by Wyatt, Dani
“Right. And she’s my sister.”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “No, she isn’t. She’s not even your stepsister. Her mother and I were hardly married. It does not make someone family. I didn’t love her, not like Gayl.”
Kara’s mom, Duska, was one of my dad’s many ‘brief flings.’ A Slovakian ballerina so that you might expect a prima donna, but that wasn’t her at all. She was kind, friendly, the sort of woman I wouldn’t have minded having as a step-mom. Unfortunately, her relationship with my dad lasted maybe a month, and then that was it, but Duska didn’t forget eleven-year-old me.
Every birthday, there would be a card — every Christmas, a little gift, nothing much but just a reminder. I kept in touch and visited her on the quiet, spending time with her and her young daughter, who would become like a little sister to me.
“Duska died, we’re all the family Kara has had for ten years. Either she’s invited, or I’m not coming.”
There’s a pause before he makes a kind of clucking noise and answers, “Fine, invite Karolina, why should I care? She won’t come anyway. But if she’s invited, you’re committed to coming. No excuses.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I raise my voice over the constant noise of the drill site as I step up the last stair onto the platform in front of the dog house door. George is next to my left boot, and I reach down to scoop her up and stuff her down inside my half-zippered jacket, where she curls up and pops her nose out to bite at anyone that comes within snapping distance.
“You’ll be here.” My dad’s voice hardens. “You can take one day out of your life. I’ll expect your flight information in my email. I’ll pick you up if you’d like.”
I think of what my schedule is like the next few days. Stress.
More stress.
Topped with stress.
The oil business isn’t for the faint of heart.
“I’m texting you a picture of us from earlier today. I met her daughter too. She just moved back. I want this to work, Van. This is it for me.”
“Okay, Dad. I said I’ll see. Let me call you back.”
He may pretend not to understand, but this kind of work isn’t exactly nine-to-five. I’m working in southern Ohio at the moment, but I’ve got rigs running in three states. Dad lives back in Rochester, Michigan, where I grew up, and with the flights out there and back I’m looking at taking at least three days out. I hear the sound of the text coming through as I grip the freezing handle of the door. Through the window, I see Jack, the driller, shrug and throw his hands up wondering what I’m doing.
The tension in Jack’s face tells me something is wrong and sure, on an oil rig there’s always something wrong, but sometimes those things are matters of life or death—or millions of dollars. Both can be split-second decisions and time is not your friend.
“I’ll expect your flight information within the hour. Love you, son. See you soon.”
Dad clicks off, and I shake my head on a frosty exhale as I open the door and drop my phone from my ear, looking down to tap on his text which opens the photo he sent.
Jack’s gravelly voice starts as I step inside. Something about the twenty-thousand-dollar drill bit failing, and we have to trip out six-thousand feet of pipe which will take eighteen-hours minimum. That means downtime. That means progress stops. Shit’s always breaking, but it still makes everyone pissy, including me.
I open my mouth to answer when the photo opens up on my phone screen.
His voice disappears. There’s a ringing in my ears and a clutch in my chest that is either a heart attack—which wouldn’t surprise me—or something I’ve never felt before.
I see my father, his arm around who I’m guessing is his soon to be bride, Gayl. Exotic, and beautiful.
But neither of them have my knees ready to buckle and the world spinning around me.
It’s the third person in the photo.
It’s her eyes. Ice blue, wide but sharp. As though she’s looking through the lens at me, knowing I would be here.
It’s her half smile. Her arms wrapping around her waist as if to say, I want to be anywhere but here.
Her hair is pulled over her left shoulder in an ivory waterfall that covers part of her face and curves over her chest, and my mouth starts to water. She reminds me of that character from the Frozen movie. The blond. I’ve watched the movie a few times with Sophia, Kara’s little girl, and if that character was based on a real human, I’m looking at her right now.
She’s wearing a chic light blue suit, controlled and professional looking for such a young woman.
“Van!” Jack’s voice cuts through my haze, and I tear my eyes from the phone for a moment to see him gawping at me.
“What?”
He says each word separately as if explaining to a child. “The bit isn’t coming out with the pipe.” A clap of his hands punctuates the importance of what he’s saying. “We have to go fishing for it. Fuck. That’s another thirty-six to forty-eight hours.” His face shows the years in this job. He’s a decade older than me, and I just had my fortieth.
I don’t know much about him at all, despite us working together for nearly twenty years. I mean, I know he’s not married, we seem to have a similar view on relationships, especially in this business. We know each other, just not much about lives outside of work. But, then work is our life.
Despite the fact, he’s probably the closest thing I have to a friend in this whole world, and when we are out together at a restaurant or whatever, we’ve been mistaken for brothers many times. Neither of us seems to see the resemblance, but enough strangers in bars have made it a point to mention it, so now we just shrug and nod.
“So fish it out!” I grunt back as my eyes find their way back to the screen of my phone. “I’ve got a family thing. I’m flying out tonight.” George pops her head out and growls at Jack, who flips her off with a snarl.
“Fucking dog. Oh, wait, what?” Jack draws his brow together, the sarcasm coming through. “You have a family?”
He’s only half kidding.
“Fuck off,” I answer back. Four letter words are half our vocabulary out here. “Get the fucking bit out of the hole and get back in. You can handle it. I’ll check in.”
The door behind me opens, and I glance around to see the newest guy shuffle in behind me, clearly looking for Jack. “Boss, there’s—”
Jack holds up a hand, silencing him. “Can it wait?”
