Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
The woman smiles at us as we pass, her wide mouth holding none of the man’s guardedness. But behind that smile is curiosity. Her gaze catches mine like a hook. She doesn’t look away.
It’s like she’s assessing me. Like I’ve walked into her story uninvited, and she’s trying to decide what role I’ll play.
The truck clears the street, and I glance back once, watching as the twins wriggle and the woman crouches to fix a shoe that’s half off one little foot. The man stands behind her like a sentry, solid and watchful.
And for one irrational second, something sharp twists beneath my breastbone.
The hollow ache of what I lost before it was ever had.
I swallow and look away.
“They’re cute,” I murmur, voice flat. “The kids.”
Nixon doesn’t respond.
“Who are they?” I ask a little louder. “Friends of yours?”
“Neighbors.”
“Friendly ones?”
His jaw tightens. “Complicated.”
Which, in Nixon-speak, says everything.
I turn back toward the window, pretending I’m watching the trees blur past.
But in my head is a different voice entirely. My doctor’s soft, clinical, apologetic tone.
Low ovarian reserve… less than ten percent… pregnancy is unlikely without intervention.
I was twenty-six at the time.
Since then, every man I’ve told has looked away, or smiled and said it didn’t matter, then slowly pulled away when they realized I wasn’t going to be their fresh start. Their breeder. Their dream of a happy family.
Even the good ones couldn’t help it. Biology shouts louder than love.
I grip the seatbelt tighter.
This isn’t what I came here for. I didn’t walk into these woods looking for a future. I came for lumber. For business. For a break from the grind of everyday life.
So why does that woman’s curious glance stay with me longer than it should?
9
REED
There’s something deeply satisfying about feeding people. Watching shoulders loosen. Listening to plates clatter and drinks pour, and that one sound everyone makes when they take a bite of something that tastes better than they expected.
Tonight, that sound comes from Scarlet.
She makes it around the third bite of the venison stew I slow-cooked all afternoon. Finn baked the bread, I handled the meat, and Nixon? Well, he stood brooding like a thundercloud with his arms folded.
Scarlet’s curled up on the couch now, one foot up, ankle wrapped and iced, cheeks pink from the firelight and the glass of wine she’s halfway through swirling like a woman who knows her vintages, even though I’m ninety percent sure she selected it from the rack because of wolves on the label.
She’s on her second glass now. Which means she’s a little too relaxed to remember she popped painkillers after dinner.
Just enough to make her edges smudge.
I like her like this when the walls she keeps so neatly stacked show cracks. And what’s behind them?
Interesting as hell.
“So,” I say, refilling her glass with a grin that Nixon will growl at me for later, “Scarlet. Tell us something spicy.”
Her laugh is bright and genuine, and she sets her glass onto the polished wood with dramatic care. “Why do I feel like this is a trap?”
“It’s not a trap,” I lie. “It’s a bonding exercise. You share, we share. Next thing you know, we’re best friends. Or better.”
Nixon, who’s nursing a beer in the corner like it personally insulted him, clears his throat and barks into my mind you’re pushing it, Reed.
I ignore him. This is my lane.
“I don’t have much spice to share,” Scarlet says, her tone playful but with a thread of honesty woven through. “Unless disappointing sex and trust issues count as kinks.”
I raise a brow. “Only in sad town.”
She snorts. “Then I’m the queen of kinks.”
Finn winces from the kitchen where he’s cleaning up. “That sounds bleak.”
Scarlet shrugs, swirling her wine again. “I dated a guy once who called himself an alpha in bed. Which basically meant he ordered me around, never made me come, and then told me I was lucky to have him.”
“Sounds like a winner,” I say.
“Oh yeah. Five stars. Would recommend to my worst enemy.”
She’s flushed now, tipsy and free talking, and Nixon’s practically radiating heat from the other side of the room. Not the sexy kind. The I’m going to rip Reed’s tongue out with my teeth kind.
I meet his eyes and grin.
I top off Scarlet’s glass again to keep the mood moving, and this time she lifts it like a toast, eyes sparkling with tipsy boldness.
“Careful,” I say, settling beside her on the arm of the couch. “Keep looking at me like that and you’re going to hurt my feelings when you don’t climb into my lap.”
“You have feelings?”
“Somewhere deep beneath the charm and perfectly sculpted biceps, yes.”
She laughs, and her shoulders drop a little more, tension leaking out of her like heat from a wound. We’re seeing what she’s like when there’s nothing to prove.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” she says, cocking a brow. “I still don’t trust you.”