Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Well, little girl, I guess we should put you back with your ladies and I should go shower,” I said to Lovey as I carefully held her against my chest while I stood. Like Brooks’s emojis, I had ended up covered in bird shit, though thankfully most of it was on my pants and shoes, but the feces was no longer the only reason I wanted to take a nice long, hot shower.
I wanted—needed to get his smell off me. I needed to scrub my lips until they were raw and brush my teeth for as long as it took to get his taste out of my mouth. I’d get myself all fresh and clean again and help Brooks with all the massive paperwork he was sifting through or help Uncle Curtis with the household tasks. Then when Brooks said the word, either he and I would be leaving the ranch for good, or I’d be heading to the airport on my own. Either way, I would be leaving the ranch and Flynn, whatever the hell his last name was, in the rearview mirror.
I could do that. No problem.
“Easy,” I said to the chicken.
Lovey rubbed her beak gently against my hand. I took that as a sign of agreement, but in addition to living up to her name, she also let out a little squawk and shit in my hand.
“It’s fine,” I kept repeating to myself as I walked back to the barn. “Not a bad sign, just bad luck,” I said to Lovey as I put her in the coop via the outer door.
Then “bad luck” became my mantra as I walked toward the house. It wasn’t until I noticed a pretty, dark gray horse coming out of the barn with the newly christened Asshole Cowboy that my mantra changed yet again.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
“You doing okay there, son?”
The question startled me so badly that I flicked the wooden spoon in my hand and sent globs of stew flying across the kitchen, narrowly missing Uncle Curtis’s head in the process.
“Shit,” I muttered as I dropped the spoon back in one of two huge pots on the stove and hurried across the room to clean up the mess I’d made.
“Yeah, sure, I’m fine,” I responded in what I hoped was a normal tone. I’d snapped at Brooks and Xavier more than once since the incident in the barn and while they hadn’t pressed me to explain my behavior, Uncle Curtis was a whole different story. For some reason, the older man made me feel comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.
“One of my boys been hasslin’ you?” Curtis demanded.
I quickly shook my head even as I worked to clean up all the spots of stew I could find. “No, no, really. Everyone’s been great.”
Except for the sexy cowboy who had kissed me senseless not once but twice and then shoved me away like I was a pile of garbage.
“Come sit, son,” Curtis ordered gently. He was already seated in his spot at the end of the table. I quickly tossed the paper towel I’d been using into the garbage, but for some reason I hung on to the little bottle that was nothing more than a glass with a modified sprayer on the end and peeling masking tape with the word cleaner written in black lettering on the bottle.
There was a long period of awkward silence, so long that I was about to ask Curtis if I was doing enough to earn my keep. I couldn’t exactly wrangle cattle or go zooming around on horseback, but I also couldn’t just keep taking the old man’s charity. I’d pretty much invited myself to stay on his property and in his house.
When I realized warm stew was running over my hand from the spoon I’d forgotten to drop in the sink, I began searching the table for a napkin. Fortunately, there were some in the center of the wide table, but I couldn’t reach them. As I began to stand, Curtis suddenly took the spoon from me and began licking off all the stew.
“Damn, boy,” Curtis murmured as he ate.
His praise made me feel like a superhero. “Is it okay?” I asked. I didn’t consider how crude I was being when I licked a big chunk of the stew off my own hand.
“It’s damn near good as my Del’s—"
Before he could finish the statement, Curtis shifted his eyes to a picture of himself and his former ranch foreman who’d passed away. The pair were standing in front of the house which had several new pieces of wood on the ceiling and wall.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Curtis. I found a recipe box in one of the drawers and just thought—”
“It’s fine, my boy. Del would’ve liked knowin’ someone was makin’ use of those old things.” Curtis seemed to drift somewhere else in his head, so I used the opportunity to pluck the wooden spoon from his hand.