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)
Calder’s expression darkens as he reads the message.
He glances back toward the bar where the two men watch us, whispering to each other. His hand moves to my elbow, not rough but firm. I look down at it, and my skin burns where he touches me.
“Come on. I’m taking you home.”
“No, it’s okay. I can walk. It’s not that far and—”
“You’re not walking.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Let’s go.”
I should refuse. Should insist I’m fine, that I don’t need his help. But those men are still watching, and Allie is gone, and the beer has made everything feel slightly off-kilter. It’s probably better if I just let him take me home. I drop the pool cue on the table and let him lead me toward the exit, leaving a half-full beer behind as well.
Outside, the night air kisses my cheeks cold and sharp, helping to cut through the fog in my brain. I look up and notice the stars scattered across the black Montana sky. It’s beautiful, and terrifying, the sky that is. Gravel crunches beneath my feet as we walk across the parking lot. His truck looms in the darkness. It’s massive and black, exactly as I remember from when I was seventeen. He opens the passenger door for me like a gentleman, and my stomach does this strange somersault. I climb in, my heart hammering against my ribs. This is it. My one chance to be close to him.
The seat feels both foreign and somehow right.
Calder slides behind the wheel, his presence filling every inch of the cab. He smells of leather and whiskey and something woodsy that makes my head spin worse than the alcohol. The radio hums low, another country song I don’t recognize. The buzzing in my veins makes it difficult to focus on anything but him.
We drive in silence, and I steal glances at him from my seat.
Calder is sin dipped in danger, and I want to taste that danger. Once. Just once.
I take in his clenched jaw and the way his knuckles whiten as he strangles the steering wheel in his grip. He seems angry, but I can’t tell if it’s because of me or the situation or something else entirely.
“Thank you,” I say again, breaking the quiet, “for helping me back there.”
“Don’t mention it.”
His clipped words are dismissive. Like what he did was nothing, but it wasn’t nothing, not to me. He saved me.
“Those guys were...” I swallow hard. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You should’ve called someone. Should’ve gone with your friend to the bathroom. Shouldn’t have been drinking at all.” Each statement is a slap of disappointment. “How much have you had?”
“Just like two beers. I’m not drunk.”
His eyes flick to me briefly before returning to the road. “You’re drunk enough.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I can handle myself.”
“Is that what you were doing when I found you? Handling yourself?”
His sarcasm stings because he’s right. I couldn’t handle those men. There was no way I could have escaped on my own. He swooped in like a knight in shining armor.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For messing up your evening.”
He expels a long, frustrated sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Saintlyn, you didn’t mess up anything.”
I’m mesmerized by the movement. Then I freeze, and it finally hits me. He knows my name. Can I salvage this at all? Probably not. I do the only thing I can do when I’m nervous. I babble.
“Do you do this often? Save girls from drunk men in bars?”
The question comes out sharper than I intend. I blame the beer, the humiliation, the confusing mess of emotions churning in my chest.
“No.”
Just that. Nothing more.
“I don’t understand. Then why’d you do it for me?”
He doesn’t answer, and the truck slows as we near my street. The porch light glows in the distance, warm and welcoming.
Home. Safety.
Everything I should want.
Everything that’s slowly killing me.
Sitting here in the dark with Calder, slightly tipsy, my thoughts swirling, I know I need to make a move. I don’t want to go home yet.
“I remember something,” I blurt. “From before. When I was seventeen.”
Those cold blue eyes cut through me, and something dark flashes in them.
“I fell off a horse at the Parks’ ranch during the harvest festival and broke my wrist.” The words tumble out faster now, the beer loosening my tongue. “You were there. I don’t even know why you were there, but you were. I was on the ground crying, and I thought I was going to die from the pain. And you just appeared. Like you knew exactly what to do.” I’m off the rails now, but I can’t stop. “You were so calm and gentle. You carried me to your truck like I weighed nothing, and you drove so carefully over every bump, and you kept asking if I was okay. I was afraid to be alone, and you stayed at the hospital until my father got there.”