Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Leave it to my brother to turn a sweet family moment into something much more worrisome. “Shepherd, don’t do anything stupid,” I warn.
“Fine, I won’t beat the shit out of him,” he promises. I’m not sure I believe him. He likes to be overly specific because it gives him deniability. If he promises to not “beat the shit out of him” and Roy doesn’t literally poop himself in response to the fists thrown his way, then Shep upheld his vow. But that leaves a myriad of possibilities open, like beating him until he pukes, bleeds, or goes unconscious. To Shep, those would be fair game under the technicalities of the rules.
No wonder he spends so much time in the penalty box in hockey.
Ben’s been quiet for all my family drama, probably upping my rating to Kardashian-level mess, but Shepherd’s words get him to open his mouth. As he flashes a dark grin, he offers, “Or if you do, let me know and I can provide backup.”
“Don’t encourage him,” I tell Ben, but it’s too late. The line’s been drawn, and the two men lock eyes in an ages-old staring competition while they decide . . .
Are we friends? Are we enemies? Is the enemy of my enemy my friend? Is the friend of my friend my enemy?
Did I miss any combinations of potential bromance or bro-hatred?
Joy fakes a Steve Irwin accent and holds up an imaginary microphone. “What we have here are two juvenile North American males, ready to fight for dominance and hierarchy. One, a local, known for his cold, calculated attacks. The other, an interloper, who may die tonight or be a surprise victor in the fight. Let’s watch.”
Shepherd digs a toe into her shoulder, sending her tumbling over to sprawl out on the floor. While she laughs, having cracked herself up, he tells Ben, “Don’t need backup. Who the hell are you, anyway?”
Is it wrong that I’m glad the focus is shifting to Ben? It probably is, considering I’m the one who dragged him here. But I’m so glad the drama of me and Roy no longer being a thing is over that even if it’s at Ben’s expense, I’m okay with the subject change. Especially since Ben shrugs like it’s no biggie to be the odd man out in a room full of Barlowes.
“Just a guy who was hiking in the woods, looking for titmice, when I got run over by this one here.” He jerks his head in my direction with a smile that makes my chest warm. He’s so much more than what he says. He’s the duct tape holding me together.
“Yeah, so this is Ben,” I add, knowing I sound foolish at the too-late introduction. “Like he said, I ran into him—literally—during my escape. I kinda, sorta invaded his cottage and then commandeered his vacation. He’s been nice enough to let me hide out with him.”
Joy sits back up, lifting her eyebrows at me pointedly. “I’m guessing there’s been some other invasions and commandeering happening too.”
“Joy!” I shout, staring at her with wide, horror-filled eyes. “Shut the fu-cupcakes.”
Why is she embarrassing me like this? Does she want me to talk about her back-seat-of-a-car, over-before-they-started “invasions”? Or the bossy boyfriends she’s had? If she wants to force me to spill some dirty details, I can return the favor with some of the intel I have about her that she’d rather not discuss in front of parentals.
“We’re all thinking it, sis,” Shep says. One second ago, he was giving Joy a hard time, and now they’ve ganged up against me. Typical.
I look at Mom and Dad for help, but they seem curious too. “He’s also not here to be interrogated by all of you. He came because we’re friends,” I say, scowling at them one by one.
“Friends who hold hands,” Joy corrects with a smug smirk. When I scowl harder, she has the audacity to laugh at me. “Hey, I already told you, I like him better than Roy, and that was after only a few minutes.” But then she sobers and pins Ben with a fierce glare. “Don’t make me regret saying that, Tourist Boy.”
“I’ve been showing him around Maple Creek.” I’m desperately trying to redirect the conversation.
“So we hear,” Joy taunts. She counts off on her fingers in a move reminiscent of Dad’s. “The diner; a boat tour; the top-secret, no-tourists-allowed beach . . . People are a little salty about that one.” She purses her lips, then adds, “I hear the tour got a little interactive there.”
“You forgot the resort campfire,” Mom adds, speaking to Joy out the side of her mouth, like I can’t hear her plain as day.
“Hey! How do you know about that? It was just last night,” I say, both impressed and a little disturbed at the completeness of their checklist.