Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“Margot Blackthorn, defeated by a damn reed? I can’t see it.” He chuckles.
“Be glad!” I say back brightly.
We fall into this companionable silence, wrapping up breakfast and brewing coffee before the kids come tearing downstairs.
A girl could get very used to this, and I can’t let that happen.
“We should head into town later to follow up on the stalker,” he says while he’s plating the food.
My stomach drops.
Stalker. Right-o.
Here in the happy golden morning with delicious food waiting, nothing feels scary. But I can’t shake that feeling of being watched, being violated, and how I may never feel comfortable here again come nightfall.
“You’re right,” I whisper, grabbing a plate to carry to the table. “The sooner we get this done, the better.”
10
LOOK HOMEWARD (KANE)
If there’s a cardinal rule I’ve learned after nearly a decade of being a dad, it’s when your kid has a shot at a pony ride, you’d be a fool to stand in their way.
Which is why I’m following in their tracks as we ride down Sully Bay’s red cobblestone streets, gently curling up and down small hills.
Horseback riding’s a great way to see more of the town. The kids were too excited to say no when they saw the place offering rides.
Margot was a little more hesitant with the horses, especially when the attendant said we’d have to share one.
Better that than having her ride alone.
She’s not a horse girl.
She’s a city girl to the core who never developed a taste for pricey equestrian outings, and she’s only ridden a few times in her life.
“Mostly on lead rein,” she confessed, half-embarrassed, as the attendant led the horse over to us.
“It’s fine,” I told her. “I can handle a horse. Used to go riding on my uncle’s farm in Wyoming back in the day.”
Her eyes sparkled.
I did my damnedest not to think about the fact that she’d be sitting right in front of me.
With her delectable ass now lodged against my cock, it’s a lot harder not to remember that with every movement.
“Oh my God! I forgot this can be so warm.” She laughs, her back brushing my chest and her fingers half an inch from mine on the reins.
The horse or me?
“What did you expect, duchess?”
“Don’t know. Like I said, it’s been a while.” She leans forward, wedging her ass even more firmly against me, patting his neck. “But you’re a good boy, aren’t you, Thorin?”
All the horses are named after Tolkien characters, even the ponies, which made the kids scream with delight.
Sophie’s perched on Galadriel and Dan’s on Boromir. They’re so excited they kept butchering the names.
“I can’t believe I never tried this here,” she says, straightening upright again.
Yeah, unbelievable.
It’s a surprisingly warm day, cloudless and blue. Sully Bay is one of those quaint coastal fishing towns that looks like it sprouted up from the landscape sometime in the last two centuries and hasn’t changed much since.
Very different from New York.
Different from my uncle’s place out west, too, which always had something falling down in need of a fix and people running around to keep up an active cattle farm.
Never thought I’d be one for country living, but here we are.
Today, it’s the getaway I needed.
If only Little Miss Sweetass would stop rubbing every time she twists around to catch the passing scenery.
I think it’s unintentional, but we’ve only been riding for about ten minutes or so, and my balls are blue enough to rival that heap of blueberries back at the house.
It takes work to keep her from noticing how hard I am.
Luckily, she’s distracted by everything she sees, from the friendly people waving to the jealous boy who makes a face behind his ice cream cone when he sees my kids.
“Why does it look so different on a horse? It’s like a whole new town.” She giggles and her hair brushes my chin.
Goddamn.
She smells like vanilla and the last hint of summer, and it does terrible things to me as it mingles with the fall smells in the air.
“Maybe you just forgot?”
“Nope,” she says with a flick of her hand. “According to Sophie, I only have another few years until I’m half-senile like you.”
“Shut it,” I say, winking at Sophie when she overhears and throws back a smile.
“Sorry, Dad. You know it’s true!”
“If it’s true, then you’ll be my caretaker. I’m not going off to a damn home.”
Dan chuckles and Margot waves gracefully at the people passing by like she’s a regal princess traveling her kingdom.
“Let’s go left,” she decides, waving at a friendly old lady. “Hi, Mrs. Solomon!”
I ease our horse to a crawl, calling to Sophie and Dan to hang back and join us.
“Do I know you?” Mrs. Solomon squints up at us. She’s a tiny woman, probably in her nineties with puffy white hair curls around her head and dark eyes that still seem vibrant.