Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
"It damn well better be about me," he growls, eyes narrowed.
"Caveman."
"Cowboy," he corrects.
I laugh quietly, reaching up to run my hand through his hair. It's shot through with gray now, but he's still the sexiest damn cowboy I've ever met in my life. The man ages like whiskey, growing better by the year.
"You want another baby, Cassia?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he asks, watching me again. Always, he's watching me.
"I was worried you'd tell me no."
"Pretty baby," he sighs, nuzzling his nose against mine as his hand slides down my hip. "Don't you know? I'll never tell you no." His lips meet mine, his devotion searing me. "Not ever."
"Then breed me, cowboy," I demand, hooking my leg around his hip. "Give me one more."
"Yes, ma'am," he breathes, already rocking into me again. "Whatever you want."
He means it. I know he does. This crazy man doesn't just love me, he worships me. I see it every time he looks at me, feel it every time he touches me. He's rough and wild and every little piece of him is mine. If that's not a hero worth writing, I don't know what it is.
Bonus Epilogue
CORD
Seven Years Later
"What are you doing?"
"Ahhh!" Cassia shouts, slamming the lid of her laptop closed. She jumps so high her ass actually rises out of her chair. "Gosh dang it, Cord! Stop doing that! I'm too busy to have a heart attack. I have books to write and cows to play with and babies to raise and things to do!" She glares at me with her hands clutched over her heart.
She has always been and will always be a terrible liar. My pretty baby just isn't good at it. Oh, she still tries to pull the wool over my eyes. But she's as bad at it now as she was seven years ago.
"Stick to writing, pretty baby," I growl, stomping across her office toward her. "Because you're a shit liar."
She gasps in outrage. "You take that back right now, Cord Decker!"
"Nope." I plant myself beside her and lean down, still covered in dust and hay. I smell like the outdoors—sweat and warm earth baked into my skin. Cassia can't get enough of me when I've been working outside, though. My wife has a thing for cowboys. Or this cowboy, anyway. She's not allowed to have a thing for anyone who isn't me, not if she doesn't want my handprint on that perfect, round ass. "Open the laptop, princess. Now."
"Can't. It's 5:23. My workday is over. I have to go cook," she lies. "And, um, I think the baby is crying. Yep. That's definitely the baby." She pitches her voice low and fake cries, trying to maneuver her chair around me at the same time.
Goddamn, I love her crazy ass. The baby is out cold in the nursery down the hall. I know because I peeked in on her on my way in here.
"Did you just try to mimic the baby crying?" I ask, fighting a grin.
"What? No. You're hearing things. You should probably get your ears checked." She scrunches up her face at me in what I assume is supposed to be concern. "I bet cowboying knocked something loose in there." Her eyes grow wide. "Or it's old age."
Old age, my ass. As soon as she shows me what's on the laptop, I'll show her exactly how much stamina this old man still has.
"Open the laptop, pretty baby," I growl, planting my hands on the desk on either side of the chair to block her in. I was only mildly curious about what my wife didn't want me to see. Now, there's no fucking way we're leaving this room without her showing me whatever she's trying to hide.
"Cord," she protests. "I don't wanna."
"Too bad. Secrets don't make friends."
"We aren't friends. We're married," she reminds me.
"Mmhmm. And you're going to be getting another lesson in what it means to be married to this cowboy if you don't show me what's on the laptop, Cassia," I growl.
"Fine!" she cries. "You're such a bully."
"Poke that lip back in, pretty baby. I'm not falling for it." That's a lie. I'm a sucker for that damn pout. It gets me every time. She's too damn beautiful, especially when she's not fighting fair. That adorable wrinkle between her brows is my kryptonite. "Open the laptop."
She sighs the longest, most dramatic sigh and reluctantly opens her laptop back up, fidgeting in her chair the whole time we wait for the screen to come back to life. When it does, the social media site with the videos loads. The clock one. I only recognize it because she sends me cat videos all day when she's procrastinating.
Unless she just bought a cat from the damn site, I don't know what she's so worked up about, though. It's just videos. The only ones I ever see are animals. And people who whisper into the camera. I don't know what that's about, but it creeps me out.