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)
"Are you saying you have shit to do?" We both know he doesn't. Aside from chasing after Hamburger, building his custom furniture, and showing up to weekly family dinners here, Cam doesn't leave his cabin. He hasn't been the same since he came home. I keep hoping he'll rejoin the land of the living one of these days, but I've been waiting for years for something to drag him out of his hole, and it hasn't happened yet.
I wish like hell it would. I miss the hell out of him. Cleary does too. We've got time though. We'll wait as long as we have to wait for him to work through what happened over there…and the bullshit that happened when he came home. Time heals all wounds. Some just take a little longer than others.
"I'm saying I'm tired of chasing down your bull," he growls. "I found him staring down two tourists on the main road yesterday. Today, he was halfway to town."
Shit.
"I'll get him chipped," I sigh, knowing it's inevitable. The big bastard might be a pain in my ass, but I don't want him getting run over. I actually like him, not that I'll ever admit that out loud. And he makes me a ton of money. He's a fertile son of a gun, and he doesn't mind sharing space with the younger bulls. Plus, his genetics are a thing of beauty.
"I'll start riding the fence," Cam grumbles. "You owe me."
"The usual?"
"Yep. Apple pie on Wednesday morning."
I chuckle, shaking my head when he disconnects. He may be a surly motherfucker, but at least he's easy to figure out. Give him pie and a good piece of wood, and he's content. Now, if I could just figure out what it'd take to get a certain curvy romance author out of Seattle and onto my ranch….
"Cassia," I groan as thick ropes of cum shoot from the end of my cock. They land against the floor of the shower before the water washes them down the drain. I grit my teeth, working myself through it. My heart pounds, my mind full of visions of the sassy little author. She's on her knees in front of me, head tipped back, tits out, teeth sunk into her plump bottom lip….
If I get sent to hell for jerking off to fantasies of her, I'll go with a jig in my step and a smile on my face. She's the only thing that's gotten my dick hard in years. I'm not saying I'm a choir boy, because I'm not. But I haven't been with a woman since my parents died. Didn't think Ma would appreciate me bringing a string of women around my little sister. I didn't want her growing up thinking that shit was normal, either. Our parents were madly in love. I wanted that to be her model of a healthy relationship, not what passes for one in the bunkhouse.
I never spent much time thinking about love and marriage for myself until six weeks ago. Between running this place, worrying about Cam, and raising Cleary, I didn't have time for a woman. Now, I can't seem to get one particular woman off my fucking mind. It doesn't make a damn bit of sense either. I've never even been in the same room as Cassia Murphy, yet I'm already half convinced she's the woman for me. Problematic since she lives in Seattle and my life is on a ranch in Lake Tahoe. Last I heard, kidnapping was still illegal in all fifty states.
Ask me if that's stopped me from thinking about showing up on her doorstep, tossing her over my shoulder, and carrying her off to breed her like some caveman. Spoiler alert: it hasn't.
I groan and release my cock, breathing hard. I stand beneath the spray of the shower for a long moment, trying to get my head on straight. It's no use. My thoughts bounce around like ping pong balls, every damn one shooting off on some new tangent involving Cassia. Eventually, I give up and scrub up before turning the shower off and climbing out.
Midway through drying off, my cell rings.
"Baby sister," I say, putting it on speaker.
"So…I may need bail money tonight," Cleary says by way of greeting.
"For what?" I growl, my brow furrowing. She works for the damn Sheriff. Brock better not arrest her, or he'll be removing my size sixteen from his ass. Cam's too.
"Remember that author you've been reading because you're being weird and having a midlife crisis or something? Her and some of my other favorite authors are in town, so I'm going to gatecrash their getaway tonight to say hi," Cleary says, talking ninety to nothing.
"I'm forty-one," I mutter, and then the rest of what she said sinks in. I toss my towel toward the hamper and snatch my phone from the counter. "Cassia Murphy is here? In Lake Tahoe?"