Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
I don’t know if it’s a lie or not.
Her relief is visible, shoulders sagging slightly. Then she rises on her toes and presses her lips to mine, a kiss so gentle it breaks something inside me.
When she pulls back, there’s a new resolve in her eyes. “Take me shopping tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Shopping. In Billings. Before we go back.” She smiles, a small, determined curve of her lips. “If I’m going to be a Bishop wife, I might as well dress like one.”
The sudden shift throws me. “You want to go shopping?”
“Yes.” She steps back. “I want a day of pretending we’re normal. I want to walk down a street where no one knows our names. I want to try on clothes that don’t remind me of blood or dirt or survival.” She takes a deep breath. “I want one day of feeling like your wife instead of your prisoner before whatever comes next.”
I should say no. Should tell her we’re returning to Black Hollow Creek first thing in the morning.
Instead, I find myself nodding. “Okay. Shopping it is.”
The next day, we spend the morning in Billings’s upscale shopping district. Saint stays close to my side, eyes wide as she takes in the luxury around her.
“I’ve never seen so many zeros on a price tag,” she murmurs as we pass a window display.
“Bishop money,” I remind her. “Spend whatever you want.”
She gives me a sidelong look. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Live dangerously for once.”
“I think marrying you covered my quota for danger.” But she’s smiling as she says it, a teasing lilt to her voice that I rarely hear.
I guide her into a boutique with tasteful displays. The saleswoman approaches immediately, and before long, Saint is ushered into a fitting room with an armful of dresses.
“What do you think?” She emerges in a deep red dress that clings to her curves, the color making her eyes look like midnight.
I take my time looking, letting her see the appreciation in my gaze. “Perfect.”
A blush spreads across her cheeks. “You think so?”
“I know so.” I stand, moving closer. “Get it. And anything else you want.”
By lunchtime, Saint is carrying several bags and wearing a new pair of boots she insisted on changing into immediately. We sit at a café overlooking the river, talking about things we’ve never discussed before—favorite colors, music, books, and foods. Having a normal conversation with her feels strangely intimate.
It’s the most honest we’ve ever been with each other, even surrounded by lies and half-truths.
As we exit the last store, I check my watch and realize we’ve spent the entire day just… being together. No threats. No violence. No desperate survival calculations.
Just a man and his wife, shopping and talking and existing in the same space.
“We should head back,” I tell her. “Get on the road before dark.”
She nods, though I catch the flash of disappointment in her eyes. “Of course.”
At a crosswalk, I spot a familiar face across the street, Agent Reese, pretending to window shop while keeping an eye on us. She doesn’t acknowledge me, but the message is clear: we’re being watched. If that isn’t a reason enough to get the hell out of here, I don’t know what is.
The drive back to Black Hollow Creek is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. The mountains loom larger as we approach, dark sentinels marking the boundary of Bishop territory. Of our reality.
Saint stares out the window, watching the city fall away behind us. “Do you think it would have been different? If we’d gotten together another way?”
The question echoes my earlier thoughts so closely it startles me. “What do you mean?”
“If I hadn’t witnessed Martin’s murder. If you hadn’t kidnapped me. If we’d just… connected. At The Rusty Nail. Or in town. Do you think it would have been different between us?”
I consider it, trying to imagine a world where I’m not Roman’s son, where she’s not the preacher’s daughter, and where blood and duty don’t stand between us.
“Maybe.” The answer is inadequate, but it’s the only one I have. “But we didn’t.”
“No,” she agrees quietly. “We didn’t.”
As we crest the final ridge before Black Hollow Creek, my phone buzzes. Roman’s name flashes on the screen. I hit accept, putting it on speaker out of habit when I’m driving.
“Where the hell are you?” Roman’s voice fills the truck, harsh and demanding.
“Checking the eastern property line,” I lie smoothly. “What’s up?”
“Make sure you’re here and ready. Tomorrow night we need to have a little family dinner. Dress appropriately.”
The blood freezes in my veins. “Why?”
Roman growls, “Because I fucking told you to be there, Calder. Bring that little wife of yours too.”
I glance at Saint and see the color drain from her face, the way her knuckles whiten where she grips the seat.
“We’ll be there,” I manage, voice steady despite the panic clawing at my throat. “Both Saint and I.”