Page 169 of Boss of Me

He’s right, much as it galls me to admit it.

When I found myself staring down the barrel of my thirtieth birthday, I’d decided it was time to find a suitable woman to settle down and start a family with. Despite my dysfunctional upbringing, I’d always wanted children of my own to love and nurture, to teach right from wrong, to pass my legacy to.

I approached the idea of marriage as just another business transaction, one where I identify solid prospects and negotiate the best deal. I ultimately chose Laurene for her pedigree. As an heiress, she understood the world I came from and the pressures I faced to remain at the top of my industry.

My reasoning was shrewd, practical and largely devoid of sentiment. I’d watched my parents’ marriage fall apart and vowed not to repeat the same mistakes with Laurene. I thought I would grow to love her in time.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Restless and agitated, I shove to my feet and pace from one end of the veranda to the other. I eventually end up standing next to my father, gripping the wooden handrail as I wrestle with my anger, bitterness and regret. So much fucking regret.

Dad looks out across the pasture with a faraway look in his eyes. “I married the wrong blonde,” he says, almost to himself.

I frown at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I should’ve held out for the only woman I’ve ever loved. It means I should have married Gemma Louise.” He meets my eyes. “Lost chances can rob a man of his soul and his reason for being. I learned that lesson the hard way, and maybe too late. But it’s not too late for you, son.”

I stare at him, the visceral truth of his words hitting me square in the chest.

Before I can respond, my mother comes strolling onto the veranda sipping a Bloody Mary. About an hour ago, she arrived in her helicopter to inspect the ranch, citing her expertise as the granddaughter of a legendary horse breeder. After touringthe property with Dad and giving her input, she stayed to have cocktails with Mrs. Calder.

I watch now as she dubiously eyes the rickety porch swing, then crosses the veranda to sit on the new rattan sofa. She sips her drink and lets out a languid sigh. “Such a lovely day, isn’t it?”

Dad and I exchange wry glances.

Mom has been preening with satisfaction since learning that I broke up with Marlowe. My apparent misery has her in such good spirits that she’s even willing to tolerate Dad’s presence for a few hours.

“You’ll never guess who I just spoke to on the phone.”

Neither Dad nor I venture a guess. We know she won’t keep us in suspense.

“It was Laurene, of course.” Mom looks borderline giddy. “We had the most pleasant conversation, catching each other up on our lives. She was particularly pleased to hear about your recent availability, Gunner.”

“I bet she was,” Dad mutters under his breath.

Mom shoots him a narrow look.

He merely chuckles, long past fearing her evil eye.

She dismisses him with an elegant wave of her hand before returning her attention to me. “Getting back to the topic?—”

“I’d rather not,” I bite out.

She purses her lips, contemplating me as she swirls the liquid in her glass. “Laurene would really love to see you. Now that you’re . . . unattached, perhaps the two of you might?—”

“No.” I tighten my jaw, striving for patience. “We’re not getting back together.”

“But, darling?—”

“Give it a fucking rest.”

Everyone turns to see Maverick standing at the screen door, a dark scowl on his face under the dusty brim of his Stetson.

Mom sniffs. “I was just saying?—”

“I heard what you were saying.” He steps onto the veranda, his boots hitting the floorboard with a menacing thud. “How selfish can you be, Mom?”

Dad straightens from the railing. “Now, son, let’s not ruin this nice day?—”