Forgetting Popper (Los Rancheros #3) (16 page)

“Deal?” Danny asks, holding a hand out. I
cross my hand across my body to shake it and he holds the other out
to Fandy across my body. Fandy holds his other hand out to me so
we’re a tangle of arms.

“Cut! That’s a wrap. Great work guys. Judges,
please step onto the back porch for your solo interviews.”

We sigh and untangle ourselves.

It’s almost three o’clock when I finally
leave the cowboy’s ranch. I’m just trying to figure out if I should
have turned back at the alpaca farm, or wait for the chicken
crossing sign when my phone rings. My dash tells me it’s Batty. I
accept the call.

“Yellow, lover!” I yell over a yawn.

“Sadie, where are you right now?” he asks
seriously. Nothing new there.

“I’m passing a goat cheese farm, or ranch, or
whatever it is. Shit, I probably should have turned back there. I
don’t remember the cheese place.”

“So you’re still in Los Rancheros, then?”

“No, I search out organic goat cheese in my
spare time. It’s totally a thing. Ooo, wine!”

“Sadie. Can you focus for a second?”

“Sir, yes. Sir.”

“I need you to do me a huge favor.”

“I’m liking this so far. Is it sexual? ‘Cause
our third date is coming up and I’m open to options.” I hear him
sigh and roll my eyes.

“I have a family emergency and don’t have
anyone to pick up my kids from school. I’m on my way south right
now.” I slam on the brakes, putting skid marks in Mayberry.

“I’m sorry, I think I just had an aneurism.
It sounded like you said you wanted me to pick up your
children.”

“I did. They’re at Ynes Elementary. It’s
right down the street from Los Rancheros.”

“I—you—I don’t have a fucking car for
children, Finnigan Brennick!” I yell at my rearview mirror like a
lunatic. I seriously feel like I’m losing my mind. I take a deep
breath and run my hands through my hair. I watch a red tractor pass
me.

“I’m in the fucking twilight zone, that’s
what this is,” I mumble as my heart shatters, realizing that
everything I thought I knew is a lie.

I bare my teeth silently and shake my fists
at the speakers before slapping them down onto my thighs. “I don’t
have a car for kids.” I say it slowly, so that he might understand
this time.

“You’re just leaving Daniel’s house,
correct? Put my address into your GPS and I’ll give you the code.
You can take one of my cars.”

Biting my tongue so that I don’t give into
the temptation to rail on him for, oh, I don’t know, sleeping with
me for almost half a year and never telling me he had children, I
put the car in gear.

He leads me to a gate that’s not iron like
most are, but wooden logs.
Not
what I was expecting.

“I think you gave me the wrong address.”

“If you think that, then you are definitely
at the right one. Here’s the code . . .” he rattles off an obscene
amount of numbers, and the gate opens.

I eye the paved road with trepidation. Why
do I think this is going to change everything? Oh, that’s right,
because I had no idea he lived in Los Rancheros, or that he had
freaking children. My heart stops when I think about where his wife
is. The angel?

I close my eyes at the pain that secret
causes me and blink back tears. I clear my throat before speaking
again. “I’m here.”

I stare at the one story wooden structure
that cannot belong to the Batmobile driving CEO that has shared my
bed for so long.

“Great, there’s a keypad beside the garage
door. I’ll tell you the code.”

I grab my purse, and hold the cell phone to
my ear. Batty gives me a set of numbers that are different than the
first. I think. I’m pretty sure.

“There’s a door to the left. Keys should be
on the counter.”

“What do I do when I get to the school?”

“Drive up to the pick-up lane. It’ll be the
longest line. They’ll be there. Call me when you get back to the
house. The kids will know the code for the gate.”

“K,” I mumble through numb lips. I’m in the
kitchen, staring at cereal bowls in the sink and a coffee pot set
haphazardly on the counter.

I hit the end button, disconnecting the call
and push back the urge to scope out the rest of the house. There is
a worn Carhartt jacket on a peg by the door that I bring to my
nose. It’s his. That spicy scent that clings to my sheets is on
this coat that could be ten years old.

Nothing makes sense.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24716722-finally-finn