Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
I know an answer is expected of me, but I can’t seem to focus enough to give it to her. Instead, I ask a question of my own: “W-who are you?” Then, embarrassed, I clench my eyes shut. “I-I mean, I know you’re Haven. But I… I don’t—”
She seems to get the trouble I’m having, so once again, she helps me out. “I’m Mr. Grayson’s wife.”
I frown in confusion. “M-Marsden’s?”
She raises her eyebrows. “Yup, he’s the only Mr. Grayson on this ranch.” Then, to explain, “The other two are just two guys I grew up with, Arsen and Ax. If they ever told me to call them Mr. Grayson, they know I’d punch them in the face.”
This is… strange. All of it.
It raises more questions for me rather than answer them. Why would she call her own husband Mr.? Also, how old is she? I know the oldest Grayson brother is forty and Haven can’t be more than twenty-two or twenty-three. But more than that, if she’s Mrs. Grayson, essentially the mistress of this ranch, why is she helping me?
I can’t trust her, can I? No matter how strangely kind and friendly she seems.
“I see that raises more concerns for you,” she observes correctly.
I clutch the towels to my chest. “I can’t… You’re married to one of them. You’re… you’re probably in on the whole thing and…”
Her features soften even more. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I’m not. I don’t even know what this whole thing is. I don’t know why he…” She seems to be searching for words as she takes me in. “I don’t know why he brought you here. If it’s any consolation, none of us do. We all thought… Well, you saw what we thought, and I apologize again for getting carried away back there. All I know is that you don’t want to be here. And that you’re scared. I can see that. And you’re hurt”—she looks pointedly at my wrists and my bare legs—“and it doesn’t matter if you’re a Turner or not, I can at least offer you a shower, some food and rest. That’s all. It’s not a big deal. You won’t owe me anything and after this, you don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to. But I figure we’re girls, right? Girls need to stick together and this is the least I can do.”
She’s sincere; I can see that. And if she’s not, then she has to be an excellent actress. Either way, I nod, towels still clutched to my chest. “Is this”—I lick my cracked lips—“his room?”
Her eyes go wide at this and she gasps. “Shit, I didn’t think of that. You probably don’t want to be here after everything. Let me find you another—”
“No.” I stop her, my heart somehow both racing and squeezing at the same time. “It’s, uh… It’s okay. I-I don’t mind.”
As crazy as this sounds, I want to be in his room. It makes me breathe easier. But I don’t know how to explain it to her. Turns out, I don’t have to because she somehow gets it completely. “Okay then. I’ll leave you to it. But I’ll make sure he stays away.” She searches my face. “Okay?”
A relieved breath escapes me and I nod jerkily. “Yes. Please.”
Her smile is both sad and understanding. “You got it.”
And then she leaves and I’m here, all alone in this room that was his before he got put away. Feeling both nervous and safe.
THE DOOR TO my brother’s office opens with a groan.
I step in, and the gap between the third and fourth floorboards creaks as I walk over it. I get in farther to see that while the left wall is completely flooded with photos from our childhood, the right wall has end-to-end bookshelves, bulging with heavy texts and paperbacks. On the third shelf from the right, there’s a book called Wild Montana, a text about Montana’s wildlife. It’s probably the fifth book or maybe the sixth, depending on what mood Mars is in while reading it. If I found the book in the fifth place, I’d generally assume he was pissed off. Because it usually goes in the sixth, but when he’s angry, he’ll mess up the order. Which is a big deal for my organized-to-a-fault brother.
There’s a large desk with thick legs in the center of the room. The front left one has a slight chip in it from where an eight-year-old Ax kicked it when Mars wouldn’t let him go to the rodeo with his friends. The wall above the desk is the home of a portrait of our parents. If you take it down and flip it over, you’ll see the names of all three of us, Marsden, Arsenal, and Axton, written in red Sharpie on the cardboard backing. Ax’s doing.