“I guess.” The guy shrugs and Jack turns back to me.
“And what about the deal with Gloria? You expect me to handle that as well? She called and ripped me a new asshole when I told her about the bit.”
The worm chuckles hearing Gloria’s name, and I hear him mutter something about the surprise she has under her dress and I see red.
I’m not much of a violent man, but there are some things my guys know I won’t tolerate.
One of those things is being disrespectful toward women. Whether or not they were born that way.
I spin around with my arm already out and grab him around the throat, hearing him choke as I pin him up against the dog house door. “You got something to say?”
Out here in the oil field, we have our own set of rules. Straightening out a hand with physical force is just something we do. I once saw a driller swing his boot around like Jackie Chan and knock three teeth out of a drill hand’s mouth for refusing to carry his weight in a critical moment. Just how we operate, good or bad, take it or go home.
The worm, he’s the lowest on the totem pole, chokes out, “Some of the guys told me she was a—”
I get up in his face, and my next words are barely a grunt. “I’m going to let this slide. Just once. You tell those guys I’d better not catch them badmouthing Gloria, or they’ll have me to answer to. Her investments help to pay your salary. Not only that, she’s a woman, and she deserves your respect. You got that?” George helps by snarling and snapping at him from inside my coat.
He nods, and I dro
p him, turning away as if he’s not even worth my time. It happens again though, he’s going to be looking for a new job and an emergency room. George spins and tucks herself back down in my jacket; her work here is done.
“Just tell her to call my cell,” I say to Jack. “She’ll understand if it takes a day or two longer. She’s just going to give us shit about it.”
With that, Jack shrugs, shakes his head and starts yelling at the worm to grab the last of the samples and deliver them to the mud-logger’s shack and let him know the rig is going to be down for a couple of days. And just like that, things are back to normal.
This is my life. I live out of my truck the majority of the time. I have a house—pretty fucking nice house too—but I’m never there. I let Kara stay there with her daughter, rent free, in exchange for watching over the place while I’m gone.
As for me, I stay in hotels or on-site in a trailer and eat in restaurants or here at the rig when the guys cook in crock pots or on the grill, I make sure they have at each site.
Oil workers work twenty-one days on and seven off, twelve hours a day, but being the owner of eight of my own rigs, not counting the ones I own in partnerships, I work 365/24/7 for the most part.
We’re a rare breed. It’s a tough life for anyone in a relationship; I tell everyone I hire this could end whatever relationship they have and often it does.
So just another reason I’ve not made that a priority in my life. One of many reasons.
Sometimes I envy Kara. Sure, things might not have worked out with her daughter’s dad from a romance point of view, but they still have a connection. They’re friends, and Kara has a family, a life to look back on when she’s old. What will I have except this?
This is crazy shit. One fucking photograph and I’m seeing a lifetime. I need to get a grip, but it doesn’t look like that’s about to happen.
Before I even realize it, I’m back out of the shack and down the stairs into my truck, pulling up flights to Detroit Metro Airport as I start the engine and feel something...something I haven’t felt in longer than I can remember.
“Looks like you’re going to be off the road for a few days.” I look at George who nibbles my chin.
The sight of the girl in the photo has my dick raging hard. My heart is thumping around against my sternum, and when I press my fingers to the phone screen and enlarge the photo of her face, I just know. The way her lips are slightly parted, the way her tongue is just glancing the bottom.
I know it’s impossible, but her eyes connect to mine. Her eyes look right into my cold heart.
I swallow hard.
And cum in my fucking pants.
AVAILABLE NOW ON AMAZON
OTHER TITLES BY DANI WYATT
Standalones
Reigning Her In
Sweet Ride
Forging Forever
Just Until Morning
Perfect
His to Break
Rough Neck
Parting Glass
What If
The One
Cowboys Rule
Wrangler
Saddled
Meet. F*ck. Done. – CAN’T WAIT
Keeping Her Close
Back to Her
Let Go
Love, Daddy Series
Mastering Her Heart
HIS Rules
Goodgirls Say Please
Kiss Me Goodnight
Holidays
Night Before
Valentine's Rose
Baby It’s Cold Outside
The Forever Collection
Where She Belongs
When She’s Mine
Promise Duet
Promise
Cherish
Southside MMA Series
Force
Push
Cut Series
Hard Cut
Rough Cut – Coming May 2019
Deep Cut – Coming June 2019
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About Dani
Dani Wyatt used to feel bad about having such dirty thoughts. Luckily, one day she decided to start writing them down. Her ultra-obsessed, alpha heros have a wicked possessive streak and an insatiable libido. Her heroines are intelligent, quirky and worry about having too much muffin top. So, if you like your insta-love over the top, super-hot, with a little more plot and always a happily ever after you’re in the right place.
She’s fighting middle age like a warrior and lives an average life battling gravity. When she's not writing she is probably laughing about some irony (like A-1 Steak Sauce is vegan), reading, riding her horse, or looking cross-eyed at some piece of technology sent to ruin her day
Thank You.
I have so many amazing people I’ve met since I started putting my
naughty thoughts on the page. To some of the first fans who supported me, the bloggers,
fellow authors who have been more than generous with their
time and opinions as well as the other professionals that
put up with my particular kind of crazy, thank you.
...you guys remind me
Every day that when we support each other everyone wins.
xoxoxo