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)
The job and him.
Blech.
The director job is tempting, sure, but I don’t know if I can handle the inevitable baggage that comes with it. I want to return to Chicago on my own terms.
Great time for me to decide that, right?
Actually, it is perfect timing.
An idea darts across my brain so fast I tap my fingers gently against Owl’s head, giving him a friendly scratch that sends his brush of a tail wagging.
Granny doesn’t need to be here in order for me to stay. I’m a grown woman.
Why can’t I just house sit for her?
I’d hinted at it once over breakfast, and she’d already said no, she won’t go, but never gave me a good reason.
Because there isn’t one.
There’s no earthly reason why I can’t stay there alone while she stomps around trying to throw wild salmon into grizzly bears’ mouths or whatever else Granny would totally do in Alaska.
That also makes me think back to the look on her face when she saw the eggplants.
Freaking. Eggplants.
Despite trying not to, I grinned until it hurt at the gifts he showed up with. Most guys just bring a girl flowers when he wants to say he’s sorry.
God, I don’t even know if eggplants were Quinn’s apology.
Either way, both he and Granny will be eating a whole pan of eggplant parm tonight. And I’ll be staying here in Dallas while Granny goes on her trip, stalling Jean-Paul out as long as I care to. I’ll buy the thinking time I need to make a good decision for once.
It’s too perfect.
A vehicle’s rumble has me turning around, breaking my thoughts.
I glance up the road at the wispy plume of dust being whipped up by a bright-red pickup.
“Let’s go see who that is,” I say, patting my thigh for the dog to follow me to the trailer that’s parked a few yards away, next to the fence.
By the time I have the door shut and the ramp secured, the red truck stops directly in front of mine.
That’s...weird.
Just a bad parking job, hopefully?
Am I parked somewhere I shouldn’t be?
My answer comes a second later as a tall, built, lean-looking guy steps out. And when I say tall, I mean really freaking tall.
The stranger could slam dunk me through a hoop and still have plenty of room to stretch.
He’s coming toward us with a lanky swagger, dressed in a long-sleeved flannel shirt, rounding the front of his truck. Looking down, his boots are shiny, new, and laced up tight, which look as out of place as his thick flannel shirt.
It’s hot out today, a proper sticky North Dakota day.
The baseball cap on his head doesn’t quite fit him, either.
I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something just doesn’t look right, like he’s pulled it on awkwardly because he’s not used to wearing it.
Yeah, Twilight Zone stuff.
Especially as he draws nearer, and his ridiculous size just stands out more.
Before I know it, I’m gazing up at a literal giant. He’s easily over seven feet tall.
I think his freaky height spooks Owl, too. The fur on the mastiff’s back stands up.
Yikes.
I’ve only ever seen that once...
When he’d gotten between me and that Marvin Heckles creep.
Just like he’s doing now with this guy, transforming himself into a big furry shield. I have to wonder why.
“Sir? Can I help you?” I push out, trying to keep this professional.
He smiles then. A long dark line under the shadow cast by his baseball cap.
More like a smudge of ink than a human smile.
“Letting off the goats, are ya?” His voice is deep, as if it reverberates through those long bones before pouring out of him.
Oh. He’s not from around here, is he?
His accent sounds kinda southern.
“Yes. Just like we agreed.” I frown.
Technically, I haven’t met any of the Neumans, the dairy owners, so he could be one of them, or an employee.
“Do you have questions?” I ask softly.
He pauses for a long second, scoping us out, and then shakes his head.
“Nah, just curious. Looks like you’ve brought a whole mess of goats for the job. Should make quick work of it.”
A whole mess? How about a herd, a tribe? That’s how a dairy farmer would say it, I imagine.
My frown only deepens. My neck already feels sore just staring up at him, trying to make eye contact.
Why doesn’t he seem to know a single detail about the clearing job?
“How many we got?” he asks.
“Eighteen. We brought our whole crew and my uncle borrowed a few more from locals. They’re all well behaved and hungry—just don’t get between them and dinner,” I say, hopelessly trying to inject some humor. Uncle Dean had extras he’d enlisted when I stopped by this morning.
Polyphemus stares down at me with total disinterest.
I don’t care if he has more than one eye, unlike the giant in The Odyssey. The name still fits.