Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
At least not yet.
Not so far.
He’s rough, sure. Grumpy as hell. But he’s never once treated me like I was less than. He’s never once looked at me like I was a thing to win or buy or collect.
I stare down into my drink, swishing the ice.
I’m not ready for love. And I’m definitely not looking.
But if I ever gave someone a chance again . . . maybe it’d be him.
Not now.
Not yet.
But maybe someday.
Maybe.
29
Hunter
I catch a glimpse of them on my way to the shop Sunday night—Wren and Atticus in the yard, Sugarplum trotting slow circles around the front pasture while the boy bounces and beams like he’s just won the damn lottery and a Disney cruise at the same time.
I ease my truck to the side of the gravel road and kill the engine, already halfway out the door before I realize I don’t have a real reason to stop—not beyond the fact that I haven’t seen her in days and I’m hankering for a Wren fix like an addict anxious for his next hit.
She waves when she sees me, and I wave back, trudging through the ditch and up the side of her drive. Today she’s in cutoff jean shorts and a white Iowa State T-shirt, her hair in some messy braid that’s all but coming undone. She looks like a warm evening. Soft. Uncomplicated. The kind of easy beauty you don’t see coming.
“Hey there, neighbor,” she says, warm and receptive.
I nod toward Atticus, who’s trying to steer Sugarplum like she’s a trick pony and not a sleepy lawn ornament. “Looks like the little man’s living his best life.”
“He’s obsessed,” she says, her eyes soft. “I’m thinking about finding him some leather chaps. He won’t stop asking for them. I don’t even know if they come in his size.”
“He’ll want a belt buckle the size of Texas next,” I say. “This is only the beginning.”
She chuckles, and I tuck my hands in my back pockets to keep from reaching for her. My palms itch and ache, longing to touch her soft skin and brush that wayward strand of hair off her brow.
When Atticus guides Sugarplum to the far side of the yard, I drop my voice. “How was your weekend?”
Wren shrugs, her smile fading. “Eventful.”
“Yeah?”
“Had a girls’ night out with one of my old high school friends.”
“That explains it. You hungover?”
“Not exactly,” she says, eyes glittering with something unspoken. “Do you know a guy named Cole Benton?”
Every muscle in my body tenses. “Too well and I wish I didn’t. Why?”
She scratches the back of her neck, looking away for a second. “Ran into him at the Tipsy Turtle. He, uh, propositioned me, and then he insulted me.”
I stare, waiting for the punch line. When it doesn’t come, my fists clench tight at my sides. “Propositioned?”
“He offered to put me on his payroll for a hundred grand,” she says with a half laugh, like she’s still trying to believe it herself. “Said all I had to do was keep his bed warm and let him show me off. I told him to shove it. Well, my friend did. I was . . . too stunned to speak.”
My vision blurs at the edges. I didn’t think I had it in me to go full caveman over a woman, but I’m two seconds away from driving to his acreage on the west side of the county and introducing Cole’s teeth to my knuckles. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve wanted to do that, but now I’d actually have good reason to.
I don’t say anything, just breathe slow and stare past her shoulder, watching Atticus circle back around.
She steps closer, studying me. “Why are you looking like that? All pensive.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “Guy’s a piece of shit, that’s all.”
She waves it off, like it’s not a big deal. “It’s fine. We scared him off. Sent him running back to his buddies with his tail tucked. It was actually pretty funny.”
“It’s not fine,” I mutter, eyes locked on her. “Cole’s got a reputation. Ruined more than a few marriages around here. Pays off his girlfriends to keep their mouths shut and look pretty until he’s done using ’em. Guy like that gives men like me a bad name.”
Her brows pull together. “Men like you?”
I don’t answer because I’m not even sure what I mean by that. All I know is the thought of Cole Benton looking at her like she’s a prize to buy makes me want to burn something down.
She senses the shift in me, because she changes the subject—asks about planting, about the weather coming in next week, about anything that isn’t Cole Benton or what I’d do to him if he tried that shit again.
But even as I answer her, even as I watch Atticus giggle and shout from atop that lazy pony, my mind’s already made up.