Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“Really?”
“Well”—he grinned—“it is when your date has to wear an ankle monitor.”
Alanna embarrassedly looked away from him. He had only been joking with her, like he did with the rest of his family. During the two dinners she had spent with him and his family, he had been constantly joking with them.
Matthew tugged on a lock of her hair, making her return her eyes to him. “I even took a picture of our first date.”
She wasn’t going to fall for his joking a second time. Reaching for a plastic baggie of marshmallows, she popped one into her mouth with a disbelieving look.
“I did,” he insisted.
“Show me,” she called him out.
“All right.” Matthew picked up his cell phone. Swiping his finger across the screen, he turned the phone to show her.
She burst out laughing. He must have taken a picture of her when she had tried to put her first worm on. She had thought he was putting his on, too. Instead, he had taken a picture of her.
“That’s not fair. Delete it.”
“Heck no. When we’re fishing buddies at the ripe old age of one hundred, I can show you this picture and remind you that your fishing hasn’t gotten any better.”
“That’s cruel.”
“No crueler than the torture you inflicted on that poor worm.”
“I pretended it was Greer,” she shamefully confessed.
“You’re bloodthirsty, woman.” His grin widened. “I like it.”
Alanna giggled then wanted to smack herself for sounding like a teenager. Embarrassed, she reached for another marshmallow, only for Matthew to take it out of her hand.
“You’re driving me nuts by eating it plain. I brought graham crackers and chocolate bars for you to make some s’mores.”
“We don’t have a fire.”
“You don’t have a problem eating cold marshmallows, but you don’t do cold s’mores?”
“I was saving the calories.”
“You were being lazy.”
“I was.” She nodded.
“Then I’ll make you one.”
“Go ahead.”
Alanna watched him assemble the s’more, waiting for him to hand it to her when it was done.
“You have a bite on your line.”
She jerked her eyes toward her bobber as she used her uninjured hand to grab her fishing pole. She watched the bobber; it didn’t move. Alanna turned back to Matthew.
“Did it get away? It isn’t moving.”
“Probably took the bait and fled.”
“Little asshole,” she fumed, setting the pole back down.
“Here you go,” Matthew said, holding the s’more out.
Alanna took the s’more, feeling warmth from the cracker. She raised it to eye level and realized the chocolate was melted, and so was the marshmallow. It even had a crusty edge.
“How did you do that?” she asked, lifting wondering eyes to his.
“Magic.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Come on; how did you do it?”
His eyes twinkled with laughter when he opened his hand to show her the lighter.
Alanna moved to sit cross-legged on the blanket. “I love s’mores,” she said, taking a bite.
“Especially when you don’t have to make them,” he teased her.
“Aren’t you going to make you one?”
“You could give me a bite of yours.”
Alanna started to break the s’more in half, like she had the sandwich, but Matthew grabbed her wrist and pulled it toward his mouth. Her body melted into a warm vat of honey when he opened his mouth and took a bite from where she had. When he released her hand so she could take it back, she lost all brain function when the tip of his tongue came out to lick a spot of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.
From the look in his mischievous eyes, Matthew was well aware of what he was doing. How could he not? A man who looked like him would have to be buried under a rock, on planet Neptune, for women not to lust after him.
Not thinking, she finished off her s’more as Matthew placed everything back in the cooler.
“Tomorrow, Silas is going to take a short drive across to West Virginia to buy some more meat to restock our freezer. You want to come with us?” he offered.
“I would love to, but”—Alanna straightened her legs and gave a wave toward the ankle monitor—“as you can see, I can’t go.”
“Don’t worry; I’m sure Silas can convince the sheriff to let you go.”
She gave him a doubtful glance. “I doubt it. The guidelines I have to follow are pretty straight forward. If I take one step off the range I’m limited to, I go back to jail.”
“Do you want to go or not?”
“Yes, I would love to.”
“Then leave it to me and Silas.”
“Okay …” she drawled out. “But if I have to go back to jail, you better bring me a s’more with a nail file in the middle.”
“I won’t have to do that. I’ll just bribe Greer with a sixteen-ounce porterhouse to let you escape.”
Her mouth dropped open, and she smacked her forehead at her stupidity. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Matthew tapped his fingers on his temple. “When you’re dealing with Greer, you have to think on his wavelength.”