Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Nothing from Brecken either. He says he’s still looking into things, having people investigated, enemies of the Turners, anyone who might want to bring them harm, just like Arsen. And while I understand these things take time, it’s something I don’t have. It’s something Lynnie might not have either. Whoever that man is, in his own words, he’s fucking impatient. And people with little patience tend to do reckless things. As risky as it was to call his bluff before, making him wait might be the biggest risk yet. So I need them to come through for me. I need to know who the fuck he is so I can destroy him, annihilate him for thinking he could steal my sister, for thinking he could hurt my Princess. And then, I will finally destroy Hank Turner. But not for killing my parents. I will destroy him and leave no body to bury for killing his daughter’s hopes and dreams at the age of ten.
But until that time, I’ll hold her tight in my arms and sleep beside her every chance I get. Because she isn’t the Turner Princess; she’s my Princess.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE NEXT MORNING, I wake up before him.
This never happens. He’s a cowboy and a pretty good one at that. He always wakes up with the sun. Back at Rawhide, everyone talked about how he was never late for work or anything else. Mostly, it was Haven berating Axton for showing up late to breakfast even though he lived just down the hallway. Even Arsen could be late sometimes, but never Radisson. He was always on time, and I remember feeling something fluttery in my chest. Like it did something to me, him being so dependable and safe. Well, I can finally admit that it did.
Even here, at this ranch, when he’s not actively working, he still wakes up way before me, at dawn. He makes me breakfast and leaves it on the kitchen island for me to find later. By the time I’m done with my shower and food, the sun’s already risen and is firmly situated in the sky. And I always find him circling the corral on Tulip, waiting for me. I mean, he’s never said it, but I know he waits for me because when I meet him at the fence, he picks me up and sits me on his lap. And we take off for a ride.
All this to say, this moment is unprecedented. It’s way past dawn; I think it’s the time when I usually wake up because I see the sun streaming through the window, making thick puddles on the floor like the rain probably did last night, dust motes dancing in the beams. Which means this could be my chance. To watch and explore without his knowledge. He’s always the one who’s watching me, isn’t he? Now I’m going to watch him.
I start with his room first. Because I’ve been dying to check it out ever since I learned that this is where he disappears to at night, after our dinner together. That he also cooks—I only take care of lunch, which I more or less use dinner leftovers for because I’m a disaster in the kitchen—while I sit at the counter and watch him to do it with such an expertise that I can’t believe I waited three days to throw myself at him. His mom would be so proud of him, by the way; he’s an excellent cook.
Anyway, this barn is smaller than the one back at Rawhide. There’s only one level, for starters, and it doesn’t have his personal things that made the other barn his home. It does have some equipment, though, in one corner, along with bales of hay. A large dresser on the other side, a table and a chair with a lamp right next to the dresser, and this bed with wooden slats for the headboard in the middle of it all. I wonder, and not for the first time since we got here, whose ranch this is. How did he know to bring me here? It’s one of the many, many, many things I’ve wanted to ask him over the past three days. But of course, much like throwing myself at him, I refrained, wanting to keep my boundaries intact.
What an idiot.
I want to wake him up and ask him now. Ask him all the questions that I’ve been dying to ask, and now he’ll have to answer because he’s the one who said in this bed, there won’t be anything between us. No secrets, no past. But of course, I won’t. Not until I’ve taken full advantage of this situation. So I move my eyes up to the man himself. He’s sprawled on his back, his eyes closed, his impossibly long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His dark head’s resting on a fluffy, cloudlike pillow, and his plush mouth is slightly parted and relaxed as he sleeps.