my forehead, my nose, my chin. Like he’s checking to make sure I’m not dying or something.
“I promise.”
I start to cry. The physical misery of this, the emotional turmoil, but also how good it feels to be looked at this way, cared for—it slams into me with the force of a freight train, and I can’t hold it in anymore.
I have never been more overwhelmed in my life. This is so bad but also so wonderful, and I just—none of it computes.
“Aw, Wheeler.” Duke does that thing where he pulls me into his chest, practically smothering me with his warmth and solidness and goodness.
The T-shirt he changed into after we got home smells like Tide detergent. Same kind Mom used when we were growing up.
It’s a small comfort but a comfort nonetheless.
I breathe in the scent and feel my heart rate slow as he cups the back of my head in his enormous hand.
He holds me. I let him.
“Tell me something,” he says after a beat.
“Yeah?”
“Is Haines going back to SMU?”
I nod, smearing snot all over Duke’s T-shirt. For a split second, I’m mortified, but then I remember that this is a cowboy, and he’s used to being dirty. He just said he’s not bothered by a mess.
He would care if I said something or pulled away. So I don’t.
I melt into him and say, “Yeah. He’s taking some classes there over the summer.”
“And Mollie’s sticking around the ranch for now.”
“As far as I know, yes.” Where is he going with this?
“Are your parents around to help you at all?”
“My parents.” I scoff. “I’m not going to say anything to them unless we decide to keep the baby.”
I feel him stiffen. “You’re not gonna tell your parents—”
“Well, maybe I’ll tell my mom. But I definitely won’t tell my dad. It’s easier this way, trust me.”
My head tilts back as Duke’s chest barrels out on an enormous inhale. “So you’re gonna be on your own here.”
“I have friends,” I say defensively, lifting my head to look at him.
He’s looking down at me, deep grooves in his forehead. “Don’t shoot me down right away, all right?”
“Duke—”
“I want you to come back to the ranch with me. Just…only until we figure out what to do. You’re sick, Blue. You gotta let someone take care of you, and that someone should be me and my family.”
Aaaannd now I’m literally weak in the knees. Great.
Just freaking great.
This guy is so freaking great.
“But work—”
“You do it at the ranch. You haven’t mentioned any trunk shows or meetings you have in the next couple weeks.”
My breath catches. “You really pay attention, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“I don’t know if I like it when you call me ma’am.”
“Yes, Blue, I do pay attention to you.” He lets go of my hair and slips that hand around my nape. “I’m not leaving you here alone. So either you invite me to stay in Dallas until we make a decision—”
“But your work—you can’t just—”
“Leave the ranch to take care of something important? Yes, I can. And I will.”
I flatten my hand on his chest. I feel his heart beating thickly, strongly, against the wall of muscle there. “Maybe we should just make the call then? Get this over with.”
“Are you ready?”
No.
I shake my head.
“Me neither,” he says softly. “Come home with me, Blue.”
My instinct is to say no to that too.
I can handle this on my own. I don’t need help. Chances are I’ll be heading to New Mexico sooner rather than later, and Duke doesn’t need to be with me for that. Then this whole thing will be over, and we can all move on with our lives.
But I just—God, he makes me feel so safe and seen and cared for. I don’t want to be alone right now.
I’m so sick of pushing people away. So sick of my bullshit. I learned early to be hyper-independent—to take care of my own needs so I didn’t inconvenience anyone or cause them to blow up—but now, that identity chafes.
It feels too tight. Too…stupid. Why am I wasting my time punishing myself this way?
“You should’ve been a lawyer.” I trail my fingertip over the nubby fabric of his T-shirt. “You’re really good at convincing me to do things.”
“That a yes?”
“That’s a yes.”
He falls asleep in my bed again. This time, I make sure to tuck him in.
____
Parking my Mini Cooper beside Duke’s truck, the breath leaves my lungs.
In front of us is the cutest fucking house I think I’ve ever seen.
Or would it be a cabin? It’s small, but it’s got a front porch that’s dominated by a massive limestone fireplace, rocking chairs drawn up to the hearth.
Shingled wooden siding and a tin roof give it a rustic edge.
A pair of farmhouse windows look out on a yard studded with soaring oaks.
My heart soars too when I see a field of bluebonnets off to our right.
Is this real? Or am I on a movie set?
I pop my trunk and open my door. Stepping out into the afternoon sunshine, I’m immediately hit by the smell of freshly cut grass. The air is warm, soft without a touch of humidity.
I feel the knot of tension in my gut loosen ever so slightly.
“Repairs just wrapped up. It’s the old foreman’s cottage,” Duke explains as he lifts my bags out of my trunk. “Been a dream of ours to restore it, but we never had the cash to do it until recently. Now—”
“It’s a dream that came true,” I breathe, clinging for dear life to the top of my car’s doorframe. “Duke, this is magical. Holy shit.”
Chuckling, he tucks the strap of my pink Vera Bradley bag over his shoulder. “It sure as hell ain’t Aspen—”
“It’s better.” I turn my head to look at him. “It’s you.”
He’s wearing a pair of gold-rimmed aviators. When he smiles, the world tilts beneath my feet. “It’s still a work in progress. Inside’s pretty spare. But yeah, I really like living here. Big improvement over the bunkhouse, that’s for damn sure.”
I hold the doorframe in a death grip. Is it possible to stay here and not fall head over heels in love with this man?
Is it possible to leave after, well, everything he’s done for me?
He pushes the front door open—no one locks up around here—and I follow him inside the house. It smells like new paint and Duke.
The furnishings are sparse but cozy looking. There’s a smaller version of the New House’s table in the kitchen, and a leather couch is paired with some upholstered chairs in the living room.
My eyes catch on the stacks and stacks and stacks of books lined up neatly on a far wall. Paperbacks. Textbooks. Recent bestsellers I recognize, all in hardback. Even some cookbooks are in there.
“You cook?” I ask.
“Those are my mom’s. After she died, Wyatt took all her books except the cookbooks.
No one really wanted those, so I took them.
Can’t say I’ve referenced them a ton over the years, but I like collecting books, so.
” He shrugs. “Seemed a shame to toss ’em.
I like having a piece of her around, ya know? ”
My heart twists. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to cook.”
“I’d say we could learn together, but I feel like that’d probably be a bad idea right now—making food that could potentially make you barf. How are you feeling, by the way?”
I turn away from the books. “I’m fine. Same as I was twenty minutes ago when you checked in.”
Duke’s powers of persuasion only went so far. He wanted me to drive with him in his truck back to Hartsville, telling me I had “pregnant passenger princess” privileges and that I should take advantage of them. Rest while you can, he’d said.
I wanted to have my own car, however—he offered me the use of his truck, but I can’t drive stick—so we ended up driving together but in separate cars from Dallas.
He called me every twenty minutes on the dot to check in on me.
And this was after he loaded me up with enough snacks and drinks to literally fill my passenger seat and all the cupholders in my car.
He’d be a good dad.
So different from my own. I grew up thinking all dads were mean because, well, mine was as mean as a snake.