At three minutes past nine, I open my computer and set it up on the table. My eyes perform a quick sweep of the hotel room to check for stray bras or underwear. I’m assuming I’ve been anointed housekeeping’s favorite guest because I haven’t given them a reason to clean my room or make my bed. Whether it’s coffee in the morning or wine in the evening, all my non-working time is spent at Wes’s.
The video connects and the conference room at Wright Design + Build fills up my computer screen. My dad sits on one side of the long table, Brandt on the other. We say hello, exchange pleasantries, then get down to business.
“I’ve been in touch with Scott,” my dad says. “He says things are coming along without any problems.”
I bristle at the mention of Scott. I’m the project manager, my dad should be talking to me and me only when he wants updates. I don’t say anything for two reasons. One is that we’re in front of other people. Two is that I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize my role.
“I hope all future projects will be this easy,” I joke, covering up my irritation.
“They won’t be,” Brandt responds. I keep a straight face, but on the inside I’m giving him a death glare.
We move on to other topics. Dad informs me of two more projects they’ve got going on. I nod and pretend to listen. My mind is somewhere on Hayden land, watching Wes ride Ranger. Forty-five interminable minutes later, the call wraps up.
I change once again, into jeans and boots more appropriate for the jobsite, and I’m climbing into my car when my phone rings.
It’s my dad.
“Hey, Dad, I’m just on my way to—”
“Why the hell are you wearing a ring on your finger?”
I look down at the gold band, my fingers spread out wide.How dumb of me.“Uh, well.”
“Spit it out.”
It’s amazing how I can be an adult and suddenly feel like a child again. And just like in my childhood, a flair of resentment sparks in my chest. I do not want to be told what to do. “I’m going to marry Wes.” I can’t tell him about the agreement, because that would mean coming clean about my debt.
“What? I… No… Dakota.” Shock.
“Yes, Dad.”
“You barely know him.” Indignation.
“It’s enough, Dad.”
“No, Dakota, it’s not. Can you imagine what your mother would say if she were alive?” Self-righteous.
I suck in a breath. That was low. “I need to go, Dad. I’m working.”
“Dakota, let’s talk about this.” Pleading.
“Dad, I just need you to trust me on this. I know what I’m doing.”
“It doesn’t sound like you do.”
“Bye, Dad. I love you.”
I hang up and spend the entire drive willing my blood pressure to decrease. That’s not how I wanted to tell him. When I get to the jobsite, I send him a text.
Everything is going to be okay, Dad. I know it was a shock, and trust me when I say it’s not how I wanted you to find out. I love you.
Two hours later, he responds.You’ve always marched to the beat of your own drum, Junior. If you say you know what you’re doing, I’m going to trust you mean it. I love you, too.
* * *
This time,when the HCC truck pulls up, I don’t think for even a second that it’s Wes. Before I left his place this morning, he told me he, Warner, and Ham were riding out to pasture seventeen to mend fences broken from a recent storm, and that he anticipated it would take all day.
I cover my eyes from the sun, expecting to see Jessie hop out with bare legs and short shorts. Instead, sensible boots and Wranglers are visible under the passenger door.
