Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Me: I’m pretty good, actually.
Gianna: Ride that fine-ass man like a horse.
Oh, Gianna. I laugh and settle into my seat.
What a mindfuck of a day this has been. At least the hard part is over.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Gray
Gravel crunches beneath my tires as I turn onto the long driveway leading to Blackbird Ranch. The sign Grandpa proudly hung when he was about my age shines above the gate. The stone pillars that Mom hated stand tall on either side with solar lanterns on top of them.
The thought of Hartley using solar anything makes me smile.
A wooden fence borders the driveway, separating our private road from the forest on either side. The trees are thick, and the vegetation is dense and dark. Despite not being in those woods for a decade or more, I have no doubt I could find my way through them blindfolded.
I peek at Astrid, finding her taking it all in.
The feeling of being home settles over my soul. It’s been too long since I was here—so long, in fact, that I forgot how the world ends at the start of the gate. Back here, it’s a world all its own and ruled by hard work, loyalty, and family.
My chest grows heavy as nostalgia for a time long gone takes up residence between my pecs.
“You grew up here?” Astrid asks, unbuckling herself.
“Yeah. I grew up here with my parents, my dad’s dad—my pap—and my brother, Hartley, who you’ll meet in a second.”
Her gaze settles on the main house coming into view. “I know you love rugby and all, but I don’t think I could ever leave a place like this. It’s so … peaceful.”
The way she says it hits me in the heart.
“Some things run in the family, I see,” she says, laughing.
What? I spy Hartley’s giant white pickup truck parked just outside the garage. He comes out of the garage with a shit-eating smile and waits for us to pull up.
“Look at you,” he says, grabbing me for a hug as soon as my feet hit the ground. “How the hell are you? Still a shrimp, I see.”
I chuckle, taking in his six-foot-one, solid two-hundred-thirty-pound frame. “We both couldn’t be great looking, so God gave you height.”
“You’re full of shit,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. He takes a step back, and his attention is drawn to movement at the front of my truck.
I follow his gaze to Astrid. Her arms are folded across her middle. Gone is the easygoing girl I had in the truck with me. Astrid with the clipboard is back—minus the actual clipboard.
“Come here,” I say, smiling gently at her. “Astrid, this is my brother, Hartley. Hart, this is my assistant, Astrid.”
His eyes light up. “This is the assistant?”
“Yes.” I hide a grin. “This is the assistant.”
“Whatever he’s said about me comes from a place of ego and stubbornness that I fear you know all too well.” Astrid holds out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Hartley.”
“It’s very nice to meet you. I can tell we have a lot in common,” Hartley says as they shake hands.
A small smile touches her lips.
“I gotta run a couple of keys to the guys at the south gate.” Hartley turns to me. “You guys can ride with me or head on in and grab a drink.”
Astrid is more relaxed than she was a few moments ago, but I think introducing her to the crew might be more than she’s ready to handle today. Those guys are a rowdy bunch.
“We’ll stay here,” I say.
The relief is evident on Astrid’s face.
“I’ll be about thirty minutes,” Hartley says, getting into his truck. “The keys are in the side-by-side if you want to take it for a spin.”
“You’re good with staying here, right?” I ask her as Hartley starts the truck.
“I was hoping you’d choose that option because I need to pee.”
“All right. Let’s head inside.”
The steps creak as we climb onto the porch and find the screen door closed. It pulls open with the same hitch it’s had my entire life, and something about that makes me smile.
“The bathroom is down the hallway,” I say, pointing to my right. “First door on your left.”
“Thanks.”
I take a deep breath, filling my nostrils with the scent of cinnamon apples. I can’t help but wonder if Hartley burns the same candles Mom did or if the scent has leached into the walls. It’s the smell of home.
I mosey around the living room, taking in the similarities and differences since I was here last. A new mounted deer head, a size bigger than Pap’s, hangs on the back wall. We never thought anyone would break that record, but it looks like someone did.
Pictures line the built-in cabinets surrounding the television. I take them one by one, many of them in the same spot they have for years. Miniature rocking chairs that Hart and I used as kids are next to the fireplace. The television, though, is new and much bigger—a flat-screen that looks like a picture frame. Mom would’ve hated it. I find that amusing.