Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Are you spending the night?” I called in that direction.
“Is that an invite?” he called back.
“Yeah.”
“Then yeah.”
I adjusted so I was under the covers, and once there, I pulled them up to my chin and grinned like a loon.
Hutch returned and got under them with me about half a second before Tonks jumped on the bed.
“Not yet, girl,” Hutch told her. “We’re not done.”
Tonks yodeled toward the ceiling and jumped off.
“You wear me out,” I told Hutch.
He yanked me under him (see what I mean about dominant?).
“Not yet. But I will,” he returned.
And then he kissed me.
After that, he wore me out.
We took Tuesday off, which was probably good.
Grounding.
Time apart and away from the intensity.
Wednesday afternoon, Hutch showed for Tonks’s training appointment with a truck bed full of firewood.
There was some framing in the car port against the outside cabin wall where it was meant to be stacked so it could keep dry. Thus, Tonks and I left the workshop so I could help him unload (which, at Hutch’s decree, was me in the truck bed handing it to him log by log so he could stack, because, like loading the trunk of a car, apparently, only a man knew the proper way to stack firewood) and Tonks could supervise.
After that, there was some mild bickering as to who would pay for the wood, which in the end, I allowed us to split it because he said, “Babe, I’ll be here and enjoying it, so just give it up and go half.”
I gave it up, but I right then and there demanded his Venmo in order to reimburse him, and he watched me do this after sighing heavily.
They did their training, and I went out the last fifteen minutes so Tonks and I could work together.
I didn’t know, and I didn’t ask Hutch (because I didn’t want him to disagree with me), but she seemed to be taking to “heel” even easier than “stay,” and therefore I thought this meant she was highly intelligent and learning, day to day, how to listen better and jive with the vibe.
He then went to work on installing a new thermostat, which he’d phoned Mrs. Matthews to tell her he was putting in, and she’d told him to send her the receipt so she could reimburse his expenditure. She’d also told him she was sending a landscaping team out the next day to rake the pine needles up around the property.
“Seems Mrs. Matthews has the same idea your friend had about keeping your property busy,” Hutch mused after he gave me this info.
He was probably right.
I just knew that woman was the bomb.
The thermostat was a fancy one I could control on my phone, and within fifteen minutes of it being installed, I could feel the cabin warming up.
“Oh my God, now this place actually is perfect,” I declared.
Hutch smirked at me before he said, “Gotta go back and work with the dogs. You up for a session tonight?”
“I’ve had a full day’s rest, my man. I swear, this time, I’ll keep up with you.”
His brown eyes lit with warmth before he asked, “You got a problem with me bringing Hannibal?”
“Not at all, unless he’ll have a problem with Moxie. Seemed he and Tonks were cool at the opening.”
“Only if Moxie will have a problem with him licking her to death. He’s played mother to a lot of litters. He gets off on it.”
That was so sweet.
“Sounds good then,” I said.
“Great. I’ll go work. Shower, pick you up, and there’s a place, about ten miles beyond the sanctuary, seriously local, middle of nowhere, you gotta know to know. No frills, great food. We’ll go out and eat, head back, get Hannibal, come here.”
“Works for me.”
“Five thirty?”
“That works for me too.”
He came to me and dropped a kiss on my mouth.
Then he left.
After dinner (and Hutch was right: great, home-cookin’, stick-to-your-ribs food—I had chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and white pepper gravy, because in a joint like that, if it was on offer…obviously), we went to his place.
“Don’t get out,” he said as I looked around at what I could see from his headlights. “I’ll go get him and be right back.”
“Gotcha,” I replied, watching him walk into an authentic log cabin.
It was long. It had a sloped roof with dormer windows in what could only be an attic according to the height of the space. The roof led onto a long porch that had two actual rocking chairs on it, separated by an old barrel.
There were no airs and graces. No outdoor décor or silly Gone Fishin’ signs. No mountain bachelor pad jacuzzi tucked off to the side.
It was bare bones, and because it was, it was all cool.
It seemed to fit him.
There were three chimneys, one in what, considering the position of his front door, was probably the living room, and beyond that, one in what was doubtless the kitchen, and the last at the back, likely the main bedroom.