Fourteen
Goodbye, Oliver.
Fuck that shit.
After nearly running over two photographers staked out by the garage entrance, Oliver stepped off the elevator. The door to his father’s condo swung open seconds later, making it clear that Milt Lawrence had been waiting for him. Just when he thought the day couldn’t get worse...
“Beer?” Milt said, holding up a longneck, and Oliver knew he didn’t have much say in the matter.
He supposed this wasn’t a surprise. Renee’s brief appearance three days ago at the All-Around All-Stars Rodeo—brought to you by Lawrence Oil—in the company of Oliver Lawrence, head of Lawrence Energies, had made headlines less than an hour after Renee had been whisked back to New York in the company of the FBI’s finest. The whole debacle was exactly the sort of thing that would draw Milt out of his hunting lodge and into the city.
Not for the first time, Oliver wished his father hadn’t bought the condo next to his for those rare trips into Dallas. Being called in for a lecture had a way of making Oliver feel like he was twelve again and about to be grounded for another prank gone wrong.
Except this time, it wasn’t an elevator and a bunch of balloons filled with shaving cream. This was the family business. Their livelihood. He’d risked an international energy company and his family’s financial safety and well-being for...
For Renee. Who’d walked away without a look back.
God, it hurt.
It turned out that Brantley Gibbons, Brooke Bonner’s manager, had lost a lot of money to the Preston Pyramid. In fact, he was under investigation because several of his clients claimed he’d inappropriately invested their funds with Preston’s firm. Brooke had stuck by him because Gibbons was her uncle.
Family. Was there any bigger blessing and curse than that word?
“Here,” Milt said, handing Oliver a beer and motioning for him to sit on the leather sofa overlooking the skyline. Unlike his hunting lodge, Milt Lawrence’s condo was as impersonal as a hotel. Probably why he only spent maybe ten nights a year here. “Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do you’ve got yourself into.”
Oliver gritted his teeth. “Do you think that, just once, we could cut the cowboy crap, Dad? Because I’m not in the mood to hear about how I look lower than a rattler’s belly in a wheel rut.” He took a long pull on his beer. It didn’t help. “No offense.” Oliver braced himself to be dressed down because with that attitude, he deserved it.
But that’s not what happened. “I take it she’d been with you since you first asked if I’d heard about the scam?” To Oliver’s ever-lasting surprise, there was less drawl in his father’s voice. Still a little bit, though.
It was enough. “Yeah. A month.” A good month. One of the best he could ever remember having.
Because Renee had been there. For the first time in years—maybe decades—Oliver had done something more than look at the family business or his family as just problems waiting to be solved.
He wasn’t able to go back to who he’d been before Renee.
“Do you know where she is now?”
“New York.” She wasn’t responding to his texts, beyond the bare-bones information to let him know she was fine. Everything, apparently, was fine.
He was not fucking fine.
“She said she had to leave because she’d ruin me. I think she actually believes that,” he said before taking another long swallow of his beer. It still wasn’t helping.
“Hmm,” Milt said noncommittally.
“She said...” He had to swallow a few times to make sure his throat was working right. “She said she wouldn’t let her family ruin mine or my business like they ruined her.”
“Ah,” Milt unhelpfully added.
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? Hmm and ah?”
“I was going to say something about rattlers but that didn’t seem to be the way to go.”
“Jesus, Dad, are you mocking me?” There were days when his father was every bit as irritating as Flash—and worse.
“Simmer down, son.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not here to fight. If you’re looking to take a swing at someone, either find your brother or go punch Clint Preston. Doubt either would help in the long run, though.”
They sat for a moment. The silence was getting to Oliver, which had to be the only reason why he kept talking. Either that or the beer was actually starting to work and he just couldn’t feel it. “I asked her to marry me and not only did she not say yes, she said goodbye.” All that armor had been so locked in place that he still couldn’t tell if she would’ve said yes or not had circumstances been different.
If the FBI hadn’t shown up, would she still be here—or there or wherever he could have safely hidden her away? Or would she still have walked?
“Did she, now? In general, women like a nice proposal,” Milt managed to say without laughing.
Oliver drank some more. Had it been, though? A nice proposal, that was. He’d said...
If he’d thought it would help.
Shit.
“She said she wasn’t my problem to solve,” he admitted, feeling suddenly stupid.
“Ah,” Milt said again.
Oliver didn’t dignify that with a response.
But had he actually said those words to Renee? He’d been upset, yeah. Flash had blown Renee’s cover and Oliver had been frantic with worry about the best way to keep her safe but...
It hadn’t been a nice proposal. Hell, it’d barely qualified as such.
