Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“I see that I have finally caught your attention, Masie. So allow me to formally introduce myself.” The man bowed. “My name is Montgomery Stark.”
I took another step back into my doorway.
He stood upright. “I am going to dispose of Ronnie now, but know that your disobedience tonight will cost a life.”
“A life?” What was he talking about? Nothing made sense anymore. Not words, not my thoughts, and certainly not what my eyes were showing me.
“I will have to carry this body back to the cemetery, where his shell will be buried next to his victim, an eternal reminder to his spirit of the reason for his suffering.”
He was going to bury this heap of turds next to Deedee? He had to be joking. “Why will this cost a life?”
“Like a fine sports car, I require fuel, and you made me come all the way here.” He flashed a stern look. “Next time I tell you to show up, do as I say. Tonight’s blood is on you.”
“Like hell it is. I’m callin’ the police.”
He tsked. “Do as you like, Masie, but humans who meddle with me tend to die.”
So the blood would be on my hands again if I involved anyone or didn’t obey. “What do you want from me?”
“You, Masie. Have I not made that obvious?” His pale eyes washed up and down my frame.
Oh, Lord. Help me. I hugged Betsy close to my chest. “Well, I don’t want you. I never will,” I said nervously.
“But you haven’t given me a chance yet.” He flashed a sinister grin.
“And I won’t.”
“I am a patient man. You will come around.”
A sharp gust of wind slammed into my porch, taking with it Ronnie and the man with the gravelly voice. Montgomery Stark.
I stood there shaking, knowing two things were absolutely true: One, I’d been lying to myself. Montgomery Stark was a real-life vampire. And two, I needed to get away from him.
CHAPTER NINE
“So you’re quitting?” Uncle Jimmie sat behind a large stack of invoices piled up on his oak desk. His office was a combination of your typical chaos with a mess of boxes, containing corn and rye samples, piled against one wall. The other wall was filled with awards and plaques. In the center of the room was his faux-cowhide couch that faced his desk.
“More like a leave of absence,” I explained, standing in front of him. “I have a little money saved up and thought it might be good to take some time to myself.” So I can figure out what to do about this terrifying vampire.
He sighed deeply and then swiveled in his leather chair toward the large gray safe behind him. He punched in a few numbers, and the door popped open. He grabbed a manilla envelope and held it out.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Take a look.”
I slowly took it. “Is this money?”
His eyes urged me to open the darn thing, but if it was money, I just might break. He never gave handouts, and if he was doing it now, it meant he pitied me. In my opinion, there was nothing worse than being pitied by a man like Jimmie. He never shied away from hard work, never whined, and never took his success for granted. I looked up to him.
I inhaled slowly and opened the envelope, sliding out the contents. It wasn’t money. My eyes scanned the first page of the document.
“You’re giving me the Rooster?” I met Jimmie’s serious gaze. “Did your head get caught in the barn door this morning?”
“You just have to sign the papers.” He leaned back in his chair with a big proud smile. “And when I retire, the distillery will be yours, too.”
“You’re serious.”
He gave a nod, and I choked up. This was crazy. Those businesses were his life.
“It’s-it’s too much,” I said. “I can’t accept this.”
“Can’t and won’t are two different things, Masie.”
I stood there blinking, my mind a swirl of emotions threatening to bubble to the surface.
I pushed them back down where they belonged.
“Masie,” he said, “I’m planning to retire soon, and I don’t have any children of my own. I want the businesses to stay in the family.”
“Why not Maybell or my mamma?”
He gave me a look.
Okay. Stupid question. My mamma was not in the frame of mind to take on anything this stressful, and Maybell wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Don’t get me wrong. I loved my big sister for her fun-loving ways, but she didn’t take anything seriously, especially her responsibilities. When we were younger, about eleven and thirteen, her idea of babysitting was locking me in the closet with a cup of juice while she went outside with her friends. Sad part was, she honestly thought she was protecting me. Mamma and Daddy were not happy when they found out.
Jimmie’s smile melted away. “If you don’t want it, I’ll understand, Masie. The Flaming Rooster is a lot of work. But that’s why I’m holding off on giving you the distillery. You need to get comfortable runnin’ the stable before takin’ on the entire farm.”