Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“I just took my first shower alone in twenty years, Sarah. It’s perfect. Seriously.”
She frowns, her eyes drifting to my scar again. “We got the laptop last week. Thomas can show you how to use it, if you want. He’s a whiz with all that tech stuff—”
“Can you tell Jon to bring in the sausages? We’re almost ready,” my mom hollers, interrupting us.
“Yeah, of course.” She takes a step and then falters. “You haven’t met my husband yet, have you?”
I shake my head. Saw him from afar earlier today, coming in on a tractor.
“Follow me.” She leads me toward the patio doors off the back.
Outside the sky is a murky gray. Dusk is around the corner. I was hoping to catch my first autumn sunset in two decades, but I guess it’ll have to wait for better weather and less chaos.
“How does it feel to be back here?” Sarah leads me across the grassy, flat stretch.
“Like I’m not really here.”
I feel her gaze on me. I know she has questions—hundreds of them. She likely still wonders what drove my rage the day I pummeled Travis Dorsey’s skull into the concrete floor and whether she has to worry about me doing it again.
She doesn’t know all the details. Nobody does, and that’s for the best.
Up ahead, my father stands with my uncles—Wyatt, who owns a cattle farm with Jill; Bobby who, together with Rhonda, supplies Christmas trees to half the surrounding area, and Mark, owner of a popular marina in Gore Bay—as well as four men I’ve never met. They’re huddled around a smoker, beers in hand, the scent of hickory wood chips and smoked pork permeating the air, the collies hovering, waiting for a piece to fall. A burn barrel glows nearby, charring the day’s waste and giving heat.
All of them are wearing cowboy hats and matching boots.
When did that become a thing around here?
“… and then Benoit dropped like a bag of potatoes,” a wiry guy in jeans and a camel suede jacket says between puffs of his cigarette, his voice raspy.
“Mom wants the meat inside. Dinner’s almost ready.” Sarah folds her arms to help cut the chill.
My father peers over his shoulder. “Oh, there you are. Logan, let me do some quick introductions.” He sounds more chipper than he was this morning. “This is Mak. He’s been with us goin’ on eighteen years.”
I nod at the guy who was speaking a moment ago. Mom’s mentioned the ranch hand in almost every letter, enough that I know he’s a staple.
Dad continues around the circle, pointing at a scruffy, young brown-haired guy. “Robbie reports into Mak. He spends a lot of time with the herd too. And Jesse here is your cousin Danielle’s boyfriend.” He gestures at a clean-cut guy in his late twenties before patting the shoulder of the man emptying the smoker’s contents into a silver foil tray. “And this is Jon, my right hand around here.”
I can’t help the twinge of jealousy that stirs in my stomach as I regard the guy with the mustache and the broad-rimmed hat. Not because I expected my father to embrace me as his long-lost son. But it’s clear both Jay and I have been replaced.
Jon sets down his tongs. “Good to finally meet my brother-in-law.” Wiping his palm across his black apron, he offers it to me, his chest puffing out. “We gave you the day off, but I hope you’re ready to work. We have a lot of fences to mend ahead of us.” His grip is firm and aggressive as his brown-eyed gaze is locked on mine.
This is the longest handshake I’ve ever partaken in. Is he trying to establish some sort of dominance? Set the pecking order around here? The fuck if I know, but this spectacle is going on far too long to not be intentional.
The corners of my mouth curve with amusement at the weird flex—he’s average sized and not the least bit threatening—and then I return the favor, squeezing.
Jon’s nostrils flare as he struggles to hide his discomfort.
“Dinner’s on!” Aunt Rhonda calls from the door.
With a smirk, I release my grip.
Jon grabs the tray of smoked sausages. “Better get these in before Mum starts hollerin’ about the food gettin’ cold.” He rushes for the patio door, Sarah following him, back to the warmth.
She’s not his fucking mother. She’s mine. At least, she was mine first.
My teeth clench as I breathe through my irritation. The prison counselors warned us long-timers that one of the hardest things would be seeing how everyone has moved on without you, as if you never existed.
“We were talkin’ about your neighbor over there.” Uncle Wyatt nods to the yellow house next door. It’s quiet and dim, all the more so in the waning daylight. “Mak was at the Bale House for a bite this afternoon and saw Emery take down one of the locals for having a few too many drinks.”