Page 10 of Bucked By Love

Elsbeth blinks. “Didn’t you hear? They died.”

“They…what? When?”

“Last night.” Mary-Kate scrunches her nose. “Disgusting affair. Driving drunk. Flew straight off the bridge.”

“Frankly, we’re lucky that was all that happened.” Violet’s hand flies to her chest. “They could’ve hurt other people! Actual, decent people! Imagine!”

But I can’t imagine. The girls chatter and their voices get drowned out by the horrible, terrible ringing in my ears.

I can’t imagine losing my family in one, swift blow.

I never had a mother. Rather—if I did, I never knew her. Any prodding from Daddy about her would result in a simple, punctuative statement: “Your mother was a low-life and you’re better off without her.”

Instead, I grew up with two fathers.

At least, that was how it seemed to me.

There was Daddy—biological father, tin man built of steel and stubbornness.

Then there was Arris Dagney, Daddy’s business partner. He was around often enough that he took on some of the parenting roles. “Daddy” and “Dagney” sounded similar enough yelled through the halls, so it wasn’t uncommon that I’d holler for one and end up with the other.

All that to say—it wasn’t that I was avoiding Riley.

I just didn’t know what to say.

They don’t exactly make “sorry your parents died because they were drunk behind the wheel and drove straight off a bridge” Hallmark cards.

So I get him the next best thing.

I pay Mary-Kate a visit. The Dagney estate is layered with silver streams of Christmas lace and holly. The whole place smells deliciously of elm.

Daddy never decorates for the holidays, so I enjoy the Christmas spirit, even if it does seem to consume every nook and cranny of the house.

Mary-Kate is splayed across the living room rug, tucked beside the Christmas tree like an overgrown present. She has Christmas cards scattered around her and she’s forced—forced!—to hand sign each and every one of them. I entertain her while she complains and whines and, eventually, excuse myself to use the bathroom.

I know the Dagney home like my own at this point. They have six bathrooms in this house, but I use the one upstairs, closest to the children’s rooms. On my way out, I peek into Loren’s room.

He’s not here. I nudge the door open.

It’s too clean for a teenager’s room. The cleaning lady comes regularly to pick the boy artifacts he leaves behind. His bed is made, his clothes are tucked in the hamper, and his books line the shelf evenly, with not a spine out of place.

He has trophies of his accomplishments on the shelf. It’s easy enough to find what I’m looking for.

On display is a silver belt buckle. It’s engraved with the image of a powerful steer. Embossed around the edges are the words “Roping Championship 2008.”

I snatch the buckle and tuck it into my back pocket. Just as I’m about to leave, however, I hear the click of the door.

My breath catches. Loren stands against the closed door, an ugly smile climbing his face.

“Claire, Claire,” he chides. “A Promise Sister should know better than to snoop.”

“Get out of my way,” I tell him.

When I go to leave, however, he steps in front of me. His breath is hot on my face. “If you want to be my girlfriend, you can just ask.”

I glare up at him. “Not if you were the last man on earth.”

He swoops in, lips puckered. My reaction is kneejerk. My fist swings out and makes contact with his face.

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