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)
“We’re late,” Haven announces, standing up from her seat.
I can do this, I tell myself. I have to anyway. It’s not like I have a choice, and I’ve faced worse things.
You’re such a liar, Peyton. You know you haven’t faced anything worse than him. The beautiful cowboy with a wicked scar and green eyes whose life your father destroyed.
Getting up from my seat, too, I help Haven with all the stuff she needs to gather before we head out. Since we’re going to the south stream, wherever the heck it is, we need a mode of transportation. In this case, a side-by-side ATV. I lived on a ranch until I was eleven so I’ve been in an ATV, but I absolutely hate riding in them. My stomach churns as Haven starts it up and pulls out of the driveway. Every bump, every jostle, every freaking turn we take, I taste bile in my mouth and my limbs feel hot and heavy. Just as I think I’m not going to make it and I’m about to throw up all over Haven’s and my own cowboy boots, she stops. I stumble out of the vehicle and stand, leaning against it for a few seconds to get my bearings. I seriously hate living on a ranch.
Good thing it wasn’t a horse, or I would’ve died on the ride over.
But then all the commotion around me penetrates and I straighten up. We’re indeed by the stream like Haven had mentioned. It’s fast-moving and is flanked by high ground on both sides. Immediately, I know why the men can’t make it to lunch this afternoon; they’re trying to retrieve a calf from down there. Not only a calf, though, but a stuck one. As in, one of its legs seems to have gotten wedged under a fallen tree trunk, and the ranch hands are gathered around, shouting out commands and instructions, trying to get a handle on the situation.
My own stupid fear and discomfort vanish as I hear a bellow. I rush to the edge of the stream and notice trembles running through the calf’s white, skinny body. It’s trying to free the leg on its own but to no avail, and that’s only making it bellow harder. Not to mention, I don’t think it likes so many people around. Every time a ranch hand tries to get close, it becomes more terrified and struggles harder. It’s a vicious cycle, and I have absolutely no idea how they’re going to save the poor animal. But then I hear hooves. The distinct sound of a horse galloping on the ground, approaching fast.
I snap my eyes up and see a flash of white streaking through the woods on the other side of the stream. A dark figure sits atop a white horse, wearing a black Stetson and a bandanna over his face like a mask. And despite knowing better, my breaths start to come easy. I know he’s going to save the calf. There’s not a single doubt in my mind about that.
You’re such an idiot, Peyton.
As usual, his shirt is bursting at the seams, trying to contain his wide chest, and his washed-out jeans seem to be painted on his bulging tree-trunk thighs. His sleeves are folded up to his elbows, and even though I’m far away from him, I can still see the bulge of his bronzed forearms as he holds the reins in his powerful hands. When he jerks his horse to a stop and jumps down with an ease that only comes from years and years of practice, I squeeze my thighs. Still masked, he strides over to one of the ranch hands and a hush falls over the group. A certain calm. They all stand taller and lose the tense lines of their bodies as they speak to him. As if they know, just like me, he’s going to take care of it.
As though to prove my thoughts correct, I feel Haven coming to stand by my side. I glance over to see her watching him and the others as she says, “It’s going to be okay. Rad’ll take care of it.”
Rad.
I know that’s what they call him, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for him at all. He’s a king, in both his name and his aura. He deserves to be called by his full, kingly name: Radisson. I’m not proud of it, and I will take this secret to my grave, but I love his name. The moment I heard it from Haven, I knew it was perfect for him. Perfect for the only man at Rawhide bigger and broader than all the Grayson brothers combined.
I watch him grab the rope in his hands, and instantly, my wrists begin to tingle. They burn and itch, and I rub them up and down my dress. With the rope wound around his hand, Radisson takes the lead while the rest of the men stay on the edge. He climbs down and gets in the stream, slowly approaching the stuck animal through the swift current of the water. Like before, Radisson’s closeness only stresses the calf, and it starts shaking and bellowing, struggling to get free. But instead of either forging ahead or retreating, Radisson freezes. He unmasks his face and looks the poor animal in the eyes. He raises his arms, his fingers splayed wide, the rope still wound around his right hand, as he speaks. I can only watch his lips move, plump and bisected by his scar, and I have to bite my own as I wait, like everyone else, for something to happen.