Page 13 of Drowning Her

I texted Bambi quickly:I’ve got a present for you.

The sun set across the horizon. Someone drove a UTV, circling the cattle, but it wasn’t him.

Wilder wasn’t on the property anymore. He had gone somewhere else. He had left without me.

At the edge of the reception area, Forrest was talking to another man in a suit. They both turned to me. “Hi,” I said, my cheeks hot. “Any idea where Wilder is? We’re supposed to have the first dance?—”

“Can’t even keep track of my boy on his wedding day,” Forrest said. “That’s my boy. Go on.” He pointed toward the field. “Find him. I can’t help you.”

“Mrs. Feldman?” the coordinator asked, coming up behind me. “We tried reaching his cell phone, but maybe if you called him, he might pick up for you.”

I didn’t have the nerve to admit that I didn’t have his phone number. I didn’t know how much she knew, and that embarrassed me. “I’m working on it,” I said.

At the head table, Sawyer was sitting in the middle, the rest of the chairs discarded. A woman sat across from him, her eyes wide and enraptured. His brother had to know something.

“Where is he?” I demanded.

Sawyer smirked like he was saying,I told you so,in his head.

“Working,” he said, like that was the only possible explanation. His earlier warnings about Wilder’s work came rushing back. What was so important that he left his own wedding reception? Was he angry now, taking out his rage during his job? Was work his only coping mechanism?

I didn’t have the answers, and I realized I might never get them. His family didn’t want to help me. His father only wanted me to screw his son, and his brother wanted to belittle me until I left of my own volition. But I had been through worse. The Feldman Farm was unknown territory, but that didn’t scare me.

And that itch, thatneedto know, bubbled inside of me. I had to get the upper hand, like Bambi said. I had to find out what would make Wilder Feldman leave his own wedding.

What was his secret?

Chapter 5

Wilder

Even the dayafter the wedding, I woke early, ready for work. And now, a few days had passed. I might have been married, but nothing had changed. Dawn crept in through the kitchen windows. I started a pot of coffee. The drip trickled at a steady pace, and I stared out into the dim morning light. Our family’s property was expansive enough that I had built my own house on our land, away from the main house but between both barns, with enough rooms to keep Maisie occupied and out of sight.

And it had stayed empty until now. I had never cared about luxury before. But out of simplicity, I had hired one of my father’s staff to fully furnish, decorate, and stock my house with my wife in mind. Now, there were decadent fur blankets, silk sleep masks, high-end electronics, other expensive garbage, and enough clothes to dress a stadium. I had also secretly installed a four-poster bed with hidden restraints, in case I needed to lock her there.

Yet Maisie followed me around the house like a duckling. She even brought up a honeymoon. ButI had never taken a vacation or a trip before. None of that appealed to me.

The coffee pot beeped. I poured a mug. My phone buzzed.

Chef is out,Kyle sent. I didn’t talk to many people, but Kyle took over my duties whenever a livestock order cut into my time. I respected him.

Dairy Barn?I replied.

A few seconds later, he sent:Yes, sir.

I sighed, not because I cared about the indulgences that my brother and father insisted upon, but because I was smart enough to know that when your employees were well fed, they worked harder. He had been a good chef.

A throat cleared. Maisie stood in tight jeans with manufactured rips in the thighs, a slim tank top on her shoulders. Had I paid for the outfit or had she brought it herself?

“Morning,” she said.

I said nothing. What was the point?

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Now, if it was aquestion,one that seemed necessary, I could answer.

“Work,” I said. Speaking of which, we needed a substitute chef while we hired another one.

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