They sat for a moment. The silence was getting to Oliver, which had to be the only reason why he kept talking. Either that or the beer was actually starting to work and he just couldn’t feel it. “I asked her to marry me and not only did she not say yes, she said goodbye.” All that armor had been so locked in place that he still couldn’t tell if she would’ve said yes or not had circumstances been different.
If the FBI hadn’t shown up, would she still be here—or there or wherever he could have safely hidden her away? Or would she still have walked?
“Did she, now? In general, women like a nice proposal,” Milt managed to say without laughing.
Oliver drank some more. Had it been, though? A nice proposal, that was. He’d said...
If he’d thought it would help.
Shit.
“She said she wasn’t my problem to solve,” he admitted, feeling suddenly stupid.
“Ah,” Milt said again.
Oliver didn’t dignify that with a response.
But had he actually said those words to Renee? He’d been upset, yeah. Flash had blown Renee’s cover and Oliver had been frantic with worry about the best way to keep her safe but...
It hadn’t been a nice proposal. Hell, it’d barely qualified as such.
“Do you know,” Milt began, and for the first time in years, Oliver heard New York in his father’s voice, “what I would give to have another day with your mother?”
Oliver let that thought roll around his head as he finished his beer and got up to get another. “Everything,” he said when he settled back on the couch next to his father. “You’d give everything to have her back.”
“You’re damn right I would. The company, the rodeo, the lodge...” Milt cleared his throat and Oliver made sure not to look because he didn’t want to see his father wiping away tears. “Anything to have her back.”
“I’m sorry it’s not going to happen,” Oliver said. His mother’s death was a problem he’d never be able to fix.
“And you know why I’d give everything for her?”
Oliver did look at his dad then. “Because you love her.” There was no past tense about it.
“You’re damn right I do.” He stood, knocking back the last of his beer. “Herb Ritter’s in town and I’ve got to smooth his ruffled feathers. And don’t think I don’t know you gave Chloe those negotiations after I told you not to. But Oliver?”
Oliver unclenched his teeth. “What?”
His father stared down at him with love and worry in his eyes. “We aren’t your problem, either.” He put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “I know what you promised your mother, and she’d be right proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. But we can take care of ourselves.” He sighed. “We always could.”
Then he grabbed his hat and walked out of the condo, leaving Oliver alone with his thoughts.
He couldn’t function without Renee. He loved watching her try a new recipe and sharing in her success. Hell, he loved her failures, too—because they were always hilarious and only occasionally a hazard to home and health. He loved watching her grow and change with her pregnancy and he absolutely hated that she wasn’t next door, waiting to welcome him home with a kiss that became so much more.
Holy hell, he loved her. Scandal-ridden family, broke, pregnant with another man’s child—he loved Renee exactly as she was.
He hadn’t told her that. Instead of treating her like the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with...he’d treated her like a problem that he was responsible for solving.
Jesus, what had he done?
Because now she was thousands of miles away, facing lawyers and officers and, worse, her family without anyone to back her up while he sat here and got scolded by his father.
What the hell was wrong with him? She wasn’t the problem. He was.
He loved her.
That was worth risking everything.
* * *
“And have you had any other contact with anyone in your family?” the bored federal prosecutor asked.
Frankly, Renee was bored, too. She’d been sitting in this conference room for the last three hours, answering the same questions she’d answered a few days ago with the same answers, which were the same questions she’d answered a few months ago. She was pretty sure the prosecutor was wearing the same suit.
“The friend I stayed with in Texas spoke with Clint, but only to confirm that I had nothing to do with the scheme.”
That got the prosecutor’s attention. “He did?”
“Oliver Lawrence was a childhood friend. He runs Lawrence Energies. He wanted to make sure I was being honest.” Renee cleared her throat. It hurt to think of Oliver right now. “Trust but verify, right?” The prosecutor didn’t so much as blink and Renee felt that old fear of having done something wrong roil her stomach. “I did get permission to go.”
The prosecutor conferred with his secretary, who made notes as the prosecutor said, “Anything else?”
Renee unlocked her phone and called up the most recent text message from her mother. “I got this two days ago.” She handed the phone over because there was no way in hell she was going to read that message out loud.
Someone had got a shot of her at the rodeo. Renee had actually thought it wasn’t as bad as some of the paparazzi shots and she liked the way Chloe’s jeans had looked on her. But her mother had, of course, felt it necessary to remind Renee how fat and embarrassing she was—especially in those clothes. Sequins were against her mother’s rules, to say nothing of actual blue jeans. The horrors.
Renee hadn’t even finished reading it. She was a grown woman, an expectant mother. She did not have to let her mother into her life anymore. Her parents had never loved her—or Clint. She owed them nothing.
The secretary made more notes and Renee forwarded a screenshot to the lawyer’s email.
