Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 26224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
“I know, Mom.” I lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “I know we’re six months behind. I overheard you and Dad talking last week. But…look, I just have a feeling that everything is going to be all right.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “How? Why?”
I distract her with a dazzling smile. “I’m going to invite him for dinner.”
“Don’t you dare—”
I’m already striding in Knox’s direction, my boots clunking on the linoleum floor. His shoulders stiffen when he sees me coming, chilling me with a gaze as cool as winter wind. Or so he thinks.
I can see the yearning behind it.
“The hell do you want?” he says, lips barely moving.
“Come meet my mother,” I whisper, raising my chin, my pulse sprinting just from being close to him. Close enough to touch. “I w-want you to meet her.”
He snorts, tossing a roll of foil into his basket. “Why would I do that?”
Because you like me. Because you call me an angel. A sweetheart.
The way you kiss me…it’s coming from a deep, longing place inside of you.
Please don’t pretend otherwise.
“It’s neighborly to say hello,” I say, instead.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
I should leave the conversation there. Just strut away with a plan to yell and throw things at him later tonight.
Except I look down into his cart and see all the fixings for a peach pie.
Is he making one for himself? Is he making it because he enjoyed mine so much? Because the taste reminds him of me? Or am I reading too deeply into nothing. I don’t know, but the clue to his true nature gives me courage.
“Please?” I murmur.
He jerks back slightly, as if the word has burned him. He shifts in his boots, looking pissed. “You just want me to come say hello.”
“Yes.”
His disgust is plain. “Jesus fucking Christ, Billie.”
“Please?”
“Stop saying please like that,” he growls.
“Like what?”
“With those eyes.” A line moves in his jaw. “You know what you’re doing.”
He’s a good man, despite his rocky past. I just know it. If I can peel back one layer at a time, I’ll reveal him.
I beam up at Knox, teeth and all.
He stares, swallowing audibly.
I take his elbow and tug in the direction of my mother. “Come on.”
“This is bullshit.”
“You can do it.” We stop in front of my mother, who looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “Mom, I’m not sure you’ve met Knox Morgan in person?”
“No, I have not,” she says, jolting into niceties. Holding out her hand for a quick shake. “A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Morgan.”
“Ma’am,” he sighs.
I squeeze his elbow to congratulate him on being polite.
He shoots me a glare.
“Do you two, um, know each other?” my mother inquires, warily.
“Yes,” I say, laughing. “I run into Knox on my evening rides, every so often. He’s so kind and neighborly, always tipping his hat and asking after the ranch.”
“Really?” my mother breathes, incredulous.
“Oh yes.”
“Well, isn’t that nice?”
“Isn’t it?” I give her a meaningful look. “Mom, isn’t there something you wanted to ask Knox?”
“Right.” She looks like she’s chewing burnt rubber. “Would you like to come over for supper this weekend?” Something occurs to her. “Billie’s birthday dinner, perhaps? On Sunday. Our darling girl will be nineteen.”
I hold my breath.
Knox is quiet for several seconds, his elbow hard in my grip. Flexed.
Until finally, “Sure. I’ll come by,” he says, stiffly.
My mother claps her hands. “Wonderful. We’ll see you then.”
He gives a stilted nod and walks away. Doesn’t look at me once as he checks out. And I start to wonder if I’ve made a mistake by backing Knox into a corner.
Is he angry with me?
I suppose I’ll find out tonight, won’t I?
nine
Knox
I grind my planted fists into the table when I hear the soft knock on my door.
It’s her. It’s Billie.
Here to give me my daily fuck.
That’s what this arrangement was supposed to be. That’s what it was.
Until she started dismantling me, brick by brick.
I’ve never had anyone introduce me to their parents before. I’ve never been a man that anyone claimed in the light of day. Why does this girl insist on looking at me like she believes in me? Why does she insist on demanding better of me? Who the fuck does she think I am?
Wasn’t she paying attention when I killed that man?
Wasn’t she listening when I agreed to bang her for the mortgage?
Did she not hear me when I told her I’d gone to prison? Broken a man’s neck?
My soul is pitch black. There is nothing redeemable about me.
I’m going to have to remind her. I’m going to have to show her, once and for all.
I shove off the table and stride to the door, throwing it open to reveal Billie…
In a dress.
She’s in a white dress with little blue flowers. It fits her like a dream, molding her breasts in the neckline, the hem fluttering high against her thighs. Her legs are bare all the way to her cowboy boots—and she’s worn her hair down. It’s long and wavy. Lips pink with some kind of gloss. God help me, no artist would have a hope in hell of painting this kind of beauty accurately. The swell of hope in her eyes. Her naivete.