Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
He looked a lot like Denver, though less rough around the edges. Less weathered by time, life, and the sun.
He also was missing that coppery red hair that the rest of the Windsor bloodline carried.
“I called a number about an apartment above a barn…”
Boone suddenly grinned. “It’s the one that Denver has, isn’t it?”
I grimaced. “Yes.”
Boone studied me for a long moment before he said, “There are a lot of circumstances that are out of people’s control.”
My brows rose.
“And Denver isn’t the bad guy in a few very important ones.” He looked directly at me, and I saw a little bit more of his uncle in this intensity of his gaze. “Plus, Denver is drowning right now. It would be good to have someone staying there that knows what the hell they’re doing that he can trust.”
The thought of Denver drowning would’ve made me happy about an hour ago.
Now…
I wasn’t sure what the hell I felt.
I just knew that the feeling was foreign and I didn’t like it.
“I’m going over there after work,” I muttered.
“Take the work truck and take Greta home,” he suggested. “You did good with her today. Denver rescued Greta and Gibson as puppies. He’d have been secretly heartbroken had they both passed.”
I nodded once. “Will do, but I’ll stop by and get her on my way out there. I’m going home to take a shower first.”
I would also stop thinking about anything to do with Denver Windsor.
Instead of going straight to Denver’s place after work, I chose to go home and shower off the day, snatching up my mail from the box as I went.
Quickly sifting through my mail as I walked toward the bathroom, I breathed the first deep breath since last night, when I got to an official-looking letter.
Sometime in between walking into work this morning and leaving it, I’d come to the decision that I would move into Denver’s apartment.
I’d make this work.
That thought in my head, I tossed the mail down on the bathroom counter, and one letter caught my eye.
It was addressed to my mother, I pushed it off the counter into the trash.
Then I took a shower and got ready to head to Denver’s.
I would not examine why it was that I chose to put on some makeup.
Nor would I examine why I chose my tightest pair of jeans I had that were also worn in and looked like I knew how to put in some work.
SIX
I can’t decide which pants to put on today. My smart pants or my fancy pants.
—DeeDee to Denver
DENVER
I was arm deep in a horse when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.
I’d know that white-blonde hair anywhere.
But in that moment, I was too busy to ask her why she was there.
Instead, I fished out a hoof and guided it out of the birth canal.
I did the same with the second.
Then I pulled.
My horse, Applesauce—aptly named by my girls years ago when they were younger—was what felt like two years pregnant.
I’d been keeping an eye on her for weeks, expecting her to give birth at any second.
However, she kept going. And going. And going.
Finally, last night, she’d shown signs of being in labor.
So I’d been checking on her on and off since.
Applesauce gave birth a few moments later with a pained whinny.
“There you are, old girl,” I said as she hopped up and turned to examine her baby.
I’d secretly hoped that Applesauce’s offspring would be the same grayish-blue color as her, but her offspring came out a cinnamon brown.
“Boring,” I grumbled to her.
She nudged the horse with her nose.
The baby fell over.
Chuckling, I stood up and stripped off my gloves, turning to survey the woman who was leaning on the stall door, her arms propping up her chin.
“I brought Greta home.” She paused. “And your girls stole my dog.”
I frowned. “Your dog?”
“Froto, the tiny Pomeranian,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I literally think they’re keeping him.”
I blinked. “That’s…”
Just another damn thing that I don’t want to have to add to my fucking list of things to do every morning.
No offense, because the dog was fuckin’ cute as hell, but I didn’t want to have to feed him a bottle every couple of hours. And I didn’t want that dog to die on my watch.
“I won’t let them keep him,” she murmured. “Greta is still in the truck, though. I can’t get her out. Plus, she didn’t really look like she was all that excited to get up. The seat in the back of the work truck is pretty comfy.”
I nodded, standing up straight and stretching my back out.
I wished I could go back to a time when my back didn’t hurt constantly. Or when I thought my back hurt when in reality it felt like angels and rainbows compared to now.
I’d be forty this year, and I felt every single one of those fuckin’ years.