Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I scramble out of the bedroom and race to the door, but by the time I burst outside, the tow truck is heading down the driveway, my car thumping, being dragged along behind it, and bouncing wildly on the back two wheels with every rut and pothole, which are darn plentiful out here.
“Stop! What the hell! Where are they taking my car?” I race out onto the porch, my bare feet slapping at the old weathered wood, nearly losing the too-big, super-soft gym shorts in the process. I grasp the waistband, grab wildly at the errant drawstrings, and tie them tightly around my hips, looping the end to prevent any future accidents. I didn’t have a change of panties, so I’m flying commando under here, and I’d rather not air out my lady bits for the whole world to see.
I should be happy. This should be me making a plan as to how I’m going to convince Thaddius to give me what I want now that I’m stuck here without a car. It should also be me seeing that he has a heart because he got my car from the side of the road, and he’s probably getting it taken into town, where it can be fixed. He has a heart. This just proves it.
But instead, I’m kind of freaking out. All my things were in the car. My phone, my wallet, and my freaking ID. What little I had left of my life was in there, and now it’s all gone. Out of the yard. Out of sight. Away from me. I’ve never felt more displaced in my life, and this is coming from someone who just found out about a mystery beloved, someone who drove all the way across the country and was so exhausted that she passed out on a stranger’s bed with wet hair.
I’m paying for that now.
I bring one hand up and scratch my scalp madly. The other hand has to join.
Ahhh. That’s it.
Yup, this is what my life has boiled down to. Standing on a deck with frizzy hair, wild eyes, a week with basically no sleep, no personal belongings to tether me down, braless in borrowed T-shirt and shorts that are way too big, blisters between my toes from walking so far in flip-flops, sore legs, sore everything, and a dozen sheep, one ornery-looking donkey, and a great big white hairy grinning dog staring at me.
Oh, and one betrothed, who is slightly smug, kind of pissed off, seriously annoyed, a smidge triumphant, and hella handsome in an ovary-exploding kind of way. He’s ogling me too.
Right in the braless region.
I gasp, get my hands out of my hair and cross my arms over the T-shirt. Thank goodness it’s black, or he’d be getting a full damn show out here. Nipples galore.
“Where are they taking my car?” I bark out again, my voice coming out hoarse from worry, lack of sleep, and eating about two point seven pounds of gravel dust after my car hit that hole, forcing me to walk here. “And how long was I out?”
My pulse kicks into overdrive at the sight of those lips turning themselves up at the corners into an annoyed sort of mocking grin. “Oh, only about three hours. In my bed.”
“Sorry.” My face flames hot. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just so exhausted, and it was right there. I honestly only meant to sit down to catch my breath for a minute.”
“A hot minute turned into a full nap, more like.”
The bed thing isn’t my fight. If I’m going to pick my fights, then I better start picking the ones that count. “Where did they take my car?”
“Just to Upperhand. Believe you were already there, Miss Bloodhound. I know a good shop there. Whatever is wrong with your car, they can fix it.”
Is he calling me a bloodhound because I tracked him down or because my soggy shower and nap look does weird things to my face? “So you are going to…to think about what I said? Find a lawyer to protect us against our family?” That’s a more important question.
“Nope. But I did figure that the sooner your car is fixed, the sooner you can be on your way.”
I can see his butterscotch sundae eyes dancing—and not in the funny, he agrees with me, kind of way. They’re sparkling with annoyance and aggravation and the deep realization that until my car is taken care of, I’m his problem.
“Why didn’t you send me to that little town with my car?”
He grunts. “Not my job, princess. You’re not my problem. At the same time, I find myself stuck between a rock and a fuck of a place. If something happens to you, no one is going to be happy with me. That’s the kind of heat I don’t need, so I’ll pay for your car to get back on the road. Then you can be gone with it, and we’ll never see each other again.”