Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
A little bell jingled as I walked in, and I caught Kane at the counter, grabbing lunch. The Red Fox was a classic diner, with red booths along one side next to tall windows, a long countertop on the other side, and fox-themed decor all over the place.
It was also becoming one of my new favorite lunch spots because I knew Elliot would never show up here.
“Howdy,” Kane said, giving me a nod as he finished up a sandwich. “How’d the first day of classes go?”
“I don’t think the summer’s going to be a breeze, but I’m going to study my ass off.”
“You always do well with studying,” Kane said, taking a sip from his coffee cup. “Well, when you’re not distracted by other things.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t need the attitude, K.”
He was giving me a stern look. “Well, I’m glad you’re not distracted by that dickhead anymore. You’re the smartest person I know.”
I tapped a sugar packet between my fingers.
How was it possible that Kane could be so nice but so maddening at the same time?
A guy working behind the counter holding cinnamon rolls turned to Kane. “You heard anything from Mason yet?”
For fuck’s sake.
Can I go anywhere in Tennessee without hearing Mason’s name?
I swore I was going to be edged into oblivion by the time I got home.
“Heard from him thirty minutes ago,” Kane said. “but he didn’t mention the article. Thomas, this is my brother, Jesse, by the way. Jesse, meet Thomas, the diner’s best baker and cinnamon roll king.”
Thomas smiled, nodding at me. “I was going to protest that nickname, but I think I’m okay with it.”
“Nice to meet you. Smells amazing, by the way.”
“Best cinnamon rolls you’ll ever have,” Kane added.
I leaned forward on the counter. “What were you guys saying about Mason?”
“It’s pretty shitty,” Kane said, picking up a newspaper on the counter beside him and thwacking it down in front of me. “Today’s town paper.”
There was an article on the bottom of the front page—all about Minton Ranch.
I skimmed the article. At first I couldn’t see why Kane thought it was a bad article, because the first paragraphs were a beautiful synopsis of how Mason’s father had been an amazing asset to the town.
But near the end of the article, there was one paragraph that stuck out.
It’s unfortunate, then, that since Minton’s passing, his son has not carried on the tradition. Riding lessons are hard to come by these days on Minton Ranch, and although Mason Minton has kept the ranch as beautiful as ever, the riding school is a mere shadow of its former glory.
Only time will tell if the new management will continue to run the school into the ground.
The current state of Minton Ranch?
An utter disgrace to its former owner.
No one is to blame for the failure other than Mason Minton himself.
My stomach turned.
“Um,” I said, furrowing my brow, “is this reporter some sort of snake? Who would insult Mason after he lost his father unexpectedly?”
“That reporter has written other fucked-up things before, too,” Kane said. “Mason’s probably torn up about it. Not that he’d admit it.”
“No one reads newspapers anymore anyway, do they?” I asked, but as I glanced around the diner, already I could see four different people who had copies of the paper on their table.
“Bestens people read the paper,” Thomas said softly.
“I texted Mason asking how he’s doing today, but he skirted the issue,” Kane said. “I said how are you holding up with that article, and he texted me back a picture of a hot tub asking me if he should buy it.”
“Did he say anything else?”
Kane shrugged. “Said he was dozing. Probably home alone, maybe taking a nap now.”
A quiet rage swirled through me. The article was unfair, and after hearing Mason talk so fondly about Minton Ranch last night, I knew it was a strike below the belt. Mason loved that place, clearly. And he was still in grief about his father, probably every day, even if he was still fun-loving on the surface. I pictured him alone at home, having to read about it on his own.
Hell no.
Hell fucking no.
An idea came to my mind, and I acted on it before I had time to second-guess myself.
“Hey, Thomas,” I asked. “Could you pack me up two chicken bacon sandwiches and two cinnamon rolls to go?”
5
MASON
Usually I didn’t know what I was searching for in my dreams.
This time, I felt it in my blood.
I knew exactly what I was chasing. Plush lips, green eyes, and boundless attitude.
The day was burning hot in the dream, hotter than it was in real life. I’d been running, doing laps around one of the dirt paths where I normally rode the horses, my legs straining from exertion.
I slowed and turned behind the stables, past the tall old trees that led down toward the small stream below it.