“Sure.”
He backs away, eyes on me.
I get in and drive away. Maybe our marriage of convenience isn’t the only thing moving forward.
28
Dakota
The next morning,after I’ve finished a video conference with my dad updating him on The Orchard, I get in the shower so I can head to the jobsite. I grab my phone before I step in and call my sister.
“Hey, Abby.” I press the speaker button on my phone and turn the volume all the way up, then lay it on the highest shelf above the toilet, directly beside the shower.
“Dakota? Do you have a direct line into my mind?”
I grin at the wonder in her voice and step into the shower, leaving a portion of the sliding glass door open so I can talk to her.
“Not that I know of,” I answer, tipping my head back into the warm spray of the shower. “Why do you ask?”
“I was just thinking of you.”
“I hope these were positive thoughts.”
I can practically hear her eye roll. “Of course they were, Dakota.”
“How are you?”
“Who cares, let’s talk about you. How are you? How’s the project? How’s Sierra Grande?”
She’s really askingHow’s Wes?but she’s trying to be roundabout.
“Good, I suppose.” I squirt shampoo into my palm and lather it in my hair. “FYI, I’m taking a shower.”
“Thanks for not calling me on FaceTime.”
“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“True story. Now start talking because you sound weird and it probably has something to do with that sexy, brooding cowboy.”
I angle my face toward the opening in the shower door and keep my hair in the running water. “I slept with him, Ab.”
She whistles. “Tell me everything. Married sex is boring.”
“Does Wes seem like the kind of guy who wants me to air our intimate moments?”
Abby makes a sound, almost like an irritated growl. “Fine. Just tell me if it was like you remember it?”
I bite my lip at the ache spreading throughout my belly and down into my thighs. “It was better.”
Abby laughs. “Good for you, Dakota. Good for him, too. Something tells me he needed that.”
“I agree.” Especially after that nightmare. I’m not going to tell Abby that part. It’s Wes’s to share, and I’m pretty sure I already know how likely he is to tell anybody about that. “He told his family we’re getting married.”
When she doesn’t respond, I assume she hasn’t heard me and I repeat myself.
“Dakota.” Her tone is more serious now. “When are you planning on telling Dad?”
One side of my nose screws up as I contemplate her question. “Never would be preferable.” It’s crossed my mind that maybe, with a little luck and a whole lot of well-meaning fibs, I could get through this marriage of convenience without telling him. It would be cowardly, but so much easier.
