Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
“So?” Her voice carries like a rifle shot. “What’s up with you? Auction nerves or did someone piss in your Cheerios at Molly’s?”
I do my best to look casual, but I’m sure she sees right through my act. “Just running through the lineup again, Grams.” I jerk my chin toward Thunderbolt, who’s currently showing off for the mares like he’s the king stud. “Hoping the big lug gets what he’s worth tomorrow.” Fuck. We need it if we’re going to keep The Rolling R Ranch running for another year.
Grams snorts, wipes her hands on her jeans, and marches over to me. “He’s going to bring a good price. I feel it in my bones.”
I glance sidelong at her. “Your bones also told you I’d win prom queen, Grams.”
She grins, all teeth and crow’s feet. “I was only off by a few votes, sassypants.”
My phone buzzes. I check the screen. Just a weather alert. Darn. No excuse to run away from my grandmother’s X-ray vision. I shove the phone back in my pocket. “I’m not worried about Thunderbolt. I know he’s worth the asking price. But I’m worried about the buyers. Last year’s batch looked like they couldn’t pick out a stud if he bit ‘em in the ass.”
Grams laughs, loud enough to send a cluster of chickens fluttering. “You let me handle the old boys’ club. You just talk up Thunderbolt like he’s the best damn thing since sliced bread.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s basically the horse version of sliced bread, Grams. Except, you know, with more attitude.” And I can’t believe I have to sell him. But there’s no other way to save the family ranch. We need money and lots of it. Fast.
She cackles and swats me on the shoulder. “There’s my girl. Go on, then. Give him a brush down before you dive into those spreadsheets again. He gets antsy if he doesn’t get his daily dose of praise.”
I mutter something about diva stallions and head for the gate. Thunderbolt is already doing his best supermodel walk along the fence, muscles rippling and tail flagged high. Show-off. I swear he knows tomorrow’s the big day. He prances over like he expects a red carpet and a bucket of carrots.
“Easy, big guy,” I say, running my hand over his glossy mane. He leans into my hand, all attitude and horsepower, and gives me the world’s most obvious “Where’s my treat?” look. I dig in my jacket pocket, come up with a half-smashed peppermint, and feed it to Thunderbolt. He snorts, lips twitching, then tries to mug my hand for more. Greedy bastard. “Hey, save some for tomorrow, showboat. You want to look like a million bucks, not a sugar-high toddler.”
Thunderbolt lifts his head and stands even taller, like he knows I just complimented him. I rub circles on his shoulder and try to ignore the fact that my hands are a little shaky. Not from nerves. Definitely not from thinking about a certain cowboy and his cocky grin. I’m absolutely not the kind of girl who gets flustered by a random dude in a diner. Oof.
Thunderbolt nuzzles my neck, snorting horse snot all over my collar. “Thanks, buddy.” I wipe my jacket sleeve with my hand. I can’t believe I have to sell my best friend in order to save the family farm. Life sucks sometimes.
CHAPTER TWO
COLE
I’m back in my hotel room, staring at the auction catalog like it holds all the secrets of the universe. It doesn’t, but a man can dream. Every time I try to focus on the lineup, my mind returns to the brunette in the red hoodie and spray-on jeans who took my breath away at Molly’s Diner and then vanished like a hallucination. Fuck. I can’t get her out of my head.
I try to reread the listing for the horse I’m here to check out, but all I see is cherry-red cotton stretched over curves for days and a mouth I want to taste till she screams my name. I flip the catalog closed and scrub a hand down my face. My palm comes away sweaty.
Pathetic. One look at the stunning brunette in the diner, and I’ve been a goddamn mess ever since.
I pace the length of my hotel room. This place is overkill. Everything’s cream and gold, from the carpet to the sheets draped across a bed big enough to host a football team. There’s a glass chandelier above me and a basket of fancy-ass snacks on the marble-topped bar that I nearly wiped out first thing. Even the view out the floor-to-ceiling windows is next level. Montana mountains. Miles of blue sky.
My body’s wound tight. I can’t stop thinking about her, the curve of her hips, how she’d taste if I had her sprawled naked across that king-sized bed. I groan and rake a hand through my hair. I’d trade all this luxury for five more minutes with her.