Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Here, in Dallas, the dreams are just different.
I can’t lie. Not when the biggest recurring dream this week includes falling asleep in Quinn’s bed with his inked arms snug around me every night.
Turns out, it also includes looking like Bella one day, with a basketball belly and skin kissed by Athena.
That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
The pregnancy glow is practically made to communicate happiness to the whole world.
While Owl mills around the pasture, where I see Edison and his mare Edna grazing, we spend the next hour visiting, before we climb back in the truck and head for town.
Uncle Dean’s truck is parked at Quinn’s place when we return, a warning that this day is about to get so much better.
Ugh.
“Finally! I was about to go driving all over town for you, Tory,” he says, flashing me that toothy, disarming Uncle Dean smile.
“What are you doing here? Is this about the goats?” I ask, trying to check my inner bitch and hear him out.
“Well...sorta. I’m supposed to drive you to Bismarck,” he tells me quietly. “Your flight’s tonight, I hear. Your mama called me, said if I didn’t get you to the airport, there’d be hell to pay.”
Okay, no.
Inner bitch activated.
My phone is still on the counter in the bathroom where I’d left it last night.
I bet there are a hundred missed calls and texts from Mother. She’s been eerily quiet the last few days, and I’d ignored the email from Delta with the flight info.
She must be really desperate to have drafted Uncle Dean for roundup duty.
“I’m sorry she called you, but I’m not going to Bismarck, and I’m not going home, Uncle Dean. Not right now.” I shoot him the coldest look I can manage.
Uncle Dean shrugs, clearing his throat awkwardly. He gives me a sympathetic look.
“I’m not supposed to take no for an answer, babe. I know you’ve got issues with your folks—fair issues those damn idiots caused, I’m sure—but they care about you, Tory. They just want you home.”
“Not going,” I grind out while Quinn lays a gentle hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me. “Sorry.”
For a second, we have the world’s weirdest staring contest between uncle and niece.
He’s pissing me off, sure, but I also feel for him.
It’s not fair that he’s been put in this position.
But it’s even less fair that I’ve never had a say in my own life, and the one time I try, they want to force me home?
No.
I’m a grown woman, an adult, and I’m entirely done with Mother’s passive-aggressive brainwashing.
“Tory, if you’ll just hear me ou—”
“Uncle Dean, I’ve been hearing you. No is my final answer.”
Quinn’s fingers tighten on my shoulder, subtly promising backup.
I almost go pale at the thought that he’d need to against a human golden retriever like my uncle.
“Dammit, yeah. I know. Figured you’d say that.” My uncle sighs and shakes his head, unsure what to do. “Trouble is, I—uh...I’m supposed to fire you, too.”
Anger lances through me, and I take a step forward until we’re just inches apart.
“Interesting! I wonder who’ll take care of the goats then? They’re only halfway done at the Neuman place, still plenty of cleanup left to go.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and look down before meeting his gaze again. “If Quinn and I hadn’t gone out there and accounted for each and every one of them this morning, Rent-A-Goat would be up the creek without a paddle, Uncle Dean. Poor Hellboy would be tangled up in a rope—or worse. He could’ve easily wound up breaking his neck or something.”
“That bad?” He winces, a guilty look on his face.
Behind me, Quinn nods for emphasis.
“Yup. He’s fine now, no thanks to us, but if we hadn’t been there in time...” I trail off, watching as it sinks in.
“Aw, hell. You’re right. Guess I’ll have to do it myself, or sell them ASAP,” Uncle Dean replies, kicking at the ground. “I don’t want to. Right now, we’re actually making a profit. It’s not big money, but hell, this is by far the most profitable business I’ve ever had.”
Right, because I’m doing all the work!
I mean, Owl might be the real MVP, and Quinn helps me more than he should, but I’m still the coordinator and the rep who signs off on everything.
That’s beside the point, though.
“Tell me one thing,” I mutter, tilting my head. “Since when do you take orders from Gloria Redson-Riddle-Coffey?”
For a second, he’s a deer in the headlights. Then his brow wrinkles, confusion giving way to spitting anger.
“You know what? I bet she’s kicking her heels up and laughing her ass off right now, using John as a footstool,” he growls. “She sounded so desperate on the phone—real worried for you—but this is just like her, isn’t it?”
It’s no laughing matter, but it’s hard not to smile at how furious he gets, realizing he’s been had.