Billionaire's Second Chance (Billionaires #16) - Jennifer Hartley Page 0,43

through the door. “Sorry, but I already ate earlier. I got hungry, and you guys weren’t here, so I helped myself.” That sounded like a convincing lie. I really hated lying to Scott, though.

“No problem,” he said.

I opened the bathroom door to walk to my room.

“Oh,” he said as he called up the stairs again. “I almost forgot; DeShawn wanted me to tell you that he hoped you were feeling better. He’d kill me if I forgot to relay that message, I’m sure. He’s been kind of worried about you.”

I smiled and wanted to cry at the same time.

Scott paused for a minute, but I could tell he was still there. “Actually, I’ve been kind of worried about you, too,” he said. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yeah,” I lied again. “I’m fine now, just tired. I think I’m going to go to bed early.”

“Okay,” he said. Scott didn’t sound totally convinced, but he was always good about not pressing me. “Night, sis.”

“Goodnight,” I called down to him.

I heard him start to get his dinner ready as I walked into my bedroom. I put on my most comfortable pajamas and crawled back into bed. I didn’t even know what the hell I was going to do, especially with the farm being in decline ever since our parents’ death. I curled up and tried not to think about it and just go back to sleep, but I couldn’t. When I closed my eyes, I saw DeShawn’s beautiful face. I had been so worried about what this would do to my life, my brother’s life, and the farm that I didn’t stop to think about what it would do to DeShawn.

He had finally freed himself of this town and moved on to a bigger and better life. This was the last thing that any of us needed right now. I rolled over in the bed and sighed as I tried to force myself to sleep before I worked myself into a giant stress knot. When I turned over in the bed, my arm landed on a lump beneath the blanket. I reached my hand underneath, thinking that it was probably a wadded up shirt or sweater that I had forgotten to hang up, but much to my surprise, it was something else entirely. When I pulled out my hand, there in my grip was DeShawn’s raggedy old stuffed dog.

“What are you doing here?” I said as I looked at it.

The stuffed animal seemed to stare back at me with it’s one loose eye and it’s mostly worn-off smile. I wondered how in the world it had gotten into my bed since the last time I had seen it was on DeShawn’s lap in his car on the night that we had gone to his parents’ house. Then I remembered how he had tucked me in earlier today after I had been sick. He must have gotten it from his car and tucked it in with me.

I smiled and grabbed the dog with my arms and pressed it up against my chest. Then I pulled the blanket over both of us and held on to it as I closed my eyes again. My eyes started to water, and I nuzzled the top of the soft, worn head. I didn’t know whether I was crying because I was upset about everything that had happened today or because it was so sweet that DeShawn had left his most special possession here with me when I didn’t feel well. I thought about what he had told me, that this threadbare stuffed animal, which probably needed a washing badly, was the one thing that helped him through the long nights when he felt the most alone. That’s when I realized which reason it was that I was crying for. That night when I fell asleep, I didn’t have any more crazy dreams, thank goodness. I was pretty sure it was because of the stuffed dog.

In the morning, when I woke up, I neatly tucked the little guy back into my bed and got dressed. I gathered myself together and went down to make coffee. I was hungry and realized that I hadn’t eaten anything for an entire day, so I decided I would make some eggs and toast as well for Scott and me. When I got down to the kitchen, there was a note on the table. Scott had to go get some more feed for the chickens so I would be on my own for breakfast