“Do you know,” Milt began, and for the first time in years, Oliver heard New York in his father’s voice, “what I would give to have another day with your mother?”
Oliver let that thought roll around his head as he finished his beer and got up to get another. “Everything,” he said when he settled back on the couch next to his father. “You’d give everything to have her back.”
“You’re damn right I would. The company, the rodeo, the lodge...” Milt cleared his throat and Oliver made sure not to look because he didn’t want to see his father wiping away tears. “Anything to have her back.”
“I’m sorry it’s not going to happen,” Oliver said. His mother’s death was a problem he’d never be able to fix.
“And you know why I’d give everything for her?”
Oliver did look at his dad then. “Because you love her.” There was no past tense about it.
“You’re damn right I do.” He stood, knocking back the last of his beer. “Herb Ritter’s in town and I’ve got to smooth his ruffled feathers. And don’t think I don’t know you gave Chloe those negotiations after I told you not to. But Oliver?”
Oliver unclenched his teeth. “What?”
His father stared down at him with love and worry in his eyes. “We aren’t your problem, either.” He put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “I know what you promised your mother, and she’d be right proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. But we can take care of ourselves.” He sighed. “We always could.”
Then he grabbed his hat and walked out of the condo, leaving Oliver alone with his thoughts.
He couldn’t function without Renee. He loved watching her try a new recipe and sharing in her success. Hell, he loved her failures, too—because they were always hilarious and only occasionally a hazard to home and health. He loved watching her grow and change with her pregnancy and he absolutely hated that she wasn’t next door, waiting to welcome him home with a kiss that became so much more.
Holy hell, he loved her. Scandal-ridden family, broke, pregnant with another man’s child—he loved Renee exactly as she was.
He hadn’t told her that. Instead of treating her like the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with...he’d treated her like a problem that he was responsible for solving.
Jesus, what had he done?
Because now she was thousands of miles away, facing lawyers and officers and, worse, her family without anyone to back her up while he sat here and got scolded by his father.
What the hell was wrong with him? She wasn’t the problem. He was.
He loved her.
That was worth risking everything.
* * *
“And have you had any other contact with anyone in your family?” the bored federal prosecutor asked.
Frankly, Renee was bored, too. She’d been sitting in this conference room for the last three hours, answering the same questions she’d answered a few days ago with the same answers, which were the same questions she’d answered a few months ago. She was pretty sure the prosecutor was wearing the same suit.
“The friend I stayed with in Texas spoke with Clint, but only to confirm that I had nothing to do with the scheme.”
That got the prosecutor’s attention. “He did?”
“Oliver Lawrence was a childhood friend. He runs Lawrence Energies. He wanted to make sure I was being honest.” Renee cleared her throat. It hurt to think of Oliver right now. “Trust but verify, right?” The prosecutor didn’t so much as blink and Renee felt that old fear of having done something wrong roil her stomach. “I did get permission to go.”
The prosecutor conferred with his secretary, who made notes as the prosecutor said, “Anything else?”
Renee unlocked her phone and called up the most recent text message from her mother. “I got this two days ago.” She handed the phone over because there was no way in hell she was going to read that message out loud.
Someone had got a shot of her at the rodeo. Renee had actually thought it wasn’t as bad as some of the paparazzi shots and she liked the way Chloe’s jeans had looked on her. But her mother had, of course, felt it necessary to remind Renee how fat and embarrassing she was—especially in those clothes. Sequins were against her mother’s rules, to say nothing of actual blue jeans. The horrors.
Renee hadn’t even finished reading it. She was a grown woman, an expectant mother. She did not have to let her mother into her life anymore. Her parents had never loved her—or Clint. She owed them nothing.
The secretary made more notes and Renee forwarded a screenshot to the lawyer’s email. “What else do you need from me?” Because no one had escorted her to Rikers or arranged for transportation. She was here to plead with Clint, wasn’t she?
The bored prosecutor looked over his notes again and Renee fought the urge to roll her eyes. Finally, the man said, “Ms. Preston-Willoughby, Clinton Preston has accepted a plea deal in which he’ll get a reduced sentence in exchange for testifying against Darin Preston.”
“Oh.” The word rushed out of her. “That’s good. If I may ask...how reduced?”
“He’ll plead guilty in exchange for a sentence of twelve years at a minimum-security prison with the possibility of parole. He might be out in seven.” The prosecutor looked up at her. “I don’t plan on letting your father out of prison in his lifetime, even if he pleads guilty to avoid a trial.”
“Good.” If the man was surprised by this, he didn’t show it. “Will you be able to extradite my mother?”
That got her a faint smile. “If we do, will you be willing to testify against her?”
