Chapter 7 #3
“You’re an asshole,” she complained, taking a piece of toast and chomping down on it in a deliberately obnoxious way to prove some point before throwing it back on the plate.
She jerked the jacket from my hand and pulled her purse from the booth before sauntering away from me, her heels clicking on the floor and causing eyes to raise from the other booths.
“It was nice meeting you, Olivia,” Jessie said with a wave.
Olivia’s step faltered, and I watched her face, seeing the furrowed brow, the confused expression.
Realization caused me to grab the booth to steady myself.
She didn’t know kindness anymore. Didn’t know how to respond to it or accept it.
My chest tightened, an uneasy sensation stretching it.
What had happened to bring her to this point?
To harden her this much. To erase the free spirit I’d fought to cultivate.
She turned her head and forced a smile before continuing out of the diner. That protective instinct I’d always had with her reared its head. I wanted to bash in the face of whoever had done that to her. I followed her, nodding to Jessie.
“Don’t be too hard on her, Hudson,” she said. “I’ve seen pain, and she wears it well.”
I considered her words, knowing she did indeed know it. She’d lost both parents and her brother in a tragic accident when she was a teenager.
“Carrying that kind of burden wears on you.”
I gave her another nod, put my hat on, and followed Olivia out while I considered Jessie’s words.
Had her mother’s death done this to her?
It had changed her. The shadow of it seeping in during the last years we were together, but I’d always been able to lift it from her.
There was something deeper, something that had taken root long before.
That same thing that had left her broken every time she returned to school.
As she tapped her foot and complained about how slow I was, I put the thought away, knowing she wouldn’t be in my life long enough to dig it out of her.
“This is where you want me to buy clothes?”
That voice was grating on my nerves. Demanding and whiny. I pulled the door open to Sheila’s Boutique, a store I’d only been in once, even though I’d known Sheila and her husband for years.
“Hudson! Not the place I’d expect to see you,” Sheila said, greeting me.
Olivia stopped at a rack of shirts, picking up one with a low neckline and no sleeves, a look of pure disgust on her face.
I couldn’t stop picturing her in it, thinking of how it would leave her stomach showing and push her breasts up perfectly.
I forced my sight from it before I had to deal with another annoying bulge in my pants.
“Is that a Vala Bryn dress?” Sheila said, walking from behind the counter toward Olivia, who put the shirt back and looked up with a deer in headlights expression splashed on her face.
“Of course,” she said, as if it were a normal thing.
Sheila came up to her, admiring the dress. “Stunning. I didn’t know she sold her dresses off the rack.”
Olivia’s head went back like Sheila had smacked her with a pan. “She doesn’t. This is a one of a kind she designed for me.”
The way Sheila let out a strangled whoop was like those girls who scream at the boy bands. I covered my mouth to stifle my laugh.
“Oh my. Can I?” she asked, pointing to the skirt.
“Sure,” Olivia said with some hesitation. “It’s dirty from farm gunk.” She threw me a look. “It will be a miracle if the cleaners can get it back to its original form.”
“You’re the one who wore a fancy dress to a ranch,” I said, trying to emphasize the word.
“Fancy dress?” Sheila said, rubbing the material between her fingers. “Vala Bryn is one of the best designers in the world. Her dresses go for thousands, and her runway shows sell out.”
“They’re fantastic,” Olivia said, walking around the store and appraising the selections.
“You’ve been?” Sheila needed to stop feeding into the obnoxious side of Olivia before I had to deal with her complaining about the lack of lattes again.
“Yes. Her selection at the New York show was to die for. I bought three of them. I didn’t want to be selfish and snag them all.”
Sheila’s mouth dropped as I mumbled, “Of course you didn’t.” I walked over to a rack of jeans. “What size are you, Olivia?”
“Why?”
“Because we’re here to get you clothes that won’t have you complaining about the cleaning bill—”
“I don’t complain about bills.”
“—when you’re helping me lock down the ranch before the storm rolls in tomorrow.”
“Oh, that storm. It looks like it’s going to be a doozy.” Sheila looked Olivia up and down before saying, “Size six?”
Olivia gave her an impressed look before nodding.
“Anyway, Stan says it’s taken a turn and will hit us directly. I’m just glad we’re not in the bottom of the valley. The river will surely rise.”