Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
"You did that on purpose," Blaze growls, swiping the milk from his face with his fingers. There's this look in his eyes that screams trouble.
"I didn't!" I cry, scrambling up from the stool. "I swear, I didn't."
"Yeah?" He hauls himself to his feet, his head cocked to the side, a big wet spot in the center of his chest. "Then why are you running, Calamity?"
"I'm not," I say, backing toward the door even as the lie leaves my lips.
He stalks toward me, one purposeful step after the other. My heart is a bird, beating like a wild thing against my ribcage.
"Stay right there," he says.
I should probably make it easy on myself and listen…except I don't. My feet are moving before he even finishes the sentence.
I race out of the barn, breathless and wild.
I'm not a very fast runner, but some insane part of me actually thinks I stand a chance of escaping him when I feel the wind on my face and see the bars of the corral in front of me. Triumph soars through my veins.
Only to collapse into a shocked squeal when his arms close around me from behind, lifting me off my feet.
"I'm sorry!" I cry through laughter, flailing uselessly.
He spins me around, his eyes wild in the split second that I see them before his lips are on mine. He kisses me like no one is watching, one hand in my hair to hold me steady.
And, God help me, I kiss him back the same way. I pour everything into that kiss, clinging to him like he's the only thing that exists in the world.
Right now, it feels like he might be. He's the only substantial part of it anyway. The rest is just mist and fog. But he's the sun, burning so damn bright, I feel him everywhere.
"You're mine," he rasps against my lips, his heart pounding against mine. "You are so fucking mine, Calamity."
As terrifying as it is…I know he's right. I know it all the way to my damn soul.
Chapter Seven
Blaze
Ikiss Morgan until she's breathless and shivering, and then I back off, just holding her against my chest for a moment. I want to storm inside the house, lock the fucking doors, and eat her alive.
And I will absolutely be doing that. But she needs purpose first, a reason to believe that she belongs here. As much as I'd kill to be her reason, she needs more than that. Life on a ranch is fucking hard. It's work, from sunup until sundown. It's fighting the elements, fighting nature, and fighting time.
Love might move mountains, but it's delicate in places like this, too. It needs roots and reasons and room to grow.
I don't think she's ever had much of any of those. I want her to have them here. I want her to know this is her home, not just because it's where I am, but because it's where she feels purpose and passion and a sense of place she hasn't found anywhere else.
So I kiss her one more time, and then I let her go, lacing our fingers together.
"You're going to pay for that later, baby," I murmur.
"It was an accident!" she splutters, unable to hide her adorable giggle. "I swear."
"Uh-huh. That sweet laugh says you're full of shit."
"Then you should get your hearing checked, Blaze," she retorts, grinning at me with this perfectly wild look in her eyes, like she's happier than she's ever been. It's beautiful to see.
"I'll take that under consideration," I drawl, nudging her to get her moving. "But we've got work to do first."
"What now?" she groans.
"Well, you're shit at milking, and I've heard through the grapevine that you're also shit at cooking, wrangling, and using a lasso," I say, making her splutter through a protest, "so we're going to find what you are good at."
"Not manual labor," she grumbles, making me smile.
"Have you ever done manual labor in your life, Calamity?"
"I changed a tire once." She pauses. "It fell off."
"Jesus Christ."
"I wasn't driving."
For some reason, that doesn't make me feel even a little bit better.
I lead her to the horse barn.
"Jon!" she cries, hurrying forward to greet my pain-in-the-ass horse. Except… she stops a few feet from the stall, eyeing him warily. "Hi, bunkmate."
I watch her greet him, noting the way she avoids getting too close. Jesus.
"Morgan."
"Sorry I slept in your hay," she murmurs to him.
"Morgan," I call again, my voice soft.
"What?" she grumbles, turning to look at me.
"Are you afraid of him?"
"What? No. I…"
"Don't lie to me, baby."
She hesitates and then huffs. "Fine. Yes."
Motherfucker.
"Were you afraid of him before you slept in his stall?" I ask.
She hesitates again and then nods reluctantly.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, breathing steadily. I'm going to kill Roger Burkett, just wrap my hands around the bastard's miserable neck and squeeze until he stops breathing.