Unbreak My Heart (Rough Riders Legacy #1)(95)

“Or maybe you should go find something to eat since you’re starved and I can finish what I started, where I set up to work first.”

“Fine.” Boone pushed to his feet and disappeared again.

I heard cupboard doors banging. Water running. Pans clanking.

Did he expect me to follow him and take over preparing his meal?

Dream on, buddy.

He annoyed me beyond words today.

Now I was mad and distracted so I needed to find a different location to work.

I closed the lid on my laptop. I picked up my papers, stacking them crossways to keep them separated. Hugging it all to my chest, I hoofed it upstairs to the family room at the opposite end of the house from the great room.

I’d done nothing with this big space except create a corner to stash my elliptical machine and other workout gear. I gave the ugly-ass floral couch the stink eye. It was a castoff from my mom; she insisted I could “repurpose” it but there was no freakin’ hope for it. It sucked it was the only furniture in here.

I dragged the weight bench over to use as a table.

A cloud of dust puffed up when I plopped down on the couch.

I sneezed four times.

Awesome.

Somehow I managed to focus—the absolute silence helped—and I finished the rough draft for the article in three hours.

I gathered everything for the third time and returned to the kitchen to load up my laptop bag.

Boone had left the pan, his bowl and spoon, a sandwich plate and a wadded-up plastic sleeve from a box of crackers…right where he’d finished with them.

Just pick it up and put it away. It’s not that big of a deal.

But it was. If I picked up after him from the start, he’d expect I’d always do it. It was setting precedence. I did the same thing with my clients; made a point to be upfront from the start about their responsibilities and mine.

Boone is not your client.

I wasn’t his mommy either.

That thought was a sharp stab in the heart. Boone’s mother hadn’t bothered to feed him, what were the odds she cleaned up after him?

Slim to none.

Let it go, Sierra. Just for tonight. Bring up your expectations for house care, chores or whatever tomorrow.

I locked the doors and shut off the lights in the kitchen. Then I went to find my man.

Boone had fallen asleep sitting up on the couch. His head lolled to the side, his lips were parted and his arms were crossed over his chest. I had to smile that he’d kept the TV volume low.

I straddled his lap. I ran my fingers over his ropy forearms and up his biceps, trying to wake him gently. Then I framed his face in my hands, loving the feel of the dark scruff on his cheeks beneath my fingers.

He stirred. His confusion melted into happy eyes and a drowsy smile. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“Did you get your article done?”

“Yes.”

He placed an openmouthed kiss on the hollow of my throat. “I’m so damn proud of you.” When he tipped his head back to look into my face, his eyes clouded. “What’s wrong?”

Don’t make excuses, make time to discuss this. It doesn’t have to be now. “Remember those ‘unspoken rules’ I talked about at Kyler’s that night? And you said you preferred no rules? Well, soldier, that is not working out so well for us. So starting tomorrow we’ll have defined rules of the house. That way our duties and responsibilities are clearly spelled out. That way order is maintained and violations will be dealt with swiftly and immediately. Understood?”

Boone stared at me oddly.

“What?”

“You would’ve done great in the military. I feel like saluting and then polishing your boots.”

I laughed softly.

He started to say something and I shook my head. “It can wait until morning. Let’s go to bed.”





“The Parent Trap” was the codename my smartass girlfriend called the day I was meeting my dad in Flagstaff and she was attending her mother’s wedding at the country club.

I suggested “Meet the Parents” but apparently that was too obvious.

I took comfort when I pulled into the motel parking lot that I wasn’t alone in dealing with a parental shit show today. Sierra was stuck watching her mother pledge her eternal love and devotion to Bill’s bills. Nope. No cynicism there.

I wondered why I agreed to this meeting with my father.

Maybe I should’ve asked over the phone if he’d recently joined a twelve-step program and had committed to acknowledging his past mistakes.

I didn’t need that clarification. I already knew his mistakes; I’d lived with them.

After snagging my duffel from the front seat, I headed to the lobby to check in.

The room had a king-sized bed and that’s all I cared about. I sent Sierra a quick text asking if being in room 113 was a bad sign.

What was a worse sign? Dad hadn’t been in contact for a week. I’d be pissed if he had to cancel and hadn’t bothered to let me know.

With nothing else to do besides sleep, I pulled out the two textbooks I’d brought for next semester and copied the proposed class list. Repetition helped my retention.

An hour passed. I’d started to get hungry. And antsy. I changed clothes and opened the door only to find my dad standing on the other side, poised to knock.