Page 52 of Degrading Her

Luckily, we made it through. As I killed the engine, Maise turned to me. “You know you’re the first person I’ve invited here?”

“Bambi?” I asked.

“I didn’tinviteher,” she smirked. “That girl invited herself.”

That seemed like Bambi. But the same could be saidabout me. I had spent the last day begging Maisie to let me see the place, claiming stuff like—it would get our parents off of my back, it would ease my conscience, that I needed a break from graduate school and the library. But in reality, I wanted to understand Sawyer. I wasn’t even sure if it had to do with our game or the library anymore. I just wanted to knowhimbetter. To find something that told me if my attraction was either good or bad, so that I could find a way to eradicate it. Because I needed to put the library first. It was my only dream.

Because I didn’t understand my attraction to Sawyer, but I couldn’t deny it either.

A classic barn, complete with red paint and white beams, was across from the parking area, as well as some smaller, similarly painted storage sheds.

“You got married here?” I asked.

“It was really pretty,” she said. I had seen the pictures, though we had both lied to our parents about it. Maisie had told them it was a small affair at the courthouse, since she felt guilty about not inviting them. But I understood. At that point, when she got married, we hadn’t spoken to Maisie in five years. Why would she have invited us?

Men in long-sleeved shirts and jeans traveled gruffly across the property, bowing their heads at us as they led the cows and calves in and out of the barns. An owl hooted from the trees. Down a way, there was a huge house: two stories with yellow paint and white trim. Bright and fiery, like Maisie.

My jaw dropped. “This is your place?”

“Wilder had another house, but we’re using it for supplemental housing,” she explained. “This house, we designed together. And I decorated the inside. It was fun.”

And it was so much more grown-up than I expectedfrom Maisie. Rugs over the hard floor in some rooms, lush and clean carpet in other areas, a quaint kitchen with a round table, a metal dish drying rack, and a turquoise toaster on the counter, a flash of bright color amid natural, muted tones. I guess I still saw the teenager in fishnets and jelly bracelets, not the married adult in her mid-twenties.

Wilder bounded downstairs. “Fiona,” he said, offering his hand.

I shook it. “Thanks for having me.”

“We’re having steak,” he said.

“Sounds great. Is your brother joining us?”

Wilder’s eyes flicked to Maisie. “No,” he said.

“I thought this was supposed to be a family night dinner?” I asked.

“That was a few nights ago,” Maisie said.

“I missed out then,” I said, trying not to let the disappointment shine through.

“Well, honestly, we—” she shrugged, “—okay,Iwould like to do them, with all four of us, regularly. So maybe we can make it a thing?”

“I’d love that,” I said. And I meant it honestly, even if Sawyer wasn’t in the picture. It was good to be in my sister’s life again.

We drove in a side-by-side UTV through the property together, Wilder driving while Maisie sat beside him, orchestrating the details of the tour. I sat in the back row.

“That’s the main house,” Maisie explained. “Mostly used for housing the ranchers. And there’s the Calving Barn.”

“Do you have any baby calves right now?” She nodded. “How many?”

“Twenty or so, I think.”

Something didn’t add up. Twenty baby cows seemed likea lot, but it seemed like they had three to six men for every cow and calf pair. I didn’t know much about livestock farming, but it seemed excessive.

“Housing for how many men?” I asked.

“Over sixty,” Wilder said.

I let out a gasp, and Maisie quickly jumped in: “There’s a lot to do here.”

---