Sarah Anderson - His Best Friend's Sister

He sure liked to pretend he was, though. “I’ve made my apologies to Ritter,” Oliver said, keeping his voice level. “We’ve already rescheduled the meeting.”

“That’s not going to be good enough.”

Oliver gritted his teeth and decided to change the subject before this call devolved into a shouting match. “Dad, have you heard about Darin Preston?”

Milt was silent for a moment. “That con man? I never did trust his get-rich-quick schemes.” He paused, making a low humming noise in the back of his throat. He always did that when he was thinking. “Wasn’t he in the news recently?”

“He was.” Oliver didn’t want to tell Milt that Renee was asleep upstairs. He had promised her privacy, after all.

It was the only thing he could promise her.

“Why do you ask?”

Oliver decided to hedge the truth. “I had a strange message from Clint. It seemed he was helping his father scam people.”

“Now, that’s too danged bad,” Milt said. “Clint was good people. And his sister—what was her name?”

“Renee.”

“Yeah, Renee. She and Chloe got along real well. Trixie...” He paused and cleared his throat. Oliver knew that his father’s eyes were watering, not that he would ever admit to it. Even after all these years, the mention of his beloved wife choked Milt up. “She thought the sun rose and set on Renee. She used to take the girls shopping. Always made sure to include that girl whenever she could. Hell, she always included Clint when she could. But she had a soft spot for Renee.” He hummed again. “Your mother, God rest her soul, didn’t think too highly of Rebecca and Darin Preston. And you know she was an excellent judge of character.”

Oliver considered this. He honestly had no memories of his mother doting on Renee. But then again, it did seem like the little girl had always been underfoot, hanging out with Chloe and plotting how next to irritate Oliver and Clint.

The Preston kids had eaten a lot of meals at the Lawrence table—and Oliver didn’t remember going over to Clint’s house very much. Hardly at all, actually. There’d been a few times he and Clint had sneaked into Clint’s house to get some trading cards or the latest video games...but they always sneaked right back out and hightailed it to Oliver’s house.

It hadn’t struck him as odd then. But what if it’d been more than that? Clint had told him they had to be quiet—no, not quiet, but silent . He hadn’t wanted his mother to know they were in the house. No noise and no touching anything.

Looking back now, Oliver had to wonder—had Clint been afraid of his mother?

“I read that Mrs. Preston ran off to Europe with the rest of the money.”

“Hell. What a family, eh? The Preston kids were good kids, but there’s only so much a kid can do when they’re raised in a pit of vipers. It’s a shame that they got caught up in this. At least you had your mother and me. For a while anyway.” He cleared his throat again.

It was a damned shame. “I did. We all did.” Most days, dealing with his Tex-ified father left Oliver frustrated and bitter. But it was true. Before Trixie Lawrence’s death, Oliver had loved his parents. Both of them. For fifteen years, the Lawrence family had been happy and healthy and stable. Not everyone had that.

He’d promised his mother that he’d take care of his family. They may not be as happy or as stable—thank God they were all healthy—but at least they hadn’t all been arrested and indicted. That had to count for something.

But it wasn’t enough for his father. It never was. When Milt spoke again, Oliver could hear the forced cheer.

“Have you finished negotiations with ESPN about running the All-Stars?”

“I had to reschedule that meeting today. Something came up.” And unlike Herb Ritter, Oliver was in no hurry to get back to this one. “You should let Chloe take the meeting. She’d do a great job.”

“She’s the Princess of the Rodeo and she’s doing that clothing line,” Milt reminded him, as if Oliver could ever forget. “I don’t want that Pete Wellington anywhere near her.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. He didn’t like Pete Wellington any more than his father did but the man was too much a born-and-bred cowboy to ever lay a hand on a woman. As evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t killed any members of the Lawrence family yet. And he’d had plenty of opportunity. “He wouldn’t hurt her.”

Not for the first time, Oliver considered signing a minority stake in the rodeo back over to the Wellington family. It’d been their damn rodeo before Pete’s father, Davy, had lost it in that poker game. Pete had never forgiven either his father or Milt. Which meant he bore one hell of a grudge against anyone with the Lawrence last name. Oliver would be more than happy to cede a little control of the All-Stars back to Pete. Hell, if Oliver thought it would help, he’d just outright hire Pete to run the damn thing.

The only problem was Pete’s pride wouldn’t settle for merely working for the All-Stars. He maintained Milt Lawrence had stolen the All-Stars and he wanted it back. All or nothing.

Which meant he got nothing. Funny how winning here felt a lot like losing. “Chloe would be great in the meeting.” She’d have the marketing team eating out of her hand and they both knew it.

As usual, though, Milt ignored Oliver. “She’s already doing her part. You make sure you do yours.” With the final hmph , Milt hung up.

The rodeo was good for the business, Oliver repeated silently, just like he did every single time he had to deal with the damn thing. The All-Around All-Stars Rodeo was 60 percent of their marketing and had been consistently in the black for the last six years.

That didn’t mean Oliver had to like it.

He pushed the All-Stars out of his mind and focused on the problem at hand. He didn’t have to like anything about the Renee situation. He wasn’t enjoying this trip down memory lane, where he couldn’t remember if his mother had taken Renee under her wing or not. Hell, for that matter, he still hadn’t recalled how Renee knew he hated the rodeo.

He hated not knowing. Starting from a place of ignorance—about his childhood memories of the Preston kids, about the Preston Pyramid scam, about the woman currently upstairs in bed—that was how bad decisions got made. No matter how the saying went, ignorance was not bliss. It was disaster. And he was tired of this day feeling like a runaway train about to crash into the station.

He couldn’t get off this train and continue to let it barrel down on Renee like everyone else had. Her brother and father? They hadn’t so much abandoned her as they’d been taken into federal custody. But her husband, her mother—hell, even her friends—all had. No one had stood by her.

He couldn’t add himself to that long, long list. Not when he thought back to the way he’d coaxed a small smile out of her when he’d told her the names of his swans. Not when she’d looked at him, trying so hard to be strong, and asked if he’d still be here when she woke up.

Not when his own father remembered Renee as a little girl who’d needed a friend.

Something had to give. He hit the number for Chloe. “What?” she said, sounding breathless.

“And good afternoon to you, too. Listen,” Oliver said, bracing himself for the lie. He was not naturally good at deception. “You get to deal with ESPN. The contract negotiations are yours.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Is this a joke? Because it’s not funny, Oliver,” she snapped. “You know Dad would never let me do anything beyond carry the flag.”

“No joke,” he assured her. “Consider it a...” His mind scrambled for a reasonable explanation that wasn’t simply I don’t have time for this . “A test run. You do a good job on this, and we’ll give you more responsibilities. Because I think the rodeo should be yours.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.