Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Foster Blake had already prompted me to change my plans once, but I couldn’t keep doing it. Who would I be if I couldn’t achieve the goals I’d set for myself?
“Good night,” I whispered.
“Good night.”
Foster moved to his own bed, and I listened to the sounds of him settling under his covers. The cabin felt enormous suddenly, the three feet between our beds an insurmountable distance.
I lay there in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, and tried not to think about how right it had felt to have him take care of me. How safe I’d felt in his arms. How terrifyingly easy it would be to throw away everything I’d worked for just to stay in this moment.
Five weeks. We had just over five weeks left before I had to decide whether to chase the life I’d always planned or risk everything for something I’d never seen coming.
Five weeks to figure out whether what was happening between us was real or just the result of proximity and adrenaline and really good sex.
Five weeks to decide if love was worth changing the entire trajectory of my life.
As I finally drifted off to sleep, listening to Foster’s steady breathing from across the room, I had the sinking feeling that I already knew the answer.
And that it was going to break both our hearts.
17
FOSTER
I shouldn’t have come to Timber alone.
The smart thing would have been to stay at SERA after the workday was over. Maybe take Chickie for a long walk, work on some training exercises… anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off the fact that Tommy had been gone for exactly ten hours and twenty-three minutes.
Not that I was counting.
But here I was, nursing a beer while Tommy’s cousin Alex polished glasses behind the bar and shot me looks like he had a solid guess why I was drinking alone on a Tuesday night.
The inside bar area was mostly empty, with most people preferring the outside seating area to enjoy the beautiful summer night with friends and family. It should have been peaceful away from the crowd, from the chatter. Instead, every time the door opened, my head jerked up like a goddamn golden retriever waiting for its owner to come home.
Pathetic.
Even more pathetic than the sulking hound dog at my feet, who was currently missing her favorite person.
“It’s funny,” Alex said, setting down his towel and leaning against the bar. “Ella and I were sure you had a thing for our cousin, but since you know Tommy’s not coming back until tomorrow night and you’re still eyeing the door, maybe it’s someone else.”
I took a long pull of my beer. “It’s not someone else.”
Alex’s eyebrows winged up.
I scrambled to correct myself. “Or him. Or anyone. I’m not waiting for anyone. Or him.”
He did a shit job at hiding his smirk. “I see.”
Before I could respond and most likely make the situation worse, the door chimed again, and this time, it was a tiny force of nature in outdoor-chic hiking pants, a designer puffer vest, and a cloud of expensive perfume.
As soon as I recognized her from Hawaii, I turned my head away in hopes she wouldn’t notice me. Unfortunately, today was not my day.
“Well, well,” she said, climbing onto the barstool next to mine with surprising agility for someone who had to be pushing ninety. “If it isn’t Sheriff Beefcake.”
“Ma’am,” I murmured with a polite nod before staring back into my beer.
Alex closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.
“Ma’aaaaamm.” She said the word slowly, as if testing it on her tongue. “If we’re going to start with insults, I’ll be the one to throw the first volley.”
She opened her mouth to unload, but Alex stopped her before she could begin. “Aunt Tilly, what are you doing here? I thought you were at the lodge with everyone else.”
“Why yes, thank you, Alexander. I’d love a drink.” She flipped a hand toward the bar like a queen granting an audience. “Whiskey. Neat. The good stuff, not the swill you serve the tourists. And get Biceps of Justice another, too. He looks like he’s going to start crying into that beer any minute, and salt never did a craft brew any favors.”
I inhaled and let out a breath. “It’s domestic. And I’m pretty sure the last time I cried was over a decade ago.”
It wasn’t true, but I got the sense that if I gave this woman any indication I owned tender human feelings, she’d fillet them and lay them over a clothesline in the town square to bake in the sun.
No, thanks.
Alex handed over the drinks and took one last look between the two of us. “Foster Blake, this is my great-great-aunt Tilly. Aunt Tilly, this is Foster Blake, Sheriff of Majestic, Wyoming, and head of Search and Rescue at SERA.”