Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
They also have two million Instagram followers. There’s no doubt in my mind that we’ll sell out of whatever stock we bring with us, but the real value of the trunk show will be the exposure we’ll get. The hope being, of course, that we make Aspen Leather Company’s regulars our regulars.
Mollie pulls back, holding my shoulders. “Road trip when I get back from my honeymoon? You and me?”
Seeing her tears up close finally has me tearing up. “Hell—I mean heck yes. Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
CHAPTER 6
Road Trips in Rent-a-Trucks
Duke
April
“No. Fucking. Way.” Hands on my hips, I look at the U-Haul and shake my head. “You are not driving this thing by yourself all the way to Colorado.”
“Watch me.” Wheeler goes up on her toes to rearrange a box in the back of the truck. “I learned to drive in my mom’s Yukon, so…”
“I bet your mom’s Yukon had power steering and automatic brakes. This thing”—I nod at the white and orange abomination parked in front of the New House—“I’m not even sure if it has brakes. Or heat.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” Falling back on her heels, she rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t you have cowboy things to do?”
I always have cowboy things to do. But whenever Wheeler is around, I have a hard time doing them.
Hard time focusing on anything other than, well, the pretty redhead with a smart mouth and cute ass. Which is how I ended up meandering to the driveway after lunch. Wheeler hadn’t shown up to eat, so naturally I wandered around the house, telling myself I was just winding down after a long, boring morning with the herd.
The image of this cute little redhead driving this big ugly truck through the Rockies in April gives me heart palpitations. Who thought this was a good idea? I can’t believe Mollie is letting her do this.
A lot has changed since the girls booked this trunk show in Aspen. Mollie and Cash got married in a cute little ceremony underneath an arbor of roses in their cabin’s backyard. Then Mollie found out on their honeymoon in Australia that she was pregnant.
She’s in her second trimester now. She and the baby are healthy. But earlier this week, Mollie’s doctor put her on bed rest after she had some spotting, which means she isn’t able to travel to Colorado with Wheeler for their trunk show this weekend.
So now Wheeler, being the dedicated entrepreneur she is, is planning to go to the trunk show by herself.
“You know Wheeler,” Mollie said last night when I confronted her about the situation. “That girl is gonna do what she wants to do.”
“You need to fight her harder on this.”
“I’ve tried.”
“Reschedule the pop-up, then.”
“I’ve tried, Duke.”
It’s close to a twenty-hour drive through some pretty treacherous mountains.
I’ve driven through the Rockies several times with Garrett Luck, Mollie’s dad, who passed away last year, usually to purchase quarter horses from a ranch in Wyoming. Those roads ain’t for the faint of heart. Especially with the late-season snow they’re calling for.
I obviously can’t let her drive alone. I don’t want her to die for one thing. For another, my heart always skips a beat at the idea of having an excuse to get the hell out of Hartsville. Back in the fall, my brothers and I had a great fucking time in Austin for Cash’s bachelor party. Even before we left the Texas state capital, I was itching to plan my next trip.
Really, to get out of Hartsville again.
I get that buzzing sensation at the top of my spine. Ryder. Go figure, he was right. Giving Wheeler space, biding my time, has been the right call. Because all of a sudden, I have an opportunity to finally make this girl mine and experience someplace new.
“Y’all got plenty of money now, Wheeler,” I hear myself telling her. “Why don’t you pay to ship all this shit and fly instead?”
“Because I don’t trust anyone but myself to get these boots to Aspen safely. This pop-up is a big deal for us, Duke, and I need everything to be perfect. Plus, this way I don’t have to fit all my outfits into one suitcase. Faux fur takes up a lot of room.” She’s reaching inside the truck again, straining to reach the boxes on the tippy top of the stacks of boots piled inside.
Glancing up at the sky—God give me strength—I walk over to help. I reach the boxes easily, rearranging them so the stacks fit tightly inside the truck.
I’m hit by the image of her taking a sharp turn and the boxes tumbling down, shaking the truck. She’ll jam on the brakes, and they won’t work, and she’ll be screaming as she tries to pull over, boxes thumping around in the back while she catches the lip of the road and plunges to her death off the side of a mountain.