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)
“It’s a good article. Positive, fair, balanced. Doesn’t hide your past but opens the door to a softer narrative.” Glen adjusts his glasses to read out loud, “‘Many felt the judge’s sentence imposed on Landry for his involvement in the officers’ deaths was far harsher than necessary. In speaking with him, he expressed no excuses, only regrets.’”
The article makes no mention of the added assault charge while inside, which I appreciated.
“Like I said, good article.” Glen tosses the paper onto his desk. “It’s a start for you to earn a place in your community again, but you need to be doing more.”
“More than save a woman’s life? Sure, no problem.”
“Smart-ass.” He smirks. “How about volunteer work?”
“Like what?”
“I can’t give you all the answers. That’s for you to figure out.”
“Yeah … I’ll think about it.”
“You can’t hide on that ranch forever.”
“Watch me.”
Glen shakes his head. “Have you at least ventured over to your family’s market?”
“Sure, I drop off bags of firewood.”
“When it’s open? When you have to actually speak to people?”
“Are you my parole officer or my therapist?”
“I don’t get paid nearly enough to pretend to be a therapist.” Glen snorts.
“All right, then. Anything else or can I go—”
“Any issues with anyone lately?” he asks, ignoring my attempt to leave. “About that missing girl or anything else?”
“Nope, because I don’t leave the ranch,” I enunciate each word. Which means no questioning my alibi over missing girls, run-ins with Hank Murphy, none of this bullshit over some secret stash that I have no fucking clue about. How he hasn’t let go of that twenty-year-old bone is beyond me, but it means it must be worth something.
“That’s gonna get lonely, don’t you think?”
“Nah. I’ve got a big family, and they’re noisy.”
Glen harrumphs. “You dating anyone?”
His pivot catches me off guard. “No.”
“You’re allowed to, you know. Date women. Or men,” he adds in a rush. “I never assume.”
“Yeah, I know.” The problem is I can’t be with the one woman I want, and I have no interest killing time with any others.
Glen seems to mull that over before his focus shifts to his desktop. Does he know what happened between Emery and me? The guy seems to know—or suspect—plenty about every other facet of my life. “Fine.” Stubby fingers move over the keyboard as he begins making his meeting summary.
“Just the strong, handsome man we were hoping to find!”
I look up from my task of dashing salt over the market’s customer parking lot to see my mother and Sarah trudge toward me, bundled for the cold. Over a foot of snow fell yesterday, shutting down schools and adding to the thick base already on the ground. The thermometer outside the garage read minus nine degrees Celsius when I got up, but with the wind chill, it’s more like minus twenty.
My mom carries a snow shovel like a staff.
“What else do you need me to clear?” I ask, double-checking the front of the Landry Market, decked out with Christmas lights, red bows, and evergreen garlands for the holiday season. I did everything there, didn’t I?
My mother smiles. “A few paths for the fine customers of Cold River?”
“We have some orders to deliver in town to elderly customers who can’t get around easily,” Sarah jumps in. “You know, ready-to-heat dishes like pot pies, soups, and pastas. It’s a thing we’ve been doing.”
“That thing Dad and Jon were complaining about last week that we should be charging for?” Jon’s convinced a ten-dollar delivery fee would be perfectly reasonable.
Mom waves it off, a flicker of irritation in her face. “They can butt out of my business, unless they want me interfering with theirs.”
“Anyway,” Sarah says, rolling her eyes, “we have more orders than normal, and Mom’s stuck here, in the kitchen. Can you drive?” She dangles the set of truck keys in the air like they’re a treat.
I hesitate. “Can’t Jon go with you?”
She shakes her head. “He’s got Egan and there’s an issue with the tractor. He’s trying to get the mechanic in.”
Hell, I’d rather babysit a toddler and wait for the mechanic, but something tells me I’m not going to get out of this easily. My mother has dialed up her mission to get me off the property. “Just driving?”
“And shoveling a path so I can get to their doors.”
I sigh heavily. “Yeah, fine. As long as you’re dealing with these people.” Because there’s no way I’m delivering muffins with a fucking smile.
My mother holds out the shovel, beaming. “This is a good thing you’re doing, helping the seniors. It goes a long way in the community, especially around Christmas.”
She sounds eerily similar to Glen. I wouldn’t be shocked if she paid him a visit while dropping off that newspaper article. “How many houses are we talking here?”
Mom flashes a toothy, nervous grin.
“No, I can’t drop everything and get him. It’s Thursday … delivery day? … No, Logan’s helping me … Why? Seriously? How about because I’m pregnant with your twins and the roads are barely plowed. Turn right up here.” Sarah pauses her fight with Jon to give me directions to the gas station, though I remember where it is.