Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
I walk her to the door, neither of us saying a word. At her doorstep, she turns to face me.
“Thanks again,” she says, voice low.
I don’t let myself think. I reach for her, hand cupping her jaw, and kiss her like I’ve been dying to do since the day we met. She freezes for half a second, then melts into me, her hands grabbing my shirt, pulling me closer.
It’s not a polite kiss. It’s hungry, unbalanced, desperate. When she breaks away, we’re both breathing hard.
I want to ask her out tomorrow night, but I have a meeting tomorrow in Dallas and I have to catch up on a million things at the office this week. Fucking business is getting in the way of my wooing campaign. “Will you have dinner with me Friday night?” I ask. “At my place.”
She grins, brushing her thumb along the edge of my jaw. “I’ll be there. What time do you want me to come over?”
“Does seven work for you?”
“It does. I’ll see you then.” She leans in, quick and fierce, and kisses me again. Then she turns and disappears inside, leaving me standing on the landing, the taste of her still fresh in my mouth.
I walk back to the truck, feeling like a man who just bet the whole ranch on a single hand of cards. I have no idea if I’m going to win or lose, but for the first time in my life, I don’t care.
Friday can’t come soon enough.
Tuesday morning, the alarm buzzes at six. I slap it silent, then stare at the ceiling and count every second until it’s reasonable to text her. Five minutes later, I decide to hell with it and type out a message.
Me
Good morning. I won’t see you at The Golden Mug today. I have a meeting up in Dallas.
Tinsley
My day just won’t be the same. Have a safe trip.
Me
I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.
Tinsley
I am. But I really will miss seeing you.
Me
Good to know
Wednesday morning, I can’t focus on shit. I spend two hours in the main barn pretending to look at invoices while my mind drifts off to her, wondering what she’s doing, if she’s thinking of me, too.
Me
How’s the new acquisition doing?
Tinsley
Great. How was your meeting in Dallas?
Me
It was okay. I miss you.
Tinsley
I miss you, too. I can’t wait until Friday.
Me
See you then.
At dusk, a storm rolls in from the west, all thunderheads and dry lightning. I get soaked running from the main barn over to the main house. By the time I get inside, my boots are leaking and my shirt clings to me like a second skin. I strip down, towel off, and stand at the window for a minute, watching the rain stream down the glass and the blue-black sky split by lightning. On impulse, I take a photo.
Me
Looks like we’re getting a show tonight.
Tinsley
I love thunderstorms.
Me
Me too.
Thursday morning, I wake up before the sun. I don’t even bother with the alarm. I make coffee and spend an hour checking my emails, then I text her.
Me
Good morning. I can’t wait until tomorrow.
She doesn’t reply for two hours. When the message finally comes, I realize I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for her response.
Tinsley
You’re up early.
Me
I couldn’t sleep. Thinking about you.
Tinsley
You’ve been on my mind, too.
Her words are enough to keep me going all day. I ride the fence line again, but this time, I barely notice the heat or the dust. All I can think of is her, tomorrow night, in my home.
CHAPTER TEN
HUDSON
I wake up Friday morning already counting the hours until tonight. Fuck. It’s going to be the longest day of my goddamn life.
By the time dusk finally drags its ass over the horizon, I’m standing by the window with the lights off, staring at the empty curve of the driveway. When I catch the flicker of headlights at the gate, my heart kicks into overdrive and I have to grip the sill to steady myself. Her little Corolla bounces over the cattle grate, headlights catching the gravel dust in two spinning columns of white.
I’m already at the door when she parks, the screen door slapping closed behind me as I step onto the porch. The air is thick with humidity and the faint metallic tang of rain on dust.
She’s wearing a simple black dress, the kind that hugs her hips and ends just above the knee. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, catching the last bits of gold from the porch light. She looks at me, and my whole world shudders, reorienting itself around the axis of her.
I meet her at the top step. I want to say something witty, something suave, but all that comes out is her name: “Tinsley.”
I step forward, closing the last bit of distance, and cup her jaw in my hand. She’s warm, her skin soft as the inside of a new saddle, and for a second, I just look at her—memorize the sharp line of her cheekbone, the freckles over her nose, the glint of blue in her eyes.