CHAPTER 46
Victoria
I sit on the edge of my bed, taking inventory.
I think it's safe to say I'm hungover. Not because I had too much to drink last night—because I didn’t have a drop—but because I had way too much Cal MacLaine.
Too much sex. Too much confusion. Too many moods. And very little communication.
I’m grieving him this morning, because I know he pulled away from me last night, completely, but I don’t know why. We were saying goodbye to each other in the most callous way possible.
It’s left me feeling off balance. Everything feels all wrong.
I stand and groan. I check the clock and see that it’s after noon.
Every muscle in my body hurts, which isn’t exactly a shocker.
We packed in more sex in the hours between sunset and sunrise than most people manage in a month.
On top of that, I got very little rest. Once I left Cal and came back here to my guest room, I tossed and turned.
I lay wide-eyed and wide awake, watching the sun get brighter in the sky.
I could not get my mind to stop spinning, to stop thinking of what had passed between us.
I’ve been listening for any sign that he’s here in the house, such as cabinets slamming or feet stomping. But it’s silent. I’m fairly certain I heard the back door open and close a few hours ago, but I can’t be too careful. I want nothing to do with Cal today.
What I need is time and space to figure out my next steps.
I listen again and place my hand on the guest bedroom doorknob. I let the door open a crack. Immediately, I’m attacked, savagely mauled by two hairy and drooling beasts who must have been lying in wait in the hallway.
“Off! Get down!” Their combined weight is shoving me back into the room. “Come on, now, have mercy on me, ladies. I need coffee.”
They’re kind enough to jump down. They then follow at my heels as I hobble my way to the empty kitchen.
Just then it hits me how in just a few days, I’ve gone from being afraid of these two dogs to considering them my squad.
It still cracks me up that the two sweetest, most docile furballs on the planet are named after the most badass women warriors in movie history.
“Sit.” I distribute treats from the countertop jar, and then I get busy with making coffee. And some toast while I’m at it.
As the elixir of life drips into the pot, I lean my elbows on the sink and stare out the back window.
The ranch is running at full speed. Summer is in one of the smaller exercise pens, working her magic with a young horse.
I really like her—she’s smart and insightful and fun, all packed into a goth princess package. I’ll miss her when I go.
I’ll miss all the kind, hard-working people on Yosemite Ranch.
And boy will I miss Jasmine and Jamie and Phyllis and the remarkable MacLaine men—diplomatic Finn, nerdy Declan, hard-ass Evander, and the surly Special K.
If “silently grumpy” was an Olympic sport, I can picture Kevin and Cal duking it out for the gold.
I’ll miss this place. The smell of the desert. The ragged mountains, sparkling rivers, and pink sunsets. The lush embrace of the forests. I’ll miss it so much it will hurt.
I pour my cup and add some coconut cream, then throw the toast on a plate.
I carry everything back to my room, where I nibble and sip while checking my emails.
The girls join me, and before I can stop them, they jump onto the duvet and curl into two large, hairy donuts.
Hey, it’s not my duvet or my rules. Sarah and Ripley are beloved, permanent residents here at Chez MacLaine, and they do whatever they can get away with.
I’m just a visitor who’s overstayed her welcome.
I take a long, hot shower, sighing as the water soothes my muscles.
I stretch, roll my head, and try my best not to let the events of last night play like a film in my brain.
Cal was rough and demanding. I was greedy and wanted everything he could give me and then some.
It’s like the both of us had out-of-body experiences, as if we were blindly grasping, hanging on for dear life.
It was desperate and sad. And that sadness clings to me in the light of day, no matter how much I scrub.
I get dressed, refresh my coffee and finish my toast, and decide to call Millicent. Since I haven’t heard from my father after his initial explosion of rage, I plan to ask Millicent for an update, details on the mood since I decided to pull out of the Sulfur Springs deal.
The instant I pick up my phone, it rings in my hand.
“Weird. I was just calling you.”
“Not weird. I have ESP and possibly clairvoyance and telepathy. Is this a good time? You sound worn out.”
The psychic shit wouldn’t surprise me at all. In fact, it would explain a lot where my assistant is concerned because she picks up on everything. I’ve told her more than once that she would make a great interrogator.
“I’m fine,” I manage.
“Good. I need to tell you something.”
The change in her tone causes my lips to freeze in mid-coffee-sip. I place the mug on the bedside table. “Did he flip out on you? If he did, I’m so sorry, Millicent. I knew he’d be pissed, but I really hope he didn’t force you to sit there and witness his temper tantrum. He said he might fire me.”
“Whose tantrum?”
“My father! I thought—”
“Victoria, this isn’t about your dad. But please don’t freak out.”
“Too late.” Seriously, telling someone not to freak out is almost a guarantee that they will. “What’s going on?”
“First, let me assure you that I’m fine—”
“Oh, shit.”
“—but last night, two guys came to my house. They started questioning me about you, the Sulfur Springs acquisition plans, and anything you might have mentioned to me about your role in those BLM contract negotiations.”
“Excuse me?” I jump up, laptop flying across the bed, and my heart is in my throat by the time my feet hit the floor. “What do you mean questioning? Who were these guys?”
“They weren’t the FBI or securities and exchange or treasury or anything, if that’s what you mean. They were private investigators. They wouldn’t say, but I think it was pretty clear that the MacLaines hired them to poke around.”
I use my free hand to rub my forehead. So the MacLaines, or one MacLaine in particular—the one I seriously thought I might be falling in love with before last night’s bullshit—hired private investigators?
To look into me? My work on the contract renewal? And they harassed my assistant?
Am I a complete and utter idiot, or what? I’m a silly fool. I know better than to ever mix business with pleasure. That’s just bad business. And when the dust clears, there’s pain instead of pleasure.
I’ve been there before.
“Victoria? Hello? Are you still there?”