Renee thought about all those terrifying family dinners with forks repeatedly stabbed into her legs and being blamed for getting blood on her ruined pants and skirts. She thought about a lifetime of manipulation and deceit, of being made to feel small and hopeless and embarrassing.
Then she imagined her mother in the defendant’s table, being forced to listen to Renee poke holes in her story of innocence one precise jab at a time. She smiled. Let her mother find out what real anxiety was like. “I’d be delighted to.”
“I believe we have everything we need,” the prosecutor went on. “If your father’s case goes to trial, we’ll expect your full cooperation.” Renee nodded. That was always the deal. “Please don’t leave the country and keep my office informed of where you are. Otherwise, you are free to go.” He gave her that faint smile again. “Good luck, Ms. Preston-Willoughby.”
She sat there for a moment, stunned. “I can go back to Texas if I want?”
Not that it was a good idea—it wasn’t. She’d walked away from Oliver, after all. And he had paparazzi watching him now. She’d seen the pictures of him entering and leaving his building and Lawrence Energies’s office complex. In every single shot, he was scowling. In all probability, she was probably lucky he hadn’t punched anyone. But at least he wasn’t running. He’d remembered that.
She’d done that. She’d taken away his privacy, not to mention Chloe and Flash’s privacy. The Lawrence family was in the press in a highly public way.
“Of course. Get a job, move on with your life. We won’t be garnishing your wages or any wages of anyone you marry.”
Renee’s mouth almost, almost dropped open at that, but those old damned habits kept her face blank. The prosecutor was just as unreadable but she shouldn’t have been surprised. The man was no idiot.
“That’s good to know. Thank you.”
She and her lawyers stood, as did the prosecutor. Everyone shook hands. “Good luck,” the man said.
She almost laughed at that. She’d been born to privilege and she was lucky enough to have known the love of the Lawrence family. But beyond that?
She’d been lucky enough to have a good month with Oliver. To ask for more than that would be too much.
She said goodbye to her lawyers and then hurried to the ladies’ room. Her bladder seemed smaller every day. Her baby was growing. She could focus on impending motherhood now. That would be enough.
Lost in thought about what kind of job she might be able to get—something anonymous would be great—she exited the elevators into the lobby and headed for the door. She could see the paparazzi milling around outside but she didn’t care anymore.
“I thought you hated the paparazzi.”
That voice. His voice. “Oliver?” Renee stumbled as she whipped around, searching for him. Please, please don’t let her be imagining his voice.
“But here you are, about to walk right out into their waiting cameras.” He guided her to the side so effortlessly that she wasn’t sure her feet touched the ground.
“You’re here,” she whispered as he pulled her into a waiting elevator. His arm went around her waist and he pulled her against his chest. God, she’d missed him. The five days since she’d forced herself to walk away from him had been a new, different kind of misery. She threw her arms around his neck and held on tight as the elevator doors slid shut. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” He hit the button for the garage level and they began to move. “I made you a promise.”
“You did?” She searched her memories and her heart sank.
He’d promised Clint he’d look after her.
Oh, no. He wasn’t here because he couldn’t live without her. He was here because he had a promise to keep. This wasn’t any different than him offering to marry her because it might help. Oliver Lawrence was the most honorable man she’d ever known. Even though she’d walked away from him, he was going to take care of her. Whether she wanted him to or not, apparently.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, her voice too soft. She was too soft when it came to him. Because she’d walked away once with her head up and her shoulders back. She wasn’t sure she could do it again.
“I do.” He lifted her chin so she looked him in the eye. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you without saying goodbye.”
She reared back, but he didn’t let her go. He had promised that, hadn’t he?
“But...” she said, staring at him. “I said goodbye.”
“I didn’t.” Her breath caught in her throat at the sound of his voice, deep and intense. Oliver’s eyes darkened. “What do you want, Renee?”
Before she could come up with an answer, the elevator dinged again and people got on. Oliver shifted so that Renee was standing next to him but his arm stayed locked around her waist and, fool that she was, she leaned into him.
He was really here. He was warm and he smelled like Oliver and he was wearing cowboy boots in New York with his suit, and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to burst into tears.
Her brother had agreed to a plea deal. Her father was never getting out of jail and, with any luck, her mother would be locked up before too much longer.
Renee was free to do whatever she wanted.
So what did she want?
They rode in silence the rest of the way down to the parking garage. He led her to a chauffeured car. The driver hurried to open the back door for her and Oliver guided her inside.
It was only when the door was shut that Renee found her voice. “What...”
“You didn’t really think I was going to let you walk into that crowd of sharks and try to hail a cab, did you?” He shook his head like he’d told a joke.
