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)
Part of me wants to argue he shouldn’t play watchman, but a man built like a human tank looking out for us feels like a relief.
If someone did try to break in, they’d stop cold and think twice after seeing him.
That is, assuming they weren’t armed…
But he’s a war machine. Intimidating height and muscles and touch-us-and-die attitude.
No one with a shred of survival instinct will mess with this house with Kane Saint around.
“Do you really think they’ll come back?” I ask softly. “If it was the Babins, would they be that stupid?”
“Probably not tonight. They’d be dumb as hell to follow up this soon, without thinking it through,” he says, propping his arms up on the rim. The space under them looks too inviting. “They know you saw them, and news travels fast in this town. They’ll know we alerted the cops soon.”
“Well, not like it’ll do much. I think the sheriff hands out ten speeding tickets per year.”
“It’s on file, Margot. That counts. The better the record, the more we’ll have if anything goes down and you need to press charges. Not that it will,” he adds, searching my face.
“Hopefully.”
After a second, he cocks his head.
Protective growly instinct or not, he knows he doesn’t need to sweeten the truth with me, unlike his kids. I’m not family.
“Hopefully,” he repeats.
I don’t remember us getting closer, but my knee knocks lightly against his under the water.
I try to relax and sink down lower, letting the bubbles climb past my breasts to my neck, and his eyes follow the movement.
“It’s a damn shame your mom was no help,” he says. “Sorry you wasted your time.”
“Yeah, it’s frustrating. Not really a big surprise, though. I just want to know what he thought was so important and why he wanted me to find it. It feels like my last connection to him fading, going up in smoke.”
His knee brushes mine now, but this time the movement feels deliberate.
Just a split-second press that might be for sympathy or comfort, but it ignites my nerves all the same.
“I’m sorry if you feel like you came here for nothing,” he rumbles. “I know how that goes, putting in effort, only to walk away empty-handed after driving yourself up the wall.”
“I don’t feel like that.” I half smile. “You remember what I told you about Sophie last night?”
“Yeah. She had to point out how old I am.”
I giggle. “Besides that, I mean. I started working on her shoe design this evening.”
For a second, I think he’s about to shut down on me.
His shoulders stiffen, and for a hot second, I regret saying anything.
But then he draws a slow breath and relaxes again, studying me with cool green lidded eyes.
“I appreciate you helping her out, duchess. More than you know.” He sighs. “Soph, she’s never been good at being different. When she was younger, it was really hard. Other kids can be fucking brats at this age, and when they know she had a dad on top of it who was—” He hesitates.
“A famous world-class hockey star?”
“Close enough. But yes,” he growls. “Yes, they get real nasty. They’d tell her how much she disappointed me. Pure bullshit. I’ll never be anything but proud of my girl. Same with Dan, and he got in trouble a couple years ago. Punched a boy who mouthed off about her feet in front of him. That was a fun parent-teacher conference, let me tell you.”
And he shifts closer again.
This time, his knee scrapes my outer thigh.
I’m feeling stars instead of seeing them for the first time, even as my heart aches for poor Sophie.
“That’s horrible! It must’ve been so hard for your family. With her feet and the crappy comments, I mean. I never even asked her what’s…” I trail off.
“What’s wrong with her?”
I wince. “Why does she need those shoes?”
“Ah, yeah.” He rakes a hand through his thick hair, and I try—I really try—not to stare at the way his biceps bulge like Hercules’ second coming. “The technical name for it’s pes planus, which just means flat feet. Most folks live just fine with it, but hers is severe. Her arches should’ve developed around age six, but they didn’t turn up like the doctors hoped.”
“Oh. So she’s been wearing the ortho shoes since then?”
“Basically. A few more years, and I might try taking her in for surgery, if she wants, but she’s a skittish girl. She hates hospitals to hell and back, and the procedure we could try isn’t a total guarantee.”
“They are stressful. Especially for a sweet little girl.”
My heart swells with empathy.
“When I took her in to speak with the specialist last time, she nearly had a panic attack and we had to leave. He said surgery’s an option, but there’s also a slight chance she’ll grow out of the worst of it. I’m still hoping it might fix itself and we won’t need to do anything.”