Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“The mud was a coincidence. Meeting my mother . . . I put a little more thought into that,” I admit.
Her face heats as she pulls her hand back, then flicks mud in my face. Probably the least I deserve.
“Right. So, setting up a nice surprise meeting between your mom and me was the whole point of this outing? And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“I knew you’d stress if you found out in advance. Didn’t want to put you through a whole thing like the engagement announcement again.”
“Brady! I’m stressed now.” Her face is flushed, but she can’t help smiling bitterly behind her scowl.
“I thought it would be better to introduce my mom somewhere casual. Somewhere you can both—”
“If you’re about to say somewhere we could both make a good impression, do you even see this?” She waves a hand at the mud she’s scraping off her jeans before we head inside. “I wish you would’ve warned me. I never would’ve tried to get on that horse.”
“How was I supposed to know you’d fall, Sass?”
Her eyes are lasers.
She pierces me with a glare so fierce I chuckle and hold up my hands.
“Okay, fine. If it helps, I’ll give you a list of places to dump my body once you’re done dismembering it.”
Rolling her eyes, she huffs a breath and turns back to the bottom of her shirt, which is smeared with yet more mud on the inside.
“At least it’s just mud and not horseshit,” I whisper.
She’s so not amused.
I sincerely hope the animal smell around here isn’t just concealing it, though. I wouldn’t be surprised by that either.
“Well, what am I supposed to talk about? Tell me,” she hisses, rinsing out the hem of her shirt with a nearby hose. “Your mom is . . .”
“Just another human obsessed with her appearance. Pretty old-fashioned. Talk to her about animals. She loves them. Trust me, she’s easier to win over than my old man.”
Lena grunts. “You wanted real, huh? You’ve got enough to choke.”
I run a hand up and down her spine as she works out more mud. For all her big talk, she’s handling this well.
If this were Nancy, or any of the girls I dated in the past, they’d have lost their shit and dialed their freak-outs to eleven.
They wouldn’t have even humored staying here to get cleaned up. They’d be demanding to go home, and I probably wouldn’t hear from them for two weeks after.
But this is Lena Joly.
She’s more rattled by my stupidity than a dirty mishap. Even though she should be tossing my severed head into the stables, she’s giving this her best shot.
Once her clothes are clean enough to stop dripping mud, I wrap an arm around her waist and press a kiss to the side of her head.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s go inside.”
I walk Lena in and show her to the bathroom so she can wash up better.
Later, we find Mom in Wendy’s living room, her hands wrapped around a mug of what smells like herbal tea.
Wendy bustles away to make us two coffees and give us a little space.
“So, Brady tells me you work at a veterinary clinic,” Mom says, smiling gently at Lena. I warned her before she arrived that she needed to be nice. No claws and zero venom.
“Yes, I’m a nurse there.” She looks at the sofa next to Mom. “I’d sit, but . . . I really need a change of clothes.”
“Everyone loves her. Pets and humans,” I interject, stepping by her side and wrapping an arm around her shoulder.
“Actually, pets love me more than people do. The clients can be rough.” Lena shuffles so her shoulder presses against mine. “Or maybe I’ve just never gotten over my soft spot for animals.”
“That’s understandable. People can be so difficult,” Mom says agreeably. “We always wanted a puppy or a nice cat when Brady was growing up. But Alec—my husband—he’s never been particularly fond of having animals in the house.”
Huge understatement. I don’t think there’s anything he likes less than the day he collapsed and he was put on oxygen.
Some people have a wake-up call with a health scare.
Not my father. If anything, the crisis only amplified his worst qualities.
“That’s a shame, but it’s not for everyone,” Lena says politely.
“How many pets did you have growing up?”
“Not a lot, exactly, but . . .” She smiles, pursing her lips. “When I was growing up in my little house, there was this old stray cat who just sort of found us. He showed up one day when I was playing outside, and then he never left. And when I say old, I mean old. Only had one eye, so many health problems. My parents warned me they didn’t have much money and we’d probably have to say goodbye anytime. We called him Ambrose.”