“Oliver,” she said, aiming for a sharper tone. His eyes softened as he folded her hand in his. “What are you doing here?”
“Coming for you.”
She blinked and then, when nothing changed—he was still staring down at her with those warm brown eyes, still looking at her like he was glad to see her.
How was any of this possible? She’d seen the headlines. The wild—and not always wrong—guesses about the nature of her relationship with Oliver. The firefighters telling how she’d almost burned down the ranch house. Hell, someone had even got Lucille to give a comment. True, it’d been “Private people are entitled to private lives. Now, get off my porch or I’ll shoot,” but still.
“You know if we’re seen together again, it’ll only make things worse for you.”
Everything soft and happy about Oliver hardened in a heartbeat. “Renee, what do you want?”
Her eyes watered instantly and she had to turn to look out the darkened windows of the car. They were out of the garage now and slowly creeping past the paparazzi waiting for her outside the building. She wondered how long they’d wait. Hopefully hours.
“I don’t want to cost you your business,” she said because it was the truth.
He snorted. She jerked her head around to stare at him. “Renee. What do you want? In the next five minutes or the next five years. What you want. Not what you or anyone else thinks you should do.”
Her throat got tight and somehow, a lifetime of training herself not to cry began to fail her now. Because Oliver was the only person who’d ever asked and actually listened to the answer. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Oh, babe.” He moved, pulling her onto his lap. She curled into him. “You know what I want?”
She shook her head against his shoulder.
“I want to take long walks around the park and maybe trail rides on the ranch. I want to see first steps and hear first words. I want to come home to fresh-baked cookies and spend nights in bed with you and wake up in the morning knowing you’ll be right there. I want to be by your side, in sickness and in health, in scandal and in quiet times—hopefully more quiet than this,” he added with a chuckle.
“But why?” She sniffed. “Why would you risk everything for me?”
He tilted her face up and stared into her eyes. “Because I love you.”
Her breath caught. She wanted that life, too. She wanted to raise her baby with him and know that he’d always be there for her. He’d never leave her and never cheat on her because he couldn’t live without her. Not because she was a promise he had to keep.
“I love you, Renee,” he repeated again, putting more force on the words. He tilted her chin up so she had to look at him. “And you know what?”
“What?”
“You’re worth more than any business or house or even swans. I’d give all of it up in a heartbeat, just as long as you were by my side. My father, my siblings—they’re all grown adults. They can take care of themselves. I don’t have to do anything for them. I only have to do what I want. And what I want is to marry you. I want to love you for the rest of our lives. That’s all I want.”
She gasped. As declarations went, that was pretty damned good. Much better than offering to marry her if it’d help. But there was still one giant, huge problem. “I can’t be your problem to solve, Oliver. I can’t. That’s not a life.”
She braced for him to start a running list of why he could protect her, how he could take care of her—just like he’d done when she’d been outed at the rodeo. But instead, he touched his forehead to hers. “I’m always going to do my best to make things easier for you. Not because you’re my responsibility but because that’s what you do for someone you love.”
When she didn’t say anything, he cupped her face and kissed her. “Tell me what you want. Forget the cameras and our families. Just you and me, babe. We’re the only ones who matter.”
“I want it all,” she sobbed. Stupid hormones. “I want to bake and crochet and take care of my baby. I don’t want nannies or chefs or... Well, Lucille is okay. But I just want us. I want to know that you won’t lie to me and I won’t lie to you. I want to know you’ll come home at the end of the day and we’ll spend the evening together as a family. I want to hang out with Chloe and be irritated by Flash. I want...” She was crying so hard she could barely talk. “I want to be a Lawrence. I’ve always wanted to be a Lawrence. I want a big, happy family where everyone is loud and messy and loved and no one hurts anyone. And I want that with you.”
“Oh, babe.” His voice sounded choked as he wrapped her up in a huge hug and let her cry. When she’d calmed down a little, he looked her in the eyes. His thumbs rubbed over her cheeks, erasing her tears. “Renee, I promise you—I will never lie to you or cheat on you. I will always be there for you and make sure you have the space you need to find your own path forward. I’m not going to give up on you and I’m not about to let a little notoriety drive me away. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you—both of you,” he added, resting a hand against her belly, “will always be family. Because I love you.”
“I love you, too. God, Oliver, I love you so much.”
He kissed her again and again and she lost herself in his touch, his taste, his smell. God, he smelled so good. Renee had no idea how much time had passed before the car made a wide turn, startling her back to her senses. “Where are we going?”
Oliver gave her that smile that, had she been standing, would have weakened her knees. “We’re going home.”
Finally.
Home was with Oliver.