Page 93 of Roped in Rawhide

“Absolutely not,” he barks.

“You might want to rephrase that.” My eyebrows are at my hairline. “This involves me. I should be there to hear what he has to share.”

“No.”

“Yes,” I argue.

“You’re not coming, Wildflower. I won’t put you in danger.”

“And what do you call this? My heart hurts just thinking about you facing that man because of me.” I slap a hand to my chest, covering the erratic pulse. “If you need to see your dad for closure or whatever, that’s one thing. I could maybe understand it. But don’t let him use me against you.”

The fight whooshes out of him. Chance slumps his shoulders, reminding me of his much younger self. “Okay.”

I squint at him. “Okay?”

His expression softens, but there are still sharp edges. “I won’t go.”

“Even if Jimmy swears up and down that he has factual information about my accident?”

“I won’t go,” he repeats.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“That sounds like a you problem.” The sullen exterior cracks, exposing my goofy boyfriend underneath. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

My eyes narrow at the gleam in his green eyes. I hook my index finger around his, squeezing with purpose. “Promise?”

“Promise, baby.” But Chance’s grin leaves something left unsaid.

Deadbeat Dad: Do you have the money?

Me: I will once you give me the name.

Deadbeat Dad: I’m not telling you until the money is in my account.

Me: That’s not what we agreed on.

Deadbeat Dad: Changed my mind. I want the money first.

Me: I want the name first or the deal is off.

Deadbeat Dad: Be there in ten minutes. Don’t fuck with me, kid.

I stare at the message while my heart lurches into a gallop. It’s actually happening. My dad is on his way to my house.

The wheels were set in motion once Gemma and I got home three days ago. She has no idea, but that’s for the best. I’ll gladly beg for her forgiveness once this is all behind us.

It took four hours and help from a few of Frankie’s former friends to track down my dad’s current number. My brother’s wife gave up her life of crime, but her connections still come in handy. I’m counting on one of them in particular to come through for me.

With what little time I have to spare, I swipe over to my contacts and tap on Byron’s name. My boots kick up gravel while I pace in front of the barn. Each unanswered ring widens the pit in my stomach. He picks up just before his voicemail switches on.

“Yeah?”

“Is everything ready?” My teeth gnaw on my inner cheek.

“I don’t understand why you’re jumping through his hoops,” Byron sighs. “Dad doesn’t deserve a moment of your time.”

“We’ve been over this. Just… be ready for my call. This has to go smoothly and I’m in a hurry.”