Page 31 of Double Bucked

Is it just me, or does there seem to be an abnormal religion around pregnancy here?

Is this what I would’ve been if I’d stayed?

Mimosas and mothers’ brunches.

Then that terrible whisper of a thought?—

If I’d had a litter with Ransom, maybe I wouldn’t have minded.

Acid rises in my chest. The bitter taste of could’ve-beens.

I clutch James’s hand tighter. “I’m ready to leave.”

He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t ask questions. He lifts our hands, presses his lips to my knuckles, and then guides me out.

10

CLAIRE

But there will be no dress ripping at home because the champagne made me forget…

I scheduled a meeting with Daddy’s lawyer today.

The poor, short man is waiting outside the gate when we get back. He’s clutching a briefcase, the hot sun beating down on him and reddening the back of his neck.

I invite him in, and the three of us settle into Daddy’s office.

I wasn’t allowed in here much as a child. It was an off-limits room, unless Daddy was chastising me or training me. The wallpaper is a deep red that makes the whole room look splashed with blood. It’s lined with wooden bookshelves and Daddy’s impressive desk.

Fletcher Waters is calm and professional, but his face betrays him. He tinges pink every time he’s forced to give bad news. And right now, he’s beet red.

“What happened to your arm?” James asks.

Mr. Waters’s arm is tucked into a sling. It makes his work challenging as he attempts to shuffle papers against the glass coffee table with one hand.

“Golfing accident,” he replies. He goes back to badly aligning the papers. “I usually do this after the funeral, but?—”

“We have a plane to catch.”

“Right.”

The grandfather clock behind him ticks.

I always hated that clock.

It’s this hulking, golden monolith that stands in the corner of his office. The pendulum swings back and forth. Each time it swings, it clicks. Each click feels like a finger tapping against my skull.

Yet I can’t stop staring at it.

“Your father was a man of considerable wealth,” Mr. Waters says. “He made quite the legacy with the Preacher Ranch. His finances are…well…”

He’s fumbling through his words. I don’t have time for this.

“I don’t want his money,” I tell him flatly.

“Oh, well, that’s good news.” Waters removes a tissue from his bag to wipe the puddle of sweat on the back of his neck. “He didn’t leave you any.”

I blink. I feel James go stiff beside me. “What?”

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