He said it with regret, as if he wished he hadn’t told Chelsea to leave. I hadn’t blamed him for drawing the line at the time, but I also hadn’t known it had hurt him as much as it obviously had. Worse, Chelsea would never know what it had cost him.
As horrible as the situation with Dad’s finances, the fire, and his stroke had been, it had also given us something good. It had given us this time together, not as a child and a parent or as a caregiver and a patient, but as two adults who cared about each other.
The lump in my throat returned, and I was unable to respond.Instead, I grabbed my bag and Beckett’s key fob and headed out to the SUV.
Much to my amusement, as soon as they heard the back door slam, the teens jumped apart from where they’d been leaning against Beckett’s car with Letty in Mikey’s arms. He held the passenger door open for her, and she climbed in with a bashful smile so different than the one she’d given my father after winning the last hand.
I dropped Letty off first, and Mikey walked her to the door, gave her a quick peck, and then came back to me with a similar bashful look.
When I pulled into his drive and he stepped out, I said, “Thanks for all your help this week, Mikey. I’m truly grateful. I hope you have a good weekend. I’ll see you on Tuesday?”
He ducked his head back in, eyes startled. “Beckett asked if I’d spend the night tomorrow. He said you were going to the Firefighters Ball and would be staying overnight.”
While I hadn’t forgotten about the ball or the fact I’d agreed to stay with Beckett at the hotel, I hadn’t thought about Dad either. Hadn’t thought about needing someone to stay with him overnight when it should have been my priority. Instead, the sensual texts from Beckett had been practically all I could think about.
Then, the realization that both Dad and Mikey would know exactly what it meant that Beckett and I were staying together hit me, and I flushed bright red. Sex wasn’t embarrassing or shameful, but that didn’t mean I wanted my father and a teenager to know I was planning on having it.
After clearing my throat, I said, “Right. Thank you for staying with Dad again.”
As soon as he’d shut the door and headed up the steps, another realization struck. I had a much bigger problem than anyone knowing I’d be sleeping with my supposed fiancé. As I turned the SUV around and drove back toward the house, I called Fallon.
“Hey, Maise,” she greeted.
“I don’t have a dress.”
Silence beat between us for a second before she said, “What?”
“I don’t have a dress for the Firefighters Ball. And it’stomorrow. And I have nothing but summer dresses that are absolutely not appropriate. And I need new underwear. Something sexy because Beckett made plans for us to stay the night at the hotel.”
Fallon laughed. “What are you really panicking over? Not having something to wear or the fact Beckett will be taking the dress off?”
“Both!” I exhaled shakily.
When I’d been at the ranch, practicing, this week and told Fallon about how things had progressed with Beckett, she’d been surprised. But she also hadn’t been as certain as I was that it would end badly. She seemed convinced everything would end up just like in my romance novels.
“I’m scheduled to take a group of beginners out on a ride tomorrow,” she said. “But I’ll see if Chuck can take it for me. I’ll come pick you up, and we’ll go shopping for a dressandfor the lingerie to go with it.”
Relief bled through me.
I pulled into Beckett’s driveway and shut off the engine, switching her call from the car’s speaker to the phone’s before opening the door.
“Thanks for agreeing to go with—”
I barely registered a sound coming from behind me before my head exploded in agony. The blow drove me to my hands and knees, a cry tearing out of me as pain spiraled through my skull. My phone skittered across the gravel and disappeared beneath the SUV.
My ears rang. My head spun. From somewhere distant, I heard Fallon screaming my name, tangled with Vader’s frantic barking.
Instinct surged—move, fight, do something. I forced myself onto my knees, but another hit slammed between my shoulder blades.
My chin hit the gravel, white lights burst in my eyes, and my vision swam.
Through the blur, I made out a pair of shiny, steel-toed work boots stopping in front of me. A gloved hand fisted in my shirt, ripping it, and true panic surged, stealing what remained of my breath. Ugly fears and uglier possibilities crashed over me. I commanded my hands to move. To punch. To claw. To slap. But my body refused to obey.
Instead, darkness whirled, and oblivion took me.
Chapter Twenty-three
Beckett