Page 11 of Plus-Size Pregnant Mate

"Are broke," Ayden said. "It seems the accounts have been drained over the past year until about three weeks ago. They got a huge sum of money put into their account just a couple days after shutting the doors at her father’s accounting business."

"I want to see that," I said, partly because I couldn't believe it. Ashley's family came from money. They had enough to have their grandchildren living comfortably. Even if her mother had a lot of bills for her medical stuff they still should have plenty of money.

"I'll send them. Is there anything you need me to get before I head down with the groceries?"

I looked over at the list. "Yeah, I'll send you a list of a few other things. If you wouldn't mind picking them up, she's made a few requests."

I ended the call, and Ayden sent a message about the bank statement. I was shocked because, as he said, her folks had little money until three weeks ago.

My stomach clenched as the pieces started to click together. Her folks sold Ashley's hand in marriage—likely to the highest bidder. The thought angered me.

A few hours later, I heard a vehicle coming down the road. I was taking the trash out, and when I turned, I could see Ashley had turned from the stove. Her eyes widened when she spotted a vehicle, and I could see the glimmer of hope in her eyes.

I knew she was thinking it was her folks. Maybe they were coming to take her home, but as soon as the vehicle's door opened, I watched her eyes darken. The hope vanished.

I frowned, wishing she had a better relationship with her folks. If she had, I wouldn't be doing any of this.

Ayden came with bags, which caught her attention. But I think what made her eyes widen was the large sketchbook under his armpit.

"Hey," he said, waving at me. "I got everything you wanted."

I walked away from the house closer to Ayden's truck. I took the bags, finding Ashley had more than enough to last her a couple of weeks if we were stuck up here longer.

"The groceries are in there. Are you sure you guys didn't need any meals? Wendy was willing to prep meals for you guys."

I shook my head. "Cooking gives her something to do besides glare at me. If you guys took that away, I have a feeling I’d wake up with a fork in my neck."

Ayden raised an eyebrow at me before he glanced over my shoulder. I could hear the door opening, but she wasn't coming any closer. "Have you told her?" he asked, looking back at me.

I shook my head. "No, not until we know everything. I…” I couldn't even think of the words, let alone say them. The thought that her folks sold her hand in marriage was wrong. And knowing they did it to fund their lifestyle only made it worse.

"Am I correct?" I asked. "Did you find calls or messages about it?"

Ayden nodded his head. "Yeah, we found a contract. They sold her. The problem is Logan is aware that you took her, and he's making threats. I don't think it's safe for either of you to come back right now."

I had a feeling this might happen.

"I know you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, but I'm not taking any chances. Until this has calmed down and I get a meeting with him, you're both staying here."

I swallowed, knowing it was best. Logan was dangerous, and he'd hurt his past wives. What was stopping him from hurting someone whom he hadn't even married?

"Keep your eyes on the lookout," Ayden said. "I'll call you. Let me know if anything happens."

Ayden turned, hopped back into his truck, and headed back down the road. I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face, not looking forward to telling Ashley the truth.

Chapter 7 - Ashley

I wipe my hands onto my shorts and stare at the art piece. It's of a woman dancing by a river, all done in charcoal. It took me all day, but it wasn't like I had anything else to do with my time.

I glanced around the living room, which I'd just turned into my art space. I had watercolors lying over the living room couch, along with pieces of animals and birds I'd watched from sitting outside. There was a large canvas of intertwining plants that I drew over the fireplace drying.

My art supplies littered the ground around me, almost like a wall. It kept Owen at arm's length, but it didn't stop us from arguing, which seemed like all we'd done.

We argued over every little thing. We argued when we ran out of bread, when the rain turned into a thunderstorm, and when I couldn't sleep. We fought over the space, and now I was just jittery from being stuck inside the cabin for over two weeks.

I took a deep breath, trying to shake over my discomfort, but it wasn't working. I'd been cooped up inside too long now.

I could hear footsteps coming down the hallway, knowing it was Owen. He probably got off another one of his phone calls—the second one of the day, and it was only ten.

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