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)
“You don’t have to tell me,” I remind her, and she smiles softly again.
“That’s one of the things I love about being with you,” she confesses. “You get it. You’re not mad or suspicious or jealous that I have to be gone so much. I don’t have to worry that you’ll give me a guilt trip for it.”
What the fuck? Has she had to deal with that before?
“No, you don’t have to worry about any of the bullshit with me because we’re also adults, Darby. We work. And I’m damn proud of you. I’ve had the privilege of watching you in action, and you’re fucking amazing at what you do. I love having you at the ranch for about seventy million reasons, one of which is knowing that if the shit hits the fan with one of my animals, I have you there to help me. I don’t trust just anyone with my livestock.”
She bites her plump lower lip and then smiles shyly. “Why, thank you, Mr. Hendrix.”
“You’re welcome.”
The server comes to pour some wine and take our orders, and then leaves us be.
“How was Zack’s mom this morning?” Darby asks before sipping her wine.
“Disoriented,” I reply, feeling a pang at the thought of my best friend’s mom. “Her face is still droopy, but not paralyzed. She didn’t recognize either of us.”
Darby frowns. “I’m so sorry. That has to be awful for Zack. Were you close to his mom?”
“She practically raised me.” I smile over at her and bring her hand to my lips so I can kiss her knuckles. “Since we were five years old, Zack and I were constantly at each other’s houses. So his parents were like mine and vice versa. We’ve been privy to every crazy life thing that could happen. His parents divorce, my mom leaving, and everything else. His mom made the best chicken pot pie ever. Every Wednesday night, I knew where I’d be having dinner because that was the standard menu. Of course, we didn’t know that she made the menu in advance because she was a single mom who couldn’t afford a lot for groceries, and she made one roasted chicken stretch through half the week.”
Darby smiles softly, listening as I keep talking.
“When my dad found out, he started sending me over with groceries. Not a lot, but enough to help cover the cost of feeding me, especially as Zack and I got older and were eating her out of house and home.”
“Your dad’s a good man,” Darby says.
“He’s the best man.” I take a sip of my water, feeling surprisingly emotional at the thought of my father. “Even after all the shit went down with my mom, he was our rock. My dad is the type of guy who’s never met a stranger. He’ll bring anyone into the fold and treat them like family.”
“Harper?” Darby asks.
“Especially Harper,” I confirm. “She’s my sister in every way that counts, but she didn’t live with us permanently until she was about twelve. I was out of the house by then, of course, but she and Ava were thick as thieves. Her parents had died, and she didn’t have anywhere to go. So, my dad became a foster parent so he could keep her with us.”
Darby’s biting her lower lip, watching me raptly. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow. He never treated her any different from the rest of us. She’s his daughter. Sometimes I think she’s his favorite.”
Darby laughs at that, and it helps lighten the conversation. “I doubt that.”
“Okay, it’s a tie between the girls. But they’re good girls, so who can blame him, right? It was the same with Zack. He spent so much time at our house when we were young, and my dad was that solid male figure he needed when his biological dad was a complete waste of space. To this day, Zack calls Dad on Father’s Day and comes to our place for Christmas, when he can swing it.”
“You’re his family,” she says.
“Yeah, we are.”
Darby blinks, and her brows pull together in a frown. “It’s so different from how I grew up.”
“Tell me about that. Whatever you want to share.”
Before she can talk about it, our meals are placed in front of us. We both got steaks, and they smell great.
“Can I get you anything else?” the server asks.
“This looks amazing,” Darby says, shaking her head.
“We’re good,” I confirm, and then we’re alone once more. “You don’t have to talk about this while we eat.”
“Nah, I’m fine,” she says, cutting into her steak. “You already know the worst of it, so I won’t go into that here. Before Mom died, things were already scary. I think my dad thrived on all of us living in fear. And pain. I often wonder if he was a serial killer.”
My eyes widen, and I watch as Darby taps her fork to her lips thoughtfully. She’s not kidding.