Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“It’s for the big gala.” I don’t bother feigning excitement for him. He’d see right through it anyway.
“Oh, sure. That’s next week, isn’t it?”
“I can hardly wait,” I deadpan.
His laughter is soft. “You never know, you might just have some fun.”
“They’re announcing my engagement that night.” The words almost get stuck in my throat. “I don’t think I’ll have fun.”
“Well, that’s a shame.” He looks like he’s about to back away before he stops himself and pins me with a look. “Oh, I almost forgot. I heard a story about a brawl that broke out over at The Rusty Nail a couple of nights back.”
My insides freeze over. “You did?”
“Seems some wild redhead was dancing on a table for all the guys.” He narrows his eyes, his mouth set in a disapproving line that makes me feel ten kinds of ashamed. “I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
I lift my shoulder, trying for a nonchalant shrug. “Why would I?” But even I hear the strain in my voice, which means he does too.
He snorts, then shakes his head. “Well, if you do know the firecracker, tell her a young person can have some fun, but be careful.” He pauses and lowers his brow, making the brim of his Stetson shadow his eyes. “Some men can get the wrong idea. And I’d hate for her to get hurt.”
I know one man who got the wrong idea. Big time.
“I’ll pass that on. You know, if I ever meet up with that girl,” I promise.
I’m only joking. But he doesn’t laugh. Only studies me hard for a long moment. Long enough that I fidget and can’t stay still under the scrutiny. Then finally, he says, “You be sure you do that.”
Message received.
I’m relieved to get in the car and give him a little wave as he walks off. Of all the men in town, he’s the one I actually respect. Shame washes through me for the first time. Until now, I hadn’t cared… well, except for the parts with Kade.
But Buck is someone whose respect I felt proud to have earned. And now I feel like I’ve lost a little bit of it. He’s almost like a dad to me. And that hurts in a different way. Tears burn my eyes, but I force them back. I need to get my shit together before I get home. Mom will want to see the dress, and I don’t need her bullshit about being happy right now.
It’s not for her sake. It’s for my sanity. I can’t hear any more of her rhetoric about sacrifice and saving our legacy. Like I’ve ever given a shit. The drive home only takes a few minutes. Once I reach the house, I park the car and take a few deep breaths. Amping myself up.
You’ve got this, Allie.
I climb out of the car, my legs feeling like they have ten-pound cinder blocks tied to them. The dress feels even heavier when I pull it out and carry it into the house.
“There you are!” Mom is on her way downstairs when I enter, and she’s practically singing. That should make me happy, right? A normal daughter would want to hear her mom this excited. But she’s not a normal mom, and let’s face it, nothing about our life is normal either.
“I was wondering what took you so long.” When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she gives me a long, studying look. “Yes! Definitely the blue Chanel.”
“What? This is my dress for the gala.” I hold it up even though the heavy fabric makes my arms ache.
“No, silly.” Her laughter is way too loud, or maybe that’s because it echoes under the high ceiling. “We’ve been invited to dinner tonight! Your fiancé and his father are flying in and taking us to dinner in Billings. I couldn’t decide which dress was best, but now that you’re standing in front of me, I know for sure it’s the blue Chanel. Better get ready. We leave soon!”
My heart drops.
Dinner. With the Lowrys. Again. Because last time was such a blast.
I can already feel a headache brewing.
“We were all real sorry to hear about Roman Bishop’s passing.”
Every single hair on my body lifts when I hear that name coming out of Mr. Lowry’s mouth. This is a joke, right? Can’t I get through a single meal without having to think about a fucking Bishop?
Mom clicks her tongue, but she does it while side-eyeing me. Like she’s afraid I might blurt out her little secret. Right. Like I want anyone knowing my mother fucked that disgusting bastard.
“It came as a real shock. He was the sort of man you imagined would live forever,” she offers, and I’m actually impressed by her straight face.
Because true evil doesn’t die. Now tell him about the part where he threatened to murder the baby he put in you. That will really set the mood.