Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
She waves me in from behind the counter, her sharp blue eyes sparkling like she’s already planning something. Knowing Aunt Betty, she probably is.
“You look like a woman in desperate need of coffee,” she calls, pouring a steaming cup before I can ask.
“You’re a mind reader,” I say, taking a seat at the counter.
“I’m also an expert at fixing things,” she replies, sliding the mug toward me. “Cars, babies, broken hearts, grumpy mountain men...”
I arch a brow, sipping cautiously. “Grumpy mountain men?”
“King Steele,” she clarifies, her tone mischievous. “You met him yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Briefly,” I hedge, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much the encounter has lingered. “Word really gets around in this town.”
“Briefly, my foot,” she scoffs. “That man hasn’t let a woman set foot on his ranch in years. And now you’re here, turning his world upside down.”
“I think you’re reading too much into it,” I say, focusing on my coffee.
Betty leans closer, lowering her voice. “Honey, I know men like King. Hard on the outside, but once you crack that shell, there’s a fire burning underneath. You just need the right kind of match.”
“I’m not looking to set anyone on fire,” I mutter.
“No, but you’re exactly the kind of woman who could,” she says, straightening with a wink.
Before I can argue, the bell above the door jingles, and in walks the devil himself.
King Steele cuts an imposing figure in the morning light, his broad shoulders taking up more space than seems fair. His beard is still damp from whatever morning ritual he performs, and his hat sits low enough to shadow those sharp, assessing eyes.
He looks like trouble.
“Morning, King,” Aunt Betty chirps, far too pleased. “Coffee?”
“Always,” he grunts, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on me.
Aunt Betty doesn’t give him a chance to sit anywhere else, waving him to the empty stool beside me. “Why don’t you sit here? Indie was just telling me how much she appreciates your help yesterday.”
Was I?
King’s lips twitch, but he obliges, sliding onto the stool with a confidence that makes the air between us crackle.
“You appreciate me, huh?” he drawls, his voice low and rough.
“Don’t get a big head,” I reply, reaching for a cinnamon roll. “It’s a general statement.”
His eyes track the motion of my hand, and I swear his jaw ticks as I tear off a piece of the sticky, sweet pastry and pop it into my mouth.
“You always talk this much?”
“Only when I’m ignored,” I shoot back.
Aunt Betty interrupts by placing a full plate of food in front of King. “On the house.”
“I can pay,” he says, frowning.
“Think of it as incentive,” she quips before bustling off to harass another table.
“Incentive for what?” I ask, unable to resist.
“Hell if I know,” he mutters, spearing a piece of bacon with unnecessary force.
We fall into silence, the kind that’s not quite awkward but heavy with things unsaid.
“You always this friendly?” I ask finally, tilting my head to study him.
“Only when someone talks too much,” he says, echoing my earlier jab.
I grin, tapping my finger against my mug. “Touché.”
The café is buzzing around us, but it feels like we’re in our own little bubble. King eats methodically, his movements efficient and unhurried. I can’t help watching the way his hands work, the roughness of them hinting at a life of hard labor.
“What’s it like?” I ask suddenly.
He glances up, brow furrowing. “What’s what like?”
“Your life. Ranching. Living up on the mountain.”
“It’s quiet,” he says after a moment.
“That’s not an answer.”
He sets his fork down, his gaze locking with mine. “It’s work. Sunrise to sunset, sometimes longer. It’s animals depending on you to keep them alive. It’s fences that always need fixing, hay that never seems to be enough, and snow that makes every task twice as hard. But it’s mine. And I don’t have to answer to anyone.”
The weight of his words settles between us, and I nod slowly. “I get that.”
“You?”
“Midwifery’s a little different,” I admit, “but it’s the same in some ways. It’s unpredictable. Exhausting. But when it goes right... it’s worth every second.”
“What made you want to become a midwife?” he asks.
“Oh, well, I was told I could never have kids of my own, and having a family…well, it was always important to me. I love kids so much, so I thought being a midwife and helping bring babies into the world would give me the kind of fulfillment that I’ll never have in my own life.”
He leans back, studying me like he’s trying to figure out what makes me tick.
“You’re different,” he says finally.
“You have no idea,” I reply softly.
The moment stretches, the hum of the café fading into the background. His eyes flicker to my lips, and I feel the tension spike, sharp and electric.
Before either of us can say something we can’t take back, Aunt Betty swoops in, refilling our coffee with a grin that says she knows exactly what she’s doing.