Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
"Need help walkin' up?" Mercy asks
"I got it," I tell Mercy, trying to sound upbeat and positive as I ignore the tug of the IV line still feeding antibiotics into my arm. I might be weak, but I'm not an invalid.
Not far off one, either. Which is why it matters. Poor people don't have the luxury of being… whatever this is. Injured, I guess. Incapacitated.
It's the law of the jungle with people like me.
Only the strong get by.
As I walk up the little path, I study the immaculate landscaping. Flower beds burstin’ with colors that don't belong in this part of Montana, green grass that must drink a thousand gallons of water a day. Stone pathways branch off toward what looks like a guest house to the left and some kind of pool around the back.
The front door is massive. Ten feet tall, carved with scenes of cattle drives and wild horses. Brass hardware that's polished to a mirror shine. No dust dares settle here.
Beyond the main house, I can see part of the stables—another perfect structure with copper weather vanes spinning in the breeze. A paddock where three horses graze on grass that's greener than any field that doesn't come with the Ashby name.
That's what so vile about this place. It's not the house. Though it's big enough to be on the gross side of opulent. It's the acres and acres of Ashby territory, stretching toward mountains in the distance.
From here, you can't even see where it ends. That's the real wealth. And the green grass is more of a flex than a whole pile of fuckin' diamonds could ever be. The water rights this one family owns, is sick. The fact that their land stays green when everything else around it burns brown in the summer sun is enough to make me want to turn away and never look at this place again.
"Ready Mr. Kane?" The medic is getting impatient. "We need to get you settled."
I take a step forward, feeling the gravel crunch under my boots that appeared in a package yesterday, along with the jeans and t-shirt I’m wearin’ right now.
The front doors swing open before we reach them. A woman in a crisp uniform—not quite a maid, something fancier—nods at me with professional distance.
"Welcome to the Ashby Ranch, Mr. Kane. Miss Ashby is waiting for you inside."
I've never been inside before. Never even been this close to the main house. All those years with Savannah, and we always met at the silo, or by the creek, or in some out of the way place that wasn't on a map.
Now I'm walking through the front door like I belong here.
"Legion." Savannah says my name with a breath of relief. She's waiting for me beneath the towering stone portico entrance, framed by the massive oak columns like some kind of homecoming queen. Her hair is pulled back, face clean of makeup, wearin’ a simple sundress that reminds me of the girl she was before college, before Marcus, before everything.
I breathe through the effort it takes to walk over to her and slip my arm around her waist. I don't know the woman who lives in this place. I only know the girl from the silo.
She leans in, cautious, like I might break, and kisses me on the cheek. I turn in to it, take her face in my hands, and kiss her properly.
Her mouth smiles against mine, kissin’ me back without hesitation. I didn't do it as a test, but it is one.
Who are we under this roof? Two lovers? Two friends? Two strangers?
"My god, I've missed that tongue of yours." She whispers this into my mouth, answering my unasked question. Then she pulls back a little. "I wish I could take you upstairs, but the doctors say you need to stay on the ground floor. So…" She smiles at me. "I've turned the library into your new bedroom.”
The improvised hospital room they've set up is bigger than my entire trailer. Tall windows let in afternoon light, illuminating a space that's been divided into sections—a bedroom area with monitoring equipment, a sitting area with couches, even a dining space. The wet bar in the corner has been converted to a makeshift kitchen.
Mercy talks the entire time they're settling me in, jumping from topic to topic. Her new puppy Puddles. Her bedroom with its own bathroom. The indoor pool in the east wing and the outdoor one out back. There's a chef who makes her whatever she wants for breakfast. And she spends every day in the stables with the horses.
The bribery is so obvious, as is her happiness, my heart goes sad.
"And there's a movie theater downstairs," Mercy says, eyes wide. "With real movie theater seats and popcorn machines."
I don't respond, just watch her bouncin’ around the room, looking healthier and happier than I've ever seen her. The guilt sits heavy inside me.