Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“What’s your middle name? I’m trying to decide if our son would take my father’s name, Uncle Fletcher’s name, or if you have a strong middle name.”
“Omar.”
“Oh dear, sweet Jesus …” Jolene covers her mouth like my middle name offends her. “Well …” She giggles. “That answers that. We’ll stick with one of my family’s names. Milo Omar Odell. What was your mom thinking?”
I grit my teeth behind the smile that will be pinned to my face from now until eternity or Hell. Whichever comes first.
“Are you coming in for a drink?”
I shake my head. “I have to be up early.”
She holds her small handbag with both hands in front of her and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “If you want to kiss me goodnight, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
Will every single detail of my life be this orchestrated?
I glance up and can’t say for sure, but I see a silhouette in the window. It has to be Indie. Before I return my gaze to Jolene, she presses her lips to mine. I stiffen.
Jolene takes a step back and grins. “Night, Milo Omar Odell.” She waltzes to the front door, giving me a flirty glance over her shoulder.
My focus returns to the window, but the silhouette is gone.
I close my eyes for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, Indie,” I whisper.
13
MINE!
INDIE
“Good morning, Indie. Are you having breakfast with us?” Pauline emerges from her bedroom just as I pass it on my way to the stairs. Bacon and coffee overwhelm my senses.
“Afraid not. I’m cleaning the chicken coops.”
“Oh …” She follows me down the stairs. Clickety-clack. Why do she and Jolene wear heels all the damn time? I hope they have mangled toes and bunions the size of mushrooms.
“That’s a lot of coops,” Pauline finishes. “Don’t we have someone else who does that?”
“It’s a small brood of chickens for the family and some of the ranch workers. They’re not the chickens that get slaughtered for restaurant chains. Milo takes care of them most of the time since they’re close to the barn. But now that he’s marrying Jolene, I’m taking over the job. You know … since I’m not a real Ellington.” I pull on my boots and give her a toothy grin.
Pauline clutches her invisible pearls. Have I made her uncomfortable by saying the quiet part aloud? Too bad. I’m fresh out of fucks to give.
My boots scrape along the blacktop and then scuff through the gravel.
“Too late. I already cleaned them.”
I look back at Milo as he steps out from the shadow of the barn, tugging off his work gloves and then removing his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. Milo in those fitted jeans … that shirt molded to his chest … and brown chaps. I could get pregnant just from looking at him.
“Um …” I swallow a mouthful of drool. “Breakfast is being served at the house. I’m sure you’re invited.”
“So why aren’t you eating instead of looking for shit to do?”
“Why are you asking a question you already know the answer to?” I flip out my hip and rest my fist on it.
He jerks his head toward the barn. “I’m heading inside to burn some toast and slap a crap ton of butter on it. Then I’m going to make coffee thicker than motor oil. Care to join me?”
I don’t answer. I don’t move. Stubbornness paralyzes me. Well … that and the sexy cowboy in front of me. All I can do is squint against the cresting sun, which works well because it feels like an appropriate scowl.
Milo shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
My options aren’t great this morning, but I choose Milo over my family, even if I’m mad as hell at him for no good reason. He doesn’t acknowledge me when I open his creaky door and close it behind me.
“Sugar in your coffee?” he asks with his back to me.
I lift my foot and pull off one boot, giving it a toss. When it clanks against his wood floor, Milo twists his head.
With another quick tug, I send my other boot flying next to the first one.
“Make yourself at home,” he says with a chuckle.
“I’d like to, but you’re marrying Jolene.”
“Not today.” He drops two pieces of bread into the toaster.
I snag his empty coffee mug and set it on the counter. Using his metal scoop, I dump sugar into it until it fills at least a fourth of the cup. Then I pour the coffee.
“You like coffee with your sugar?”
Stirring slowly, I glance over at him with a grin. “I do.”
“I like mine black with cinnamon.”
I know, Milo. I know you.
“Are you trying to make us incompatible?”
He shakes his head before sprinkling cinnamon into his coffee and taking a slow sip.
While we have a stare down, I smell smoke and turn around. “Your toast is on fire!” I wave my hand over the smoke.