Page 41 of Hard Wood Daddy

“Good girl.” He kisses me, lingering over the corner of my mouth, the scratchiness of his beard has become a comfort whether against my face or between my legs. “Good girl,” he mumbles in that low timbre again.

Then he’s gone. Back to storming down the mountain.

The confrontation with Lindsay should have left me on edge, but even with Rutger so distracted, I feel calm.

He says he’s taking care of things and I believe him…whatever those things are.

Being with Rutger is a lot like being in heaven. I’m safe, desired, and fulfilled, and it’s such a weird feeling. I’ve turned into someone who can walk into an art class with confidence wearing pretty dresses, letting everyone see my curves with my chin held high. And now that I’m living in his cabin with Frida, it feels like the start of something really beautiful. Eating breakfast in the morning together has me feeling like we’re a family.

My mom never once made me breakfast. I just figured that’s not something that mothers did until I got a little older and realized it wasn’t normal to go to school hungry.

Sitting at the table with Frida in my lap and Rutger’s hand curved inside my thigh makes me feel complete.

I didn’t know I could feel that way.

I wonder if I’ll feel even more whole when Rutger gets me pregnant.

I wonder if I’m pregnant already. I mean, he’s filled me with a bucket full of his ‘batter’ and worked all his little tricks to try to get it to stay inside me as long as physically possible.

Frida snaps me out of my thoughts by making a huge clatter by jumping on a stack of papers, knocking a pen off the table, and starts messing with the paperwork. She threatens to bite the edge of the stack.

I pick her up. “Don’t do that, silly.”

She was standing on something that looks an awful lot like a contract.

My curiosity is too strong.

I transfer Frida to the floor, then pick up the papers. There’s a couple different things in the stack. One of them is a really standard rental contract with the college that funds Lindsay’s art program. It’s simple. It affirms Rutger’s property rights. All he needs to do is sign it, and the art program can come back next summer.

This is why Lindsay was so testy with Rutger. She just needs him to sign this so she can keep her job. I have no idea why he wouldn’t do it. I’m no lawyer, but a quick scan doesn’t give me any bad vibes.

Underneath the lease is something a lot scarier.

It’s some kind of official legal document. Something about unpaid taxes and forfeiture, which makes sense of what he said earlier. A few bits are in total legalese, but from what I can see this hasn’t been a gradual thing. The value of the land increased because of a declared development, and county has been chasing Rutger for increased taxes.

After getting nowhere, they’ve engaged a collection company, and they’re threatening court procedures to seize the land. That’s if he doesn’t take the easy option and sell it, for a price that even I can see must be a fraction of its value.

Also, I’ve seen the area that’s supposedly been developed with luxury offices and vacation lodges. There’s nothing like that. It’s a wilderness.

And I can’t believe for a moment that Rutger would allow something like that to be built here. Growing up the way I did, I know a scam when I see one, and this whole thing stinks.

Rutger must be stressed because he’s trying to resist selling his property to these guys. It makes me angry, even if I can’t understand why he doesn’t just show the courts that there’s no development, and no plans for anything like that. Surely they could investigate and find out who filed documents saying otherwise?

Then I scan down to the end, and some things start to become clear.

The collection company is called Dominion Debt Recovery.

A subsidiary of Patron Holdings.

My ex is trying to buy the forest out from under Rutger.

A fist pounds on the door, and I jump, dropping the loose pages back onto the table. They scatter across its surface. “Lindsay?” I call hopefully. I don’t think any of the other people at camp would come up here.

The fist pounds again.

Knock, knock, knock.

I stand and open the door.

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