Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“There is nothing to talk about,” I finally say, and she looks like she’s about to argue with me.
“We have a protection order now,” she repeats what the deputy told her.
“Yeah, and we all know that Winston follows all the rules,” I counter back at her.
“He’ll get in trouble if he comes back.”
“The sheriff is in the Cartwrights’ pocket,” I inform her of something she should know, “so we both know that he won’t care. So unless you get a judgment, you aren’t staying in that house.” I point at the window that shows her house to the side.
“But—” she tries to come back with an argument.
“I have four bedrooms.” I tap my finger on the counter. “Two of them have never been used. You talk to Ryleigh tomorrow morning, then she can tell you that you can’t go back there.”
“And if she tells me I can?” she asks, and I just smirk. “Exactly, so regardless of what she says, you aren’t going to let me go back there.”
“You would be right about that,” I confirm.
“I have to go over to my house and get things,” she mentions, looking out at the house, and all I can do is shake my head.
“No.”
“Brady, I need things.” She closes her eyes.
“Whatever you need, I have here,” I tell her.
“I need my baking stuff.” Her voice is quiet.
“Baby, you aren’t going to be baking.” All she does is shake her head.
“It’s a side job I have and I need my things.” She turns. “I’m going to go and get the stuff and bring it here.”
She takes one step out of the kitchen. “You take one more step,” I almost bark but she stops walking, “and I’ll turn you over my knee and make your ass red.” She halts and I make my way over to her, stopping with my front to her back. “Make a list.”
“But what if he’s out there?” She doesn’t turn to look at me.
“Even more reason that you aren’t going out there. You are going to make a list, then I’ll go get it and come back,” I tell her as she looks over her shoulder at me. My hand goes to her side while my mouth comes down to kiss her lips. “List.”
“Okay, Brady,” she concedes softly, “I need a pen and paper.”
“Where is your phone?” I ask, and she pulls it out from her back pocket. “FaceTime me, and it will go faster.”
“Okay.” She presses a couple of buttons, and the phone rings from my own pocket.
“Lock the door,” I remind her, pulling open the door, and her hand grips my wrist before I walk out.
“Be careful.” Her face and voice are both filled with worry.
“I will,” I assure her, kissing her before walking down the steps and heading toward her house, turning when I don’t hear the sound of the door clicking. “Did I not tell you to go inside the house?”
“Brady, we would hear him coming,” she tells me, and I stop walking, turning to look at her.
“The faster you get your ass in the house, the faster I can get myself in your house,” I hiss at her, and she scoffs, turning and going back in my house and closing the door.
“What about the back door? Can I go out there?” she asks, and I see her standing at the back door, but it’s still closed.
“As long as it’s closed,” I tell her, walking to her house and up the steps. I open the door and walk into the house.
“Okay, go to the kitchen,” she instructs me and I walk in, grabbing all the pans she wants. I realize then that she might have a couple of pots and pans, but she has like fifty different sizes of baking pans.
“Baby, you are going to need all of these?” I ask.
“I have to make twenty. It’s Sunday tomorrow,” she states, and I swear I have no idea who the hell she’s baking for.
“Okay, what else?” I ask, putting all the pans together on the counter before she tells me where to find a box.
It’s about twenty minutes later, and I have to make two trips to carry all of the things to my house. She puts away all the refrigerated stuff before she turns and looks at me. “I’m going to have to be up in a couple of hours,” she says. “I’m thinking I should just pull an all-nighter.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You are going to come upstairs with me right now and get in the shower.”
“Brady.” Her voice is breathless.
“In the shower by yourself,” I rephrase, “and then you will sleep, even if it’s for a couple of hours. Get your mind to stop working.”
“I don’t know…” She trails off, and I grab her hand in mine, and we walk out of the kitchen and up the steps. I let her hand go when we get to the top of the stairs, knowing she’ll go check on Wyatt. She peeks in quickly. “He’s sleeping,” she whispers. “Where is the bathroom?” I don’t answer her. Instead, I again take her hand and walk down the hallway to my bedroom. The wooden four-poster king-sized bed is unmade from the morning. I walk to the side, where I pull open a drawer in the matching wooden credenza. After I grab a T-shirt, I hand it to her. “It’s through there.” I point toward the door in the corner. “I’m not even going to try to go in with you,” I explain, and she nods. “Only because all you have to do is look at me, and I’ll forget all the things I said I wouldn’t do and get in that shower with you.”