Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“I get it.”
“Anyway, when Dad found out, he of course told Mom that she had to cut it off with the other guy. But, in the end, she didn’t choose us.”
I’m blinking at him, completely taken aback.
“Your mother left five children?”
“Four,” he replies. “Harper wasn’t with us yet. She officially became part of the family when she was about twelve. But yeah, she did. They moved out of the area, God knows where, and we never saw her again. Not one word, no calls, no Christmas cards. Nothing.”
I blink at him for a solid twenty seconds before I find my voice.
“But.” I just can’t wrap my head around this. I lost my mom when I was young, but not because she left me on purpose. She never would have willingly left us. My mom stayed with my dad because we were her whole heart and soul, and I knew that until she took her last breath. “How old were you?”
“About ten,” he replies and sets his empty plate in the sink. “It sucked. It really fucking sucked, I’m not going to pretend like it didn’t. She wasn’t a shit mom, that’s the thing. She was affectionate and funny. Sang us songs, planted flowers, did all the mom things. So when she decided to leave, it threw everyone for a loop. It took a long time to recover from that, and I can admit that I didn’t trust women for a long time.”
All I can do is stand from the stool and walk around the island to Tucker and wrap my arms around him.
“I’m so sorry, Tucker.”
“You didn’t do it.” There’s an edge to his voice. Grief? Sadness? I’m not sure, but it makes me tighten my hold on him, as if I can soothe the ten-year-old boy who lost his mom all those years ago. “Hey, I’m okay. It was a long time ago.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes a person just needs a hug.” I lean back and smile up at him as I bring my hand up to his face and cup his cheek. “Me. I’m the person.”
“You have the prettiest smile, Duchess.” He kisses my forehead, and then my lips. “Now, tell me what you need next. Bath? Movie? Ice cream?”
I chuckle and pull back, already missing his warm touch. “Honestly, I’m fine too. The food and whiskey did wonders. I’m pretty much as good as new.”
It’s already starting to get dark outside. We might be headed toward summer, but we’re still squarely in spring, so the sun goes down early.
“I’ll head over to the cabin,” I tell him. “I can shower there and call it a night.”
I have to put salve on my scars. Twice a week, like clockwork.
“You can shower here,” he says with a frown. “I’m not done with you.”
I tilt my head to the side and reach up to brush my fingertips down his sharp jawline. For someone who shies away from physical touch, I can’t keep my hands to myself when it comes to this man. “Are you okay?”
His chuckle is humorless, and then he brushes his nose against mine before he covers my lips with his and kisses me. My lips part for him, and his tongue slips inside, and if I thought this morning was a fluke, it absolutely wasn’t.
Because this man can kiss.
With a whimper, I lean into him, and every thought of leaving this house disappears.
I don’t want to go anywhere.
“I don’t want to let you out of my sight,” he admits. “But if you feel better going to the cabin to shower, that’s fine.”
“I mean, your shower is better than mine.”
He grins and kisses my forehead again as his hands rub up and down my back. I’m sure he can feel my scars through my shirt, but I don’t ask him to stop.
“But I need to go get some stuff from over there.”
“Let’s go.”
He laces his fingers through my own and leads me out the back door and over to my cabin, where I march through to the bedroom and gather some leggings, his shirt that I’ll never return, and some underwear. Then, I stride into the bathroom and gather my shower stuff, which is just shampoo, conditioner, and soap. Once I’ve also grabbed my salve, I stare at the hairbrush and toothbrush.
Am I coming back here tonight? Do I need these?
Honestly, if I have anything to say about it, I will not be leaving Tucker’s house. Hopefully, I’ll be in his bed all night.
So, thinking optimistically, I grab the brush and toothbrush, and I shove it all in a backpack and walk out to find Tucker standing at the window that looks out to the mountains. His hands are on his hips, his shoulders so broad and firm. I want to press myself against his back and hold onto him.