Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Once they all got in a good sniff, he called, “Alright,” and all three dogs got up and bounded around her.
He heard her laugh as she made her way to Harry at the same time giving pets to his dogs when they were within touching distance.
Harry stood at the top of the steps, with only enough space for her to wedge herself in front of him when she arrived.
This meant her smile was even bigger when she got to him.
He glanced at the bottle.
It was Jameson.
He raised his brows at her.
“Ronetta knows Sean Stoll’s mom. She did the sleuth work for me,” she explained.
Sean was one of his deputies.
“I didn’t bring you anything when I came to yours for dinner,” he pointed out.
“You don’t live next to Ronnie. If she knew I came to your house without a host’s gift, she might take me off her Christmas list.”
Harry smiled.
Lillian returned the smile.
That was when Harry took the bottle from her, and then he kissed her.
The dogs milled around them as they did what they seemed to always do when they kissed, losing themselves to it, to each other, the world abating, it was just them, Harry and Lillian, in a universe that actually worked, and all of the shit of it just faded away.
And every time, the hunger deepened.
So now, it almost seemed desperate how greedy he was for her smell, her taste, her tits pressed to his chest, the feel of her fingers in his hair, and as ever, she gave as good as she got, communicating how voracious she was for what she could get from him.
This meant Harry had to stop it.
They weren’t going there until after they had answers about her parents.
He was not going to be that guy.
So, no matter how hard it was, he stopped it, touched the tip of her nose with his and whispered, “Let’s get you inside.”
She looked a mix of disappointed and hazy, both of which he liked, but she nodded.
He took her hand and led her in.
He didn’t plan on being curious about what she thought about his house, but he found himself watching her as he led her into the front room.
And he then found himself shocked when her eyes lit with pleasure.
He looked to the living room, one his parents had gotten to before his mom got sick.
Huge sectional. Stone walls. Big media center. Terracotta tile floors, Native woven rugs. Rustic wood coffee and end tables.
“Okay, if you told a Hollywood set designer, ‘Design a living room for a hot guy rural Washington State sheriff,’ they’d design this,” she declared, recapturing his attention. “It’s perfect. I love it. And I really have to teach you how to chill out. This is chillout central.”
Harry turned back to the living room, suddenly seeing it differently.
Seeing it now as the room his mom designed so her boys could truck in from whatever they were doing outside, lay about, be comfortable, spill drinks and track mud and drop potato chip crumbles.
It wasn’t ugly, if it was dated.
What it was, was sturdy, warm and welcoming.
He looked again to Lillian to see Smokey had claimed her.
But more, she’d claimed Smokey.
Another surprise.
People tended to be skittish around pit bulls, even if that breed was loyal and affectionate.
But not Lillian.
Before Harry got him, Smokey had been starved nearly to death, so he didn’t trust easily.
But there he was, leaning against Lillian’s leg while she scratched behind his ears.
Fuck. This woman.
He had to clear his throat before he spoke.
“Hungry?” he asked.
She nodded.
He moved her way, grabbed her hand and walked her to the kitchen.
He watched for her reaction to that room as well and saw what he expected to see this time. She masked her expression to hide she was unimpressed.
“I lived here growing up,” he told her. “Bought it off Dad when he wanted to downsize, before he retired and moved to Arizona. Mom and Dad got this place as a fixer-upper. They did the important stuff first, putting on a new roof, installing a new furnace and water heater, kitting out the bathrooms, the living room, their boys’ rooms. She got sick before they tackled the kitchen.”
“Ah,” she replied.
“Winnie wasn’t a cook,” he stated, and her gaze darted to his, shock that he put Winnie out there easily read in it. “And honestly, I didn’t give much of a fuck about anything after I lost her.”
“Harry,” she whispered.
He set the bottle aside and gathered her into his arms.
“I know I said we’d keep it light,” he began. “But I saw you staring at her picture in my office.”
She immediately appeared uncomfortable.
“She lived,” he said quietly, and her gaze grew intent on his. “I loved her. I married her. I was destroyed when I lost her. But that was years ago and something you need to know. I’m stubborn.”