Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
“This looks like the trail we used to take down to the creek.” She’s leaning forward now, trying to see through the woods.
“It is,” I tell her, and her smile widens.
“Do you remember that time we found those blackberry bushes, and you ate so many you got a stomachache? You ran home crying because you thought you’d been poisoned.”
“I learned a valuable lesson about eating random things in the woods.” I grin at her, and she laughs. “Lane, the whole reason I left the farm and started on the rodeo circuit was to make something of myself.”
She blinks at me in surprise. “What do you mean? You’ve got your family’s farm.”
“Exactly. I wanted something that was my own. Something I could do to take care of you. I wanted to be able to make all of your dreams come true. Not as a man that coasted off his family's achievements but as someone who worked hard to give you everything. I wanted you to be proud to be with me.”
“Sawyer, I know I’m not always good at showing it, but I am proud of you. All of your rodeo achievements aside, you’re a good person with a big heart.”
“Yeah, but I’m cute too, right?” I flash her a smile so big I know my dimples are popping.
“And now you’ve ruined it.” She rolls her eyes.
I grab her hand and bring it to my mouth so I can kiss the palm. “Then let me make it up to you.”
The truck bounces a little when I drive over the wooden bridge I had built. It goes right across the creek we used to play in as kids.
“What do you—” She stops talking when she looks ahead and sees the house. It takes her a moment to recover before she turns to face me. “No.”
“Yes,” I tell her, but she’s shaking her head.
“You didn’t.”
“I remember everything you say.” Tears form in her eyes, and I pull her against me. “Shhh, don’t cry.”
When we were kids, Lane was obsessed with the Anne of Green Gables books. She would bring them down to the creek and read while I would look for crawdads and tadpoles. Most of the time, I’d make her read them to me out loud. I loved listening to her talk, but if she was reading to herself, she wasn’t talking to me. So I figured reading her book out loud was almost as good as her talking to me. Sometimes she would stop and say things she loved about the book, and a time or two she mentioned the house. She said she'd love to live in a house like that one day, so I tucked that little piece of her in the back of my mind, knowing one day I’d give it to her.
“Does this mean you like it?” I ask, and she pulls back, tears streaming down her face. I wipe them away, and she nods, sniffing.
“You’re an idiot,” she says, and we laugh together. “I can’t believe you built a house like this just because I said how much I loved it.”
“I told you, kitten. You’ve been mine all along.”
She pulls me to her and kisses me with a passion that matches my own. The next thing I know, she’s climbing on my lap, and I grin against her lips.
“You know, we’ve got a whole-ass house we can do this in,” I say, and she reaches for the door handle.
“Good point.”
I climb out of the truck still holding her in my arms as I carry her up the stairs of the porch.
“You can put me down, you know,” she offers, but I shake my head.
“Not a chance, kitten.” I open the front door with one hand and carry her inside. “I’m not risking you running out on me. Besides, it's good luck to carry the bride over the threshold.”
She doesn’t seem to register the words as her eyes widen in wonder. “It’s incredible,” she whispers almost to herself.
“If only I’d thought to buy a race car bed,” I say, and her laughter fills our home.
Chapter Thirteen
LANE
Sawyer leads me from one room to another, and I can’t get over all he’s done. Not only that he’s built this home, but he’s done it next to the creek. Our creek. We used to spend entire days out there, and it holds so many of my favorite memories.
“There are still a few things left like the décor and finishing touches.”
“It’s pretty dang perfect right now.” I walk through a set of double French doors that lead to an office or possibly a library. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with books, except for a bay window that provides a view of the creek beyond. There’s a path leading toward it, lined with lights.
“I wasn’t sure about the bookcases, and the desk I grabbed randomly.” I can tell he’s being a bit bashful. He really wants me to love this, and I do. How did I ever question what I meant to this man? I’m going to blame it on being young and dumb.