Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Enter Amon Parrish. Back in high school Amon was voted most likely to get caught with his pants down. He was a trouble maker. The quintessential bad boy. But twelve years away from home, traveling the world and working with Collin Creed doing super-secret (and somewhat illegal) things, changed all that. These days Amon Parrish is a brand-new, stand-up man.
And, to Rosie’s surprise, a romantic man as well. Because he has decided to court her. And this is not just any ordinary courting, either. It’s… well, a page ripped right out of a bodice ripper.
But everyone in Disciple, West Virginia has a secret in their past.
Even the cheerful, perpetually optimistic, and seemingly innocent, Rosie Harlow.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Rosie Harlow is desperately seeking… well, she’s not sure. A romance would be nice but so would a dinner conversation with her pre-teen son. Too bad her boy is way too busy growing up to pay his mama any attention. Rosie never meant to swear off men and she’s not frigid—you don’t become a single mom at fifteen by being frigid—but this dry spell of hers had gotten out of hand and something must be done.
Enter Amon Parrish. Back in high school Amon was voted most likely to get caught with his pants down. He was a trouble maker. The quintessential bad boy. But twelve years away from home, traveling the world and working with Collin Creed doing super-secret (and somewhat illegal) things, changed all that and these days Amon Parrish is a brand-new, stand-up man.
And, to Rosie’s surprise, a romantic man as well. Because he has decided to court her. And this is not just any ordinary courting, either. It’s… well, a page ripped right out of a bodice ripper.
But everyone in Disciple, West Virginia has a secret in their past.
Even the cheerful, perpetually optimistic, and seemingly innocent, Rosie Harlow.
The Echo on the Water is a swooning plate of small-town fiction served up with a side of spice. It honors the themes of friends to lovers, found family, and is filled with bigger-than-life, morally-grey characters against a backdrop of the weird and wonderful.
Every now and then, ever since Collin and I came home to West Virginia, out of the damn blue, I’ll get a weird sense of longin’ in my chest. Like an ache, but not a sad one. Like an emptiness, but not a black one. It’s more like an itch ya can’t scratch or a craving ya can’t satisfy.
Standing here in the Bishop butcher shop as I wait on my soup bones, I get that feeling.
Which is weird because I’m really fuckin’ satisfied. Like completely fuckin’ satisfied. I love being home. And every day, as I drive through Trinity County doin’ my business, there is this feeling of belonging. An arrival, of sorts.
Even countin’ the little scuffle up on the mountain at Blackberry Hill, this return trip home has been easy and sweet.
Haven’t gotten laid yet, which, not gonna lie, kinda sucks. But I’ve gotten more than my share of women all over the world for the past twelve years. I’m playin’ it careful now. Taking my time. Choosing wisely, as they say. Because when one enters Trinity County, West Virginia, one does not just start humping girls left and right like they’re water and you just arrived at an oasis after a hundred-mile trek through the fuckin’ Sahara desert, dying of thirst.
Especially if one wants a Disciple girl. And I kinda do.
Don’t get me wrong. I have pictured myself up in a hayloft dressed in traditional, handmade farmboy attire taking a frilly-dressed girl from behind plenty of times. That was definitely my go-to dream scenario when I was fifteen. And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with a stripper from Revenant in my book.
But a Disciple girl? Yeah. They’re different. They’re kinda like a combination of Bishop and Revenant. Playing all traditional on the weekends for the Revival shows, but then bein’ all rough-edgy during the week as they just go about their lives.
I like it.
“All right, Amon. Here ya go. Two hundred pounds of soup bones.” Johnny Boy Butcher, who is the literal butcher of Bishop, West Virginia, and hasn’t been a boy for about fifty years now, pulls my cart piled high with wooden crates out from behind his butcher-shop countertop and lets it come to rest at my feet.
This makes me smile. Not just because Johnny Boy is keeping my entire kennel of super-smart, military-style protection dogs in soup bones, but because the wooden crates are just such a nice touch. It’s so fuckin’ old-timey, I can’t stand it.
I could leave Trinity County and find myself a butcher who would wrap my soup bones in plastic instead of white paper and I’d probably pay a whole lot less for the exact same amount of chewing time, but it just wouldn’t be the same.
“Thanks, Johnny Boy. I’ll see ya next week.”
He tips an imaginary hat at me and turns his attention to the next customer in line. I pull my cart over to the door, where a man wearing vintage-looking overalls is already holding it open to make my life easier, and then I leave the butcher shop with a nod and a ‘thank you’ for the kindness.
I love that about Bishop. How nice and friendly the people are. I mean, this is the downtown historical district and it’s literally the townspeople’s job to be pleasant and accommodating. But acting aside, it still works. It still makes me feel appreciated. Like I matter, even to strangers.
Trust me when I say this, it’s a rare thing to be welcomed by strangers when you’re the actual stranger. Especially when you’re traveling the world as black ops military, as I was. I grew used to the indifference, as well as the hostility. Almost forgot what it was like to be somewhere I belonged. But it hit me quick when we came home to West Virginia. And now, knowing what I do of the wider world, I would never leave this place again, not even if someone offered me millions of dollars.