Page 34 of Mating Theory
High-pitched squealing tells me that it’s feeding time.
I catch my sister as she’s coming out of the pigpen. There are at least six Mayfair bastards in Tanglewood—men with that inherited anger and blue eyes. Whitney’s the only girl that we know about. She came to live on the ranch a few years ago. A straw hat sits on her head, ready to shield her freckles when the sun comes out. “She leave?” she asks.
“Did who leave?”
A snort. She heads back to the barn, and I follow at a slower pace, feeling like a lazy bum. The fact that I pay Whitney well doesn’t make it any better. “You’ve been holed up at the house with someone.”
I watch as she prepares the large bottle for the calf. “Someone underweight?”
Sometimes a calf needs to supplement nursing with the bottle. “Chess won’t tolerate it.”
“Hell. Let me talk to her.” Chess is a finicky cow, but I can get her to nurse. She’ll kick and bite, until I stroke her gently, until I coax her to let the calf drink. She’s got the milk already. It’ll make her feel better to let it go.
“You were busy with your guest, and I figured that was fine, considering the timing. Besides, it won’t hurt the calf to drink from the bottle.”
“Give me a minute. I’ll get her out of the stall and—”
“Don’t.” Those blue eyes flash, a mirror image of mine. “Not everyone wants to be a mom, Sutton. You should know that as well as anyone. So don’t bother convincing her of anything.”
I wait while Whitney fills the bottle and puts on a large nipple. There’s formula, if we needed it, but Chess has never minded humans handling her. It’s the calves she minds.
When we get to the pen I corral the calf myself. It’s my way of saying sorry for whatever the hell I did to piss off Whitney. The calf vibrates in my hold, whether from excitement or fear, I don’t know. “Shhhh,” I say, making the same sounds I’d make for Chess. I run one hand along her flank. “You’re okay.”
Whitney doesn’t meet my eyes as she bottle-feeds.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re ornery?”
That upturned nose and wide eyes make her look young, even if her hands are chapped from hard work. She looks as young as she did when we were both in grade school. She had a crush on me, back then. Until someone finally clued her in that we were most likely step-siblings. Then she got so embarrassed she didn’t speak to me for a year. We reconnected as adults, and she takes to the horses as well as me.
“I’m not jealous,” she finally says.
“Well. Okay then.”
“I’m wondering about this girl, though. If she knows that you’re… unavailable.”
“You mean, does she know I’m in love with someone else?” Two other people, to be exact. Most people don’t know about Christopher, though. Only Harper. “She knows. She came to the wedding with me.”
“It’s still fucked up that he asked you to be his best man.”
“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” Because Ashleigh was with me. She was like my guardian angel, appearing when I needed her and then disappearing. Gone, gone, gone. So it’s just my bad luck that I didn’t stop needing her when she left.
Chapter Nineteen
Sutton
The next morning I find myself getting dressed the way I used to—in a suit. I head into the small offices of Mayfair Building Co, where I busted my ass on construction projects. That was before I met Christopher. Before I partnered with him and fell in love.
Our joint company, Bardot and Mayfair, had slick offices in a high-rise. It’s now empty. Winning Harper meant more than just a stumble in our friendship. He didn’t want to go to work every day with the man she’d fucked—and maybe loved, for half a second there.
Christopher went to work on a hotel that we’d planned to build together.
He’s been working, while I’ve been drinking and fucking.
For some reason, it seems that today, the day after Ashleigh left me, that’s going to change. A stack of mail piles up on the leather top of my desk. I’m sure it’s a good deal worse in my email inbox. Without any pomp or circumstance, I sit down and get to work. I’m halfway through the stack of correspondence when my secretary comes in.
“Sutton Mayfair. You could have called, you know? Nearly gave me a heart attack. You don’t come in for weeks, weeks, and then one day you’re sitting at your desk as if you never left.”
That makes me grin. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ness.”
“And you’ve lost weight. What have you been eating? Your color’s not good either.”
The list of my shortcomings goes on for some time, but I take it with the certainty that I’m back where I belong. Mrs. Ness is one of the many women my father loved and left. I suppose it’s awkward, me hiring her. There are a lot of awkward moments in life when your father’s fucked half the female population. In Mrs. Ness’s case, her husband came back from his military tour, found out about the affair, and kicked her out of the house. It was a scandal when I was in middle school, considering she was the principal.
