Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“I suspect Baby Jesus would not approve.”
Oh shit. He almost got me there. I have to bite my lips to stop my laugh.
He narrows his eyes, watching me. Then he shakes his head and continues forcing down the limb.
“Maybe the money issue was real, though,” I continue, turning all the new information over in my head. “After all, she wasn’t paying the taxes. And she had money from Dad, too, but I know at least some of it went to pay off the mortgage. Maybe the mortgage took more than I realized.”
Reed mutters something that I don’t quite catch.
“What?”
He pauses again, and the look in his eyes is a lot like when he told me about the fifteen years of unpaid taxes. “I said she probably spent it on lawyers.”
“What do you mean?”
“She sued my mom for malpractice.”
“How?” The money I’m talking about was spent after my dad died—and so after his mom died, too. “How did she sue your mom after she was dead?”
“She went after the value of her practice. Since my mom was your dad’s therapist.”
I gape at him. “She did what? I can hardly…yet it makes so much sense! I’ve heard all my life how unethical your mom was”—a flash of pain in his expression stops me cold—“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” he says firmly. “It was unethical to hook up with her patient.” A smile quirks the side of his mouth. “Do you know how often I heard my father call your dad a slippery two-faced hypocrite?”
“Oh, I know that one.” It’s not anything that I haven’t silently acknowledged myself. “He was a good man, one of the few honest lawyers left, an upright pillar for justice. My mom can go on forever talking about what a paragon of morality he was. Obviously only an unethical Jezebel could have made him stray—and so it was all your mom’s fault, not his. He was emotionally manipulated by an expert into abandoning his children and family, because he would never have broken his vows otherwise.”
Reed gives me another wry look. “Neither one was an angel, were they?”
I shake my head.
“All right.” With an upward jerk of his chin, he says, “Try sawing it now. But stand off to the side as much as you can, because that limb will snap upward but this branch is going down hard.”
Nodding, I lift the blade and just manage to reach the tendon. I begin sawing—and the back and forth, back and forth reminds me far too much of rubbing. And of the last time I rubbed something. Oh god. I nearly burst into hysterical giggles but somehow stop myself.
And my mother is always a topic that can sober me up. “Do you think one lawsuit would be that expensive?” I’m already panting and my arms are aching from having to saw overhead like this. “If that’s where all her money went?”
“Not one lawsuit. She went after my mom for years. Filed multiple lawsuits.”
I shoot him a horrified glance. “Multiple?”
“Her lawyer came at it from about every conceivable angle until the courts said he’d be sanctioned if they filed another suit. I remember my dad crowing about that, too. You all right? Want to take a rest?”
“No,” I gasp, though my shoulders are on fire. I’m afraid if I stop now, I won’t be able to lift the saw high enough again. “So she went…after the money. Though she always said…you were the immoral…cheats. All the while…it was the money.”
“While my dad always said you were all goody-goody hypocrites who never did an actual good thing, you just threw shit to stain other people’s names. Not that my dad did any good. Unless it was tax deductible. But he never claimed to be good, so I guess— Get back!”
I stumble backward and take another tumble onto my ass. The limb whips upward. Reed slams full-length to the ground, carried down by the freed end of the bough. A cloud of icy powder bursts into my face from the impact. Spitting and shaking my head, I brush it away with gloves that are just as covered in snow.
Reed groans. He’s still face down, spreadeagled across a bed of green needles.
“Did the mean branch hurt you again?” I ask him. “Are you dying inside?”
“No, I’m doing great.” With another groan, he rolls onto his side. “Just going to stay here for a second, though.”
I crawl over and lie on my side facing him. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but a quick scan of his body doesn’t reveal anything that looks worse than it did before. “If you’re broken, I’ll pull you back on the sled. It’s the least I can do after you bravely captured your attempted murderer while in hot pursuit of a Christmas tree.”
His slow smile reminds me of the one he wore in his delirium. “I’m not broken.”