Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Interestingly enough, seven o’clock in the morning didn’t feel quite so early when sleeping in the dead center of several hundred acres close to the Texas’s Hill Country. I’d grown up within sixty miles of here and purchased several hundred acres at Austin Grainger’s insistence.
Best advice I’d ever followed.
The tension I carried like a protective shield was actively seeping from my taut muscles.
Anything I’d tried to do with the actual land had failed. Outside of the quiet relaxation, the property was a complete loss. Therefore it had become a much needed continual tax write-off and the place I escaped to every summer when the series I starred in broke from filming. I had roughly two months before returning to the studio to begin the relentless pace again.
For now, I’d hide on my parcel of land within reasonable driving distance of Austin’s home, regrouping before returning to the rat race once again. With a few strategic changes to my appearance—shaving my required facial hair and cutting my mophead in a close-cropped military style—no one ever suspected who I was. Well, that, and wearing clothes. My starring role as Poseidon, ancient god of the sea, kept my clothing to a minimum.
Since daylight was ticking and my guests were due to arrive within the hour, I tossed back the bedspread to place both feet on the cold hardwood floor.
Air conditioning was everything right in this part of Texas.
I padded to the closet. Last night, I’d managed a quick shower and shave before crawling into bed butt naked. The clothes my assistant sent were hanging neatly in their place. I grabbed underwear, a pair of blue jeans, a retro gray Texas Rangers T-shirt, and a well-worn Rangers ball cap, that I kept there year-round. After pulling on my jeans, I shrugged the T-shirt on and headed to the bathroom to make quick work of brushing my teeth. A splash of cold water over my face jarringly removed any fatigue that lingered.
With a hand towel, I dried what I’d just made wet as I stared at myself in the mirror. I didn’t even recognize my own face.
Enough of that. Coffee and watching the sun rise were my most immediate goals.
I loved this home. The first I’d ever built from the bottom up. This five-bedroom log cabin with its high-vaulted ceilings, and multi-level rustic yet modern design spoke to my soul. The uncovered windows allowed the natural sunlight inside. Solar panels fueled the home.
The strong scent of my preferred Columbian blend, rich with caramel and a nutty undertone, hovered in the air, drawing me to the coffee maker. I took a deep breath and grinned a natural smile. The pre-programmed coffee maker was something my high-strung, think-of-every-possible-angle micro-manager of an assistant, Tommy, would have scheduled. It only took opening three cabinet doors to remember where the coffee mugs were stored.
I filled the cup to the brim then tugged the Rangers ball cap on before going to the front door.
Just like every year when I first arrived, I marveled at the calming stillness. To the east, the sun shone brightly, the day fully awake. The birds chirped. A gentle breeze blew across the land. The clean air was such a shock to my system, it was truly remarkable that my lungs hadn’t seized in my chest.
Admittedly, the last twelve years had turned me into a different person. The hustle and bustle of New York City to Los Angeles had taken hold, entrenching me in the fast-paced glitzy lifestyle. The entire Hollywood scene drove me to accomplish great things in my chosen career. But the lifestyle eventually took its toll, leaving behind a cynical, take-charge, run-over-them-before-they-run-over-you attitude. My youthful exuberance had become tainted, tarnished, and jaded.
Huh. Those descriptions weren’t quite right. What word described the level above an asshole?
Outside, I grabbed the arm of a rocking chair and dragged it close to the edge of the railing. As my butt hit the seat, I lifted my feet to the top of the rail, crossing my ankles. The mountains—nothing more than large hills, really—were in the distance, teasing my soul with mystery. The lean of the rocker was perfect. I took a sip of the hot brew, losing myself to my thoughts.
Over the last year, I couldn’t remember having a hint of compassion for anyone or anything. My forceful reputation had begun to precede me, causing every one of my business dealings to be met with an unrelenting battle. I bulldozed my way through life.
Yet now, twelve hours into being back in Texas, the divots and rough cracks in my being were filling with peace and joy. The ruthless man ebbed away, leaving a foreign sense of contentment in its place. My only regret was I wouldn’t get more time to myself before my buddies arrived for our annual campout.