Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
“Let me go!” she screams. “Let me go, you brute! Hey, owww!”
I stare down at the woman in my arms. She’s maybe five four, shaped like an hourglass, with the bloom of youth on her cheeks. Fuck, she’s young young, with that narrow waist, big hips, and thick thighs. Her blonde hair’s tied back in a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing casual clothes, but nothing can mask the lushness of her body. Yet there’s no doubt that this woman was spying on me ... and I intend to find out why.
2
Grace
“Hey, let me go!” I howl at the top of my lungs. “Ouch, you’re hurting me!”
Of course, the lumberjack doesn’t let go at all. But he does loosen his grip so that it’s not an iron vise around my upper arm.
“Who the fuck are you?” he growls, brows lowering over piercing blue eyes. I can’t help but notice that he’s even more gorgeous up close. Scary, but impossibly magnetic with those rough-hewn features and thick black beard.
“Who the fuck are you?” I scream right back, outraged at being manhandled. I shake my arm, trying to loosen it from his grasp, but if anything, his fingers tighten. “You go first!”
The mountain man scowls at me.
“This is my property. I have every right to be here. Now again: who the fuck are you?”
The game of “who are you’s” is kind of funny in a way, but then a dark thought crosses my mind. The truth is that I don’t have a clear idea of where the Treadwell property lines begin and end. The forest ranges far and wide, and I’ve always considered the trees and land to be “mine” in a way. It’s the inspiration of nature, and the smell of pine in the air. All natural resources belong to all of humanity on some level, even if the government technically has the right to put down property lines.
But still, this man doesn’t have to behave like such a brute. I glare at him, finally shaking my arm free.
“I’m Grace,” I say in a snarky tone. “Your turn.”
He rolls his eyes, rubbing his square jaw.
“I’m Braden,” he rumbles. “Now what the fuck are you doing here?”
I wonder where to begin. Should I go with the truth? Reluctantly, I provide at least a semblance of it.
“I live here,” I say in a haughty tone. “Not here, here, but close enough.”
“Where exactly?” he demands immediately, those dark brows drawing downwards in an ominous frown. Oh shit, I’ve said the wrong thing.
“I live a little ways away,” I say slowly. “Why? The Treadwells own this land. That’s my family. We’re ... uh, farmers. We farm. I’m responsible for overseeing our crop.”
The man isn’t impressed.
“Your crop,” he repeats in a slow voice. “And what would you be growing, may I ask? Carrots? Tomatoes? Onions?”
“Yes, all of that and even more!” I reply with a bright smile that’s all too fake. “It’s summer now so my squash looks great! Green and yellow, some shaped like pumpkins and some with straight necks. Even gourd-shaped too. If you want to come around for some squash soup, feel free to stop by,” I babble while beginning to edge away. “You can find me just over that hill,” I add, already beginning to trot off in the opposite direction. “No need to call beforehand!”
But the lumberjack won’t be deterred. In a second, he has my arm back in that iron grip as he glowers down on me. This time, his blue eyes are searing as he looks at me with disgust.
“Oh really,” he drawls in a sarcastic tone. “Am I really supposed to believe that a young girl lives halfway up the hill in the middle of nowhere, growing vegetables to survive? I wasn’t born yesterday, sweetheart.”
I smile weakly while subtly trying to tug at my arm. The lumbering giant is at least a foot taller than me, and probably weighs a hundred pounds more. I’m a puny dwarf compared to him, but it makes me feel good because as a curvy girl, I’ve always struggled with my size. With my big breasts, wide hips, and thick thighs, I’ve always carried more weight than my contemporaries, and it sometimes makes me self-conscious. But not now. Next to the mountain man, I’m positively tiny.
Still, being small is a negative in this case because it prevents me from fighting back.
“Right,” I mutter while staring at the ground. “Maybe I grow some other things too. But it’s all legal! We have licenses and everything.”
“Okay, so you’re growing pot,” the lumberjack states, his black brows drawn in a straight line.
I sigh, my shoulders slumping.
“Okay, yeah. My family owns Treadwell Cannabis and I’m the farm manager. But again, everything is above-board. We’re registered with the state, and we have all the right papers. I oversee our growing operations, and we’re not that big, actually. Seriously, it’s peanuts compared to some of the industrial giants out there.”