Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Before I can take it from her, she snatches it back.
"Maybe you shouldn't read it," she says. "That vein in your temple is already throbbing. It might explode if you read it."
I hold my hand out silently, hitting her with a hard stare.
She grumbles under her breath and smacks me in the chest with her phone. I take it from her, my eyebrows climbing as I read the ad she placed.
Grouchy mountain man desperately (seriously. Help. Me.) seeking assistant for a short-term assignment. Must be outgoing, reliable, understand the needs of a small-business, and know how to file. Pay negotiable.
"See? I covered all the basics," she says, circling around behind the bar again. "You're welcome. Now, your turn. How many calls have you had? Did you hire someone? When does he start?"
"I'm not a grouch."
"Ha!" Nell snorts. "Even your dog thinks you're cranky."
"Tyr likes me just fine."
"Tyr likes the bed he sleeps in and the steak you feed him, Deacon. You, he tolerates," she says, smirking at me. "The dog uses you."
"I'm telling him you said that."
She shrugs, sinking her hands back into the scone dough she was kneading when I interrupted her. "Spill."
I reach across the bar for one of the scones she's already finished.
She smacks my hand before I can grab it. "Hands off. Those are for the dance. You can't have one until then."
"I'm not going to the damn dance, Nell."
"If you aren't going, you aren't getting a scone."
"Fine, then I'm not telling you who I hired."
She narrows her eyes on me suspiciously. "Are you just trying to get a scone out of me, or did you actually hire someone to help you?"
"I hired someone."
She nudges the platter of scones my way.
I smirk, snatching one off the plate before she changes her mind and smacks me again. Swear to God, she got that shit from our mom. Got the scone recipe too. They're delicious.
"Spill it, Deacon."
"Her name is Cordelia Shanks," I sigh around a bite of scone. "She'll be here tomorrow. And if she dies in the goddamn forest, it's your fault."
Nell's mouth pops open, her eyes growing comically wide. "You hired a woman? Shut the front door!"
"What's that supposed to mean?" I growl.
"Nothing." She drops her gaze back to the dough as if I haven't known her for all twenty-four years of her life. She's a terrible liar.
"You think I'm against hiring women?"
"What? No." She wrinkles her nose. "You just get weird around women. They make you extra cranky, that's all."
"That's because every woman in this town is trying to set me up," I growl. It's ridiculous. There are exactly four single women left in this town—not including my sister, and every time I come down the mountain, some crazy woman tries to set me up with one of them. It drives me up the fucking wall. I've been saying no for six years. It's not changing anytime soon.
"They worry about you," Nell says quietly.
"Well, they need to quit. I don't need their damn pity," I mutter, shoving the scone into my mouth. The butter melts on my tongue and I immediately reach for another one. Nell doesn't stop me this time. She's too busy watching me with that look on her face. The one that says she worries too.
I've given her plenty of reasons over the years. Until six years ago, I was the captain of an interagency hotshot crew, an elite team of highly trained firefighters from different departments deployed to fight wildland fires. We were working a fire in a canyon in the Cascades and were given bad information. Our escape route was cut-off. Three of us survived.
I came back home to heal, except the healing didn't work out quite like I planned. The only things that helped ease the nightmares were fresh air and being able to see the night sky. By the time I got through the worst of the PTSD, the mountains and solitude had grown on me. I had no desire to go back to the fire service or rejoin civilization, so I simply didn't.
Everyone assumes it means I'm still a broken husk of a man. I'm not. I just don't like people. They always want things or want me to do things. Frankly, it gets on my fucking nerves.
"They don't pity you, Deacon," Nell says. "They just want to see you happy, that's all."
"I'm happy."
My baby sister snorts.
"I'm happy," I growl.
"Good, then there's no reason you can't come to the dance tonight."
"Uh, fuck no." I rise from my barstool, shaking my head as I stride toward the door. "I said I was happy, Nelia. I didn't say I was crazy."
"Fine!" she shouts after me. "But you're going to fall in love someday, Deacon! And you better be nice to your new assistant or I'm asking Mom and Dad to haunt you!"