Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
One of our other enforcers, Tomcat, was a former military pilot who was now a civilian contractor flying test aircraft for whoever could afford him. He always kept a close eye on things at the small, local airfield, and he’d noticed shipments coming in via unmarked planes with no recorded flight plan. After some digging, he discovered there were no records at all.
It was frustrating that things were moving slowly with that operation, so I appreciated the distraction I got from working with the Winslet family to get the orchard and farm ready for what I’d been assured was a fun event.
Sounded like a lot of noise and chaos to me, but their enthusiasm was a little infectious. Getting my hands dirty and being part of something straightforward and honest felt good. The physical labor grounded me, sweat dampening my T-shirt and streaking dust across my jeans as we moved from task to task.
Clara was a whirlwind, effortlessly juggling multiple responsibilities, laughter spilling from her lips as she teased her younger siblings. My gaze tracked her every movement, drawn to the graceful strength in her stance, the sway of her hips, and the fire that danced in her eyes whenever she challenged me.
Friday morning at dawn, I was back again, my bike rumbling down the gravel drive just as the horizon began to glow. I had already become familiar with the comforting rhythm of the place—the distant hum of tractors, and the warm scent of hay mixed with ripe apples. Later in the afternoon, laughter would echo around the property as the Winslet siblings bantered back and forth. It was an odd sensation, one I wasn’t accustomed to—this sense of belonging, a stability that ran deeper than just being part of something bigger than myself.
My childhood had been defined by restless wandering, my dad always chasing something just beyond our reach. Home was transient, never lasting long enough for me to plant roots. Being here, surrounded by Clara’s family, sparked something inside me that had been long dormant—a deep craving for permanence, roots, and the kind of quiet peace this farm radiated.
Activity around the orchard ramped up to a hectic pace. Vendors began arriving, their trucks and trailers filling the parking lot and spilling out onto the grass. Tents popped up, colorful awnings snapping in the breeze as crates of goods were unloaded and arranged. I found myself moving seamlessly alongside Clara, hauling boxes, securing tents, and following her directions with an ease that surprised me. King was the only person I’d ever given my blind obedience to. With anyone else, I questioned every order, every motive—though less so with my brothers.
However, when it came to Clara, every task felt effortless. She was efficient, her voice steady as she guided people around the chaos. Her movements were confident even as sweat dampened the collar of her T-shirt and wayward strands of her chestnut hair slipped from her braid and clung to the graceful curve of her neck.
The longer I spent working beside her, the deeper my possessiveness grew. Watching vendors interact with Clara only amplified that intensity. Most of them were familiar faces since they were local. But I hadn’t realized how well they knew her and her family, exchanging friendly banter and genuine laughter. It made the orchard feel even more like a home.
I wasn’t all that happy with the familiarity she had with some of the men, but I tried to keep my jealousy reined in. Then, just before lunchtime, a vendor had tension in my shoulders. A young guy whose eyes lingered a little too long on my woman, with a smile that was a little too appreciative.
He was tall and lean, dressed in jeans and a plaid button-down that seemed carefully selected to show off his physique—one clearly achieved in the gym rather than through manual labor. Despite the fact that he was about to spend the rest of the day out in the hot sun, working on a farm, his hair was carefully styled. His face had the kind of easy charm that came with confidence and youth. I caught the little bastard sidling closer to Clara more than once, leaning in a little too eagerly as he asked her questions about setup locations and logistics for his booth.
The second time he touched her arm, my patience snapped. I crossed the distance between us in a few long, purposeful strides, stepping close enough to Clara that my arm slid naturally around her waist, pulling her securely against my side. The vendor’s gaze snapped up, his startled eyes widening slightly when they clocked the tattoos covering my arms and peeking out from the collar of my shirt, then my vest. He swallowed hard before his gaze jumped up to meet my stony glare.
“There a problem here, boy?” My voice came out deceptively calm, though the hard edge beneath it was unmistakable.