He sighed, held up a hand. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
Nothing like a guilt trip.
“I know how you feel about Huck,” I said pointedly. “You’ve made it clear for years.” Ever since we first started dating when I was eighteen.
He said something under his breath, but I’d cut down the short hallway, done with our little chat.
I pushed some invoices aside on the desk and set my mug down.
“What are you doing here on a Saturday?” he asked, having followed.
I looked up at him, then pointed at the pile of papers he’d left for me. It was all completely unorganized because he knew I’d take care of it. “Payroll.”
His brows winged up. “It’s not like you to get behind.”
I frowned. Another insult. God, I had no idea why I kept working here. I’d been handling his books since eighth grade. I would walk here after school and sit at this desk and do my homework. The piles of paper had been bigger back then, and I’d figured out the accounting and organized his banking. They were literally books back then. Paper ledgers. I’d been the one who’d bought him computer software when I was eighteen. The one who used it. When I’d gone to college, he’d save months of bookkeeping for my return because he didn’t like the computer.
It had been the past two years I’d been back that I’d expected a shift. I’d returned a college graduate. A certified accountant. I’d even worked part-time at a repair shop in Bozeman. I’d hoped to spend my days out in the bay, driving the tow truck. Instead I fell into the bookkeeping and accounting business. I continued to work for him and ensured I paid myself for the effort even though I took on my own clients. Real clients.
Around here I also tackled customers, at least on the front end. Ordering. Everything that kept the business afloat except the actual repairs.
I could do that too, but Dad had been adamant I keep my hands clean. Literally.
I wanted to take over, but it hadn’t happened yet. All of a sudden I was starting to see it probably wasn’t going to either. My father wasn’t going to change. The way he was still talking about Huck proved that.
“Roy didn’t show up yesterday,” I replied. “You weren’t back. Kale Bradford ran his truck off the road. Graham called me, and I towed it in.” I thumbed over my shoulder, indicating the back of the shop. “It’s in the lot. I call it totaled since the front axle’s bent.”
“I’d fire Roy if he wasn’t so talented beneath the hood. Hard to find someone with that kind of talent.”
“I can do that work,” I said. Again. My father didn’t even seem to care. All he had to do was retire and enjoy his motorcycle and I’d take over.
He waved me off, then left, grumbling some more.
I powered up my computer as I fumed. He hadn’t thanked me for doing two people’s jobs and coming in on a Saturday.
I sat back in my chair, grabbed my coffee. I needed to stand up to my dad, tell him it was time I took over the entire business. Made it mine. Made changes. Made it grow. He’d been stringing me along, and I’d let him.
Maybe it was seeing Huck that had stirred up my mood. Reminded me of what I’d once had. My old dreams. Plans.
Those had died, though, along with the baby Huck and I had made.
I’d punished Huck. But what had it done for me? Had it made my heart hurt any less? The loss smaller? It hadn’t done a thing because I hadn’t. Huck had made something of himself, but I hadn’t. I was behind this stupid desk, and Huck still wasn’t mine.
7
HUCK
Saturday Night
“One more, Daddy. Please?”
Claire was tucked in beneath my arm on the couch, but she began to wiggle, eager for another story. It was eight and her bedtime.
“Done your routine?” I asked even though I knew.
She nodded, her hair damp and brushed. It was the same wheat-blonde color my hair had been at that age. Even though there wasn’t a drop of my blood in her, she was mine whether we looked similar or not.
“I bathed, brushed, and we’re doing the books. I don’t want to go to bed yet. One more.”
Our routine was something my mother had invented for me and my brothers when we were little. Bath, brush, books, bed.
Alice had seen to the first two, and Claire had hunted me down with a pile of books tucked under her arm.
“All right,” I pretend grumbled. “One more.” She pulled her favorite from the stack and held it out. “Do you think the bear ever finds his missing button?” I asked.
She looked up at me and giggled. “You know what happens, Daddy. We’ve read this one hundreds of times.”
“Then why are we reading it again?”
She wiggled some more and settled in closer, then flipped open to the first page. “Because I like to see him talking to the bird. They’re best friends like me and Lizzie.”
I started the book, but Claire set her hand over the page so I couldn’t keep going.
“Daddy, you said you were working on getting me a mommy.”
I sighed, stroked her head. Around lunchtime, Kelsey, one of Claire’s preschool teachers, had come to the ranch. I hadn’t realized it when Thatcher and I had watched Sawyer fireman carry her out of the auditorium, but she’d been the one to buy him. It had also been the woman to knee him in the balls the other day. Sawyer had it bad if he was still into her after recovering with a bag of frozen peas.
I wasn’t the one to talk. Not now. Sarah had stripped me down, got my motor running, and left me handcuffed to my bed.
Claire had wanted Kelsey to have bought me instead of
