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)
But every time he looked at me, they twinkled so much brighter than the sky.
He was full of kind words and sexy half glances he probably didn’t give a second thought to.
Exactly the kinda glances putting awful ideas in my head, filling it with crazy wishes I’m sure we’d both regret the second after they came true.
I mean, nothing happened.
End of story.
In fact, when he’d dropped me off, he couldn’t seem to get away fast enough.
I should be glad he’s always been the careful one.
“Guess I’d better face the facts,” I tell Owl. “He’s interested in being friends for old time’s sake, and it’s probably for the best, right?”
Owl turns his head and stares at me with big dark almond eyes, his monster of a tongue rolling out.
“Quinn,” I clarify. “He’s not interested in wagging his tongue like you are. As much as I might wish it was different...it’s not. Tell me I should be happy? I’m not a casual fling kinda girl. That isn’t why I’m here. Despite what Granny thinks, that won’t solve anything. It’d just make my life a whole lot worse.”
Owl lets out a single loud yip.
I turn the corner and head up the same street that veers off toward Carolina’s rental house, and the empty lot we finished this morning. It’s raining harder now, a proper shower, and I click the wipers up a notch.
I really hope the goats are okay at all three properties. There’s no telling what Hellboy might do if he gets antsy or scared.
He hasn’t done anything curse-worthy since the butt-gate incident, but that doesn’t mean he’s earned my trust.
Between the wipers swishing across the windshield, clearing away the drops, I decide to turn down the street and drive by the rental houses. If I can confirm that ratty old truck belonging to the gross guy with the gun is gone, it might set my mind at ease, and Quinn’s too.
As soon as we’re going past, I notice a pickup in Carolina’s driveway, but it’s not the beat-up truck from yesterday.
A blue pickup I know too well.
Quinn’s.
What the hell?
My heart doesn’t know how to react. My brain starts rifling through reasons he’d be here.
More trouble with the man he confronted?
More shady business he’s scoping out?
More interested in that skank than he let on?
No way. I can’t believe he’s the least bit into Carolina, but why else would he be here if it isn’t trouble?
A nervous twitch in my belly makes the decision for me.
I pull over on the side of the road so the trailer isn’t blocking the driveway. Ignoring Quinn’s truck, I scan the empty lot.
Nothing seems too out of the ordinary.
It’s the same quiet, melancholy-looking old house with a few pieces of junk on the porch and spilling out into the front yard. No different than yesterday, really.
I should be satisfied, and leave to go check on the other goats, or at least call the clients. Shuffling back to the truck, I get in and grab the keys, but someone steps up to the passenger door, just a silhouette in the rain.
My heart shoots into my throat.
Wait.
Quinn.
A hiss of relief slips out as I hit the unlock button.
“Jump in the back, Owl,” he says, opening the door.
For being the size of a small pony, the dog is graceful and lumbers into the back seat while Quinn climbs in and shuts the door.
“This rain came out of nowhere,” he says. “Is that why you’re here? Driving around to check on the goats and you saw my truck?”
“Sure,” I say, holding back the burning need to ask why he’s here. Mainly because I don’t want to find out if he’s interested in Carolina for some ungodly reason.
“Have you spoken to Dean today?” he asks.
“Not since this morning. Why?”
“Damn, I thought he’d mention it.” He huffs out a breath. “Well, I stopped by his place this morning.”
Noting a harshness in his tone, I shift in my seat, studying his features, the worried frown lines etched on his forehead. His chiseled jaw looks like it’s about to crack.
The tension makes me shiver.
“What’s wrong? Is Uncle Dean all right? Did something happen?” I try to keep my voice soft, anything to soothe the beast staring at me.
“He’s fine, and yes, something happened.” He looks at me with eyes of dark emerald, secretive and stern.
“You’re scaring me, Quinn.”
His death-stare eases just slightly.
“Look, I...I’m sorry, Peach.” He slowly sighs. “I stopped by to talk to Carolina, but she ain’t home. Or else she isn’t answering her door. Figures.”
“What does that have to do with Uncle Dean?” I’m genuinely confused.
“Turns out, some clown in an old Dodge was sneaking around your uncle’s place last night. Dean was watching TV when he heard noises and ran outside with his shotgun. He sat out there till morning waiting for trouble.” He stares at his truck in the driveway. “I think it was that lowlife chickenshit who was staying here. So I stopped by to see what I could learn.”