Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Crap!” I smacked myself in the chest like I could get my heart beating again. “You startled me.”
“I wasn’t being quiet,” he replied, reaching out to pick a piece of wood off the chest of my hoodie. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like the dead,” I replied dryly as I pulled off my gloves. “I don’t know the last time I slept so late.”
“You needed it.”
“I thought you were tired,” I countered, smacking him lightly with my gloves. “But apparently you were awake with the sun.”
“You’re not far off,” he said as we turned to walk toward the house. My pop had already disappeared inside. “Once the sun came through your window, it was impossible to fall back asleep.”
“I’m going to tell you a trade secret,” I replied, stopping to turn toward him. “You ready?”
“Hit me.”
“You know when the sun comes through the window and it’s shining in your face?”
“Yes.”
I paused for effect. “Roll over.”
Daniel chuckled and started walking again.
“I’m serious,” I said, hurrying to match his pace. “It works!”
“Uh-huh.”
I smiled, letting the scent of home wash over me.
“Hey, Daniel, um…Danny?”
“Yeah?” He reached for my hand and slid his fingers between mine.
“Thank you for what you did this morning.” We were nearing the house, and I needed to get it out before we got within hearing distance.
“I figured you would thank me for last night,” he teased. When his eyes met mine, his expression grew serious.
“I…he—” I stuttered, trying to find the right words. “He’s a proud guy, so losing the ability to take care of this place has been, well, it’s sucked for him. Big time. And I do what I can, you know, to make sure that it looks okay out here…but it’s never as good as it looked before, and I know he hates that. He hates all of it. Ian and I usually process the wood when we see it’s getting low, but I’ve never thought to ask my pop to work the splitter.”
Daniel’s thumb brushed along mine in a caress.
“I should’ve thought to do that,” I finished.
Lifting my hand, he pressed it to his lips. “I didn’t know how to work the splitter, so I asked him to show me,” he replied simply. “We’ve always done it by hand.”
I knew what he was doing. He was downplaying it. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to acknowledge what he’d done for Pop.
“Still?” I grimaced. “We’re in the twenty-first century, bro. Get with the times.”
“I might,” he said as we continued walking. “We split that wood in less than half the time it would’ve taken me to do it by hand.”
“Modern technology,” I agreed, nodding sagely. “What a marvel, am I right?”
It took him a moment to realize I was fucking with him. When he did, I wasn’t prepared for the way he reacted. As he yanked me forward, he bent at the waist. His shoulder hit my gut, and my feet went flying into the air as he threw me over his shoulder.
“What the hell?” I screeched, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Of course, the broad shoulder pressing against my diaphragm probably didn’t help that either.
Then he started spinning.
My hair flew out in a halo around my head as I wheezed and cackled, the world flashing by through my rapidly tangling hair.
“Put me down, you Neanderthal,” I yelled, barely able to get the words out as I braced my hands against his back.
“Are you going to keep making jokes about my age?” he asked, his laugh a little breathless as his arms tightened around my thighs.
“I’m not going to lie to you, mate,” I choked out, trying to tickle his sides. “I probably will.”
His hand hit my ass in a stinging slap as he stopped, and my head swam as he lowered me to the ground again, making me stumble.
“You spanked me,” I accused, reaching back to rub away the sting.
“Bet you liked it,” he shot back, sauntering toward the house.
My mouth dropped open, and I swayed on my feet as I watched him walk away.
After lunch, we spent the day working on more things around the property. My dad had already fed the chickens and gathered the eggs—that was his responsibility, and it never deviated—but we completed the nasty task of cleaning out the coop. Then we broke down some pallets and stored them in the barn to reuse at some point, trimmed back the rhododendrons my mom had planted that were taking over one side of the house, and cleaned the leaves and debris off the concrete patio out back.
As we worked, the mating heat grew worse and worse. I could hack it. I’d once broken my forearm before having to hike four and a half miles to a rendezvous point, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed it. I’d always thought that the mating bond symptoms were bullshit. God or the universe or fate or whatever could’ve manifested a pull between two mates without making them feel like garbage. It felt a little counterproductive, if I was being honest. How the hell were you supposed to get to know your partner if you had horrendous flu symptoms? If I had to guess, that was probably the point of the whole thing. Who cares if you know them? Bang them! Bang them now! Complete the bond, and then it won’t matter if they’re a sociopath because you’ll already be tied to them for all eternity!