Page 40 of Untamed
Honestly, he is. The only reason I’m here is because it benefits him. There might be someone physically at my side, but everything is the same as it’s been since my mom died.
I’m on my own. Completely. Totally. Utterly.
Alone.
13
Tucker
Ruth looks like she’s about to pass out. Two seconds away from collapsing to the floor as she stares down at the phone in her hand like she’s seen a ghost.
Stepping toward her, I hook one arm around her waist—just in case my assessment of the situation is correct—then carefully extricate the phone from her hand with the other. Because I’m a nosy fucker, and because as her future fake fiancé it’s at least somewhat my responsibility to keep her safe, I look down at the name displayed. It seems familiar, but I can’t quite place where I’ve heard it before.
It stops ringing as the call is sent to voicemail, and I shove it in my pocket before focusing all my attention on the pale, trembling woman next to me.
“Come on, Ruthless.” I try to move her toward the great room. “I think it’s time for us to have a talk.”
I don’t know how much she’s going to be willing to tell me, but I need something from her. Just a tiny clue about how the name on the phone connects with the man who left a threatening message on her door this morning.
Because I’m sure it does.
It feels so fucking long ago already. She showed up on my doorstep barely over three days ago and that’s fucking with my head a little. How has so much happened in such a short period of time?
Ruth seems to struggle to get her limbs moving, and she’s wobbly enough I’m not confident she won’t face-plant onto the hardwood. In a move that would horrify Trevor, I scoop her up, carrying her through the house. I’m surprised at the way she curls against me, her head dropping to my shoulder as her eyes slip closed.
I slowly lower to the couch, draping her across my lap as I smooth back her dark hair. Tucking my chin, I lower my eyes to her face, wracking my brain for somewhere to start this conversation.
Unfortunately, my lack of history developing any sort of an emotional connection with women has left me woefully ill-equipped. I still don’t regret it—a relationship simply isn’t worth the risk—but it would be nice to have at least a couple tools in my arsenal to make the process of creating our fake connection a little easier.
Since I can’t think of any careful or gentle or insightful ways to begin, I stick with simple. “What was that about?”
Ruth opens her eyes, expression grim as she sighs. “I’m just stupid is all.”
I know it’s a terrible reaction, but I can’t stop the bark of laughter that jumps out. “No.” I can’t stop laughing even though she’s glaring at me, because that’s the most ridiculous fucking claim I’ve ever heard. “You’re not.”
Ruth’s brows pinch together, anger blooming on her face. “Yes, I am.”
Are we really arguing about this?
The set of her jaw indicates that maybe we are. But I could possibly angle this in my favor.
As long as I survive.
“Okay. You’re stupid.” I don’t believe it for a second, but the shocked outrage on her face is cute enough to keep me going. “What did you do that was so stupid?”
I’ve got her riled up, and I’m hoping that makes her a little more free with her information. Because the more I learn about what’s going on in Ruth’s life, the more I’m coming to suspect my reasons for doing what we’re doing are petty as fuck, comparatively speaking.
“A man.”
She snaps the two words out like lashes. But they don’t cut, because I’m not shocked.
“Birdie’s dad?”
Disgust contorts her pretty features. “He’snother dad.”
My brows lift, because that would have explained everything.
But then Ruth elaborates. “He contributed genetic material. That’s it.”
