Dirty Money

She laughs. “I guess you can take the redneck out of the woods, but you can’t take the woods out of the redneck.” She fiddles with the radio for a moment, and then turns it off, deciding on silence. “How is that super hot brother of his?”

“Which one?”

Wynonna shrugs, staring out the window.

“Clay?” I prompt. “He’s too old for you. Knox? Gage? Also too old for you. As for Seth? He’s the right age but he’s also lazy. The others are all taking a more active part in the family business, but Seth just wants to go get drunk.” I shake my head, because it’s something Boone has lamented about over and over again. “Only thing he’s good for is worming.”

“Whatever that is.” She wrinkles her nose. “Speaking of, summer’s coming up. Can I stay in your guesthouse?”

“Of course.” I look over at my sister, surprised. One of the selling points of the “modest” twelve-million-dollar ranch that Boone and I eventually bought was that it came with a deluxe guesthouse on the private lake, ideal for my sister or any other visitors. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

“Can I bring a friend?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Me and Stephanie want to hang out at the lake and work on our tans.”

I shrug. “You’re an adult. As long as your grades are good, you can do as you please.”

“You’re so mellow now,” Wynonna teases. “Is it the baby?”

I smile dreamily into the traffic. “Sure.”

In reality, the baby’s only a piece of it. It’s Boone. Boone and his endless, enthusiastic loving, his wild ideas, his boyish excitement over anything and everything. He’s changed my world in the short time that we’ve been married. I keep waiting for the fire between us to fade a bit, for us to get sick of each other, but we’re obsessed. I think we’re closer than ever before, with the baby on the way. He’s helped me get my business on its feet and I’ve encouraged him to take a more active role in his own business. We bring out the best in each other—and okay, sometimes the worst with our stubbornness—but we never go to bed without a round of dirty make-up sex that makes me forget what we argued about.

Does he have crazy ideas? Sometimes.

Okay, a lot of the time. Most people live inside the box, but for Boone, there is no box. That’s as exciting as it is frustrating, but it’s never boring.

Actually, Boone is anything but boring. Just last night—

“Oh, gross.” Wynonna wrinkles her nose. “You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

“Who?”

“Your husband. You’ve got that dopey, lovesick look on your face like you always do when you’re thinking dirty thoughts about him.”

I can feel myself blushing. “Is it a crime to be head over heels in love with your rich, sexy husband?”

“I guess not,” Wynonna mutters. “Just . . . quit having sexy thoughts about him. Don’t make me toss my sushi, all right?”

“I’ll try,” I say drily. My phone buzzes with an incoming text as I park the car and Wynonna hops out. I take one look at the screen . . . and my face gets scalding. I press it against my breast. “Why don’t you go get us a table and I’ll be in in a second?”

She rolls her eyes, looking so much like a teenager. “So you two can sext? Seriously, Reba. That’s gross. You’re pregnant. Be all motherly!”

“I’ll do my best,” I murmur as she heads into the restaurant. Then, when it’s safe, I peek at my phone screen again. My husband just sent me a dick pic and a text. Miss you. Show me ur stomach, baby girl.

Ivy: Don’t most men just want to see a picture of their woman’s tits?

Boone: Yeah, but I jerked off on those earlier this morning, so I’m pretty aware of what they look like.

Ivy: You should know what my stomach looks like! It sticks out all over the place!

Boone: Yeah, but this is my way of saying hi to my kid and to his gorgeous mom at the same time.

Boone: I miss you.

Boone: Been hours since I saw your face.

I snap a photo for him, with my hand on my belly, and send it off.

Ivy: Better?

Boone: You get sexier every time I see you.

Ivy: How’s Big Lake?

Boone: Hittin’ pay dirt as usual. Seth’s fucking up on the rig. As usual.

Ivy: So . . . a good day?

Boone: Define good. I mean, my sexy little mama is in San Antonio and I’m three hours west. That’s not good by my standards.

Ivy: You’ll be home tonight. I’ll make it up to you.

Boone: Now we’re talking.

Ivy: Don’t work too late, all right?

Boone: Leaving the site in about an hour. I’ll be home to eat. And then we can have dinner, too.

Months later, and the man still makes me blush like a schoolgirl.

Ivy: You’re bad.

Boone: I know. But my beard misses your pussy. Rest of me, too, but especially my beard.

Ivy: My pussy will make it up to him, then.

Boone: My beard likes hearing that.

A hand knocks on the window of the car, and Wynonna gives me an exasperated look.

“I’m coming,” I call out at her, texting fast. God, caught red-handed. I’d be a little embarrassed except . . . Boone is amazing. I’m the luckiest woman alive to have him.

Ivy: I have to go eat lunch w/Wynonna. Love you! See you in a few hours.

Boone: Love you too, baby. Send me dirty pix if you get a chance.

I laugh as I get out of the car, ignoring the squicked-out look on my little sister’s face. Boone’s going to have to wait a while for the dirty pictures. But he’ll get them, just like he got me, and the baby, and the house of our dreams.

I’ve never been able to refuse that man anything.