Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
The saloon where Deacon told me to meet him comes into view ahead and I slow to a crawl, gaping. The false front rounds out at the top before meeting in a fancy point at the very top of the building. I'm sure the design probably has a name, but I don't know anything about old west architecture. Actual swinging doors adorn the front, with a big porch.
Oh, I bet the barkeep gets to throw people off of it a lot! I hope I get to see it while I'm here. Tabitha and Gem will think that's hysterical. Though, judging by the lack of cars out front, I'm guessing my odds aren't high today.
I pull into the nearly vacant lot, parking in an empty spot in the middle of the lot. And then I sit for a minute, trying to calm my freaking nerves before I go in and meet Deacon Cromwell, the grumpy mountain man I badgered into hiring me. I don't know who he's expecting, but I kind of doubt it's a plus-size hot mess with curly pink hair and a flair for the dramatic.
The pink hair isn't an issue in Seattle. My clients love me regardless of what I do with my hair. But this is about as far from Seattle as you can get without leaving the state. People here may not see it the same way. Deacon may not.
Well, too bad for him.
I grab my phone and send a quick text message to the girls, letting them know I made it safely. Hopefully it'll go through at some point this century. Once that's done, I take a breath and climb from the car. The cold wind hits me right in the face, stealing my breath. And then it hits the skirt of my dress, lifting it like a hot air balloon heading for takeoff.
"No!" I squeak, trying to battle it back down. Except nature fights back. My boot slide on the icy cement. I yelp, grabbing for the car door. The wind grabs my dress. I let go of the door to grab the dress, only to slide again. "I didn't even do anything bad, karma!"
"You wore that damn dress with a pair of lace panties, Sunshine," a man growls behind me, his voice all too familiar. "I'd say karma's spanking your pretty little ass for it."
I squeak again, releasing the car door to yank my dress down over my butt. My cheeks—the ones on my face—flame bright red as I spin around. Or attempt to spin around, anyway. With my boots slipping and sliding and my arms glued to my sides to keep my dress down, I waddle like a freaking penguin more than spin gracefully.
If anyone is watching this scene unfold, they're either recording me for the internet, or crying on the floor. I was not built for ice. Clearly.
Maybe I wasn't built for public. Because when I finally get turned around, instead of meeting the gaze of the man I assume is Deacon, my gaze meets his groin. It's right there at eye level. And wow. Either he stuffed a sock in those jeans or nature likes him way better than it likes me because there's a gray-sweatpants worthy bulge.
"Hi," I whisper to his dick. I mean, I whisper it to him, but I'm staring at his dick so I might as well be talking to it. Jesus, take the wheel. Please?
No such luck.
"My eyes are up here, Sunshine," he says.
I drag my gaze up his body. And then up higher.
"Holy, Babe the Blue Ox," I blurt, gaping. I don't know what in the Paul Bunyan they fed him, but I guess that isn't a sock in his jeans. He's got to be the biggest man I've ever seen in my life. He towers over me like Goliath thanks to the fact that he's standing on the porch, but even if he weren't, he's still flipping huge. Dark brows slant over steely gray eyes and nose that's been broken at least once. His unruly hair and beard give him the appearance of a Viking more than a mountain man, but the blue flannel stretched over his massive chest softens the look. "You are not old."
His dark brows climb.
"I mean, um, all the mountain men on the Discovery Channel are older. You're not, and you're beautiful." My cheeks are so red I actually feel the heat coming off of them. "I'm going to stop talking now."
"You watched the Discovery Channel?"
"I studied."
He doesn't say much. He's very still too, very peaceful. There's a lot going on behind those eyes, but it doesn't reflect on his face. That's still set in a dark frown, as if he isn't sure if he wants to put me back in my car and send me back down the mountain or ask me to shut up.