Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“Yes, ma’am. And then I have to run over to Bitterroot Valley Coffee Co. for a bit.” I move into the kitchen, but I can still see them as I pull out a mixing bowl and the pancake mix from the pantry. “Bee wants to talk to us in person.”
“Girl talk,” Bridger says, smiling down at his daughter. Birdie grins and snuggles down against him.
It doesn’t take long at all to get the pancakes made and some bacon cooked up, and then the three of us sit at the island, scarfing it all down.
“That apple butter is stupidly good,” Bridger says. “Mom was excited to make it with you.”
Honestly, the day that Birdie, Mama, and I made the apple butter, right here in this kitchen, was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time.
“I enjoyed that.” I wipe my face and set my empty plate in the sink. “I hate to eat and run, but—”
“Go.” Bridger stands and pulls me to him, folding me into his big arms. “I’ll clean up, don’t even worry. Have a good chat. Let me know if I need to cause any bodily harm to anyone on my sister’s behalf.”
I snort and hug him back, then kiss his chest.
“I’m sure it’s fine, but I’ll let you know.”
“And drive safe out there. It’s slick.”
“Oh, I’m going to walk.”
Bridger frowns down at me. “It’s twenty degrees outside.”
“I have boots and a coat. It’s eight blocks away, love.” I walk over to Birdie and kiss her head, rubbing her little back. “Do you need anything, pumpkin?”
I started calling her that around Halloween, when we carved the pumpkins for the front porch.
“Nope.” She smiles up at me. “Have a fun girl talk.”
“Okay.” I pull on my boots and mittens and pull a hat over my head, then zip up a winter coat and wave at them. “See you in a bit.”
“Be. Careful.” Bridger narrows his eyes at me, and I chuckle.
“Yes, Chief.”
When he makes a move like he’s going to run at me, I squeal and hightail it out the door, still laughing when I hit the sidewalk. I glance back to the window and see my man standing there, grinning at me, and I give him a little wave.
God, I love him.
I didn’t know I could love someone so fiercely, so completely, the way I do Bridger Blackwell. I’ve always cared about him—I even had a crush on him—but that was absolutely nothing compared to how I’ve grown to feel about him since that night this past summer on my driveway.
He’s protective and sweet and strong. His work ethic is incredible. I have so much respect for him as a human being, and the way he loves his daughter makes me swoon every day. He’s the best daddy.
The snow is already starting to melt off the sidewalks as I make my way downtown, and when I walk into the coffee shop, I have to shed some layers because it isn’t quite as cold as I expected.
“Am I the last one here?”
“You are,” Alex says, looping her arm through mine as she kisses me on the cheek. “How’s my little sister?”
“Two freaking minutes,” I remind her with a laugh. “You’re only two minutes older than me.”
But she just grins at me, and I hug her back.
“I’m great. I want to hear all about Bee’s date.” It’s quiet in the coffee shop this morning, likely because of the snow, and Bee’s bookstore is closed on Sunday.
“Gather ’round,” Millie says, passing me an iced coffee. I love this woman and her ninja memory.
“Can I love on Riley?” I ask Skyla. “I know he’s a working dog, so I thought I should ask.”
“Of course,” Skyla says, and then she says something to the dog, I assume to let him know that he can be petted. “He’ll love it.”
“Hello, beautiful boy,” I croon to him, and scratch him between the ears. I may not have a lot of experience with animals, but I like them. “You’re so handsome.”
I glance up and notice the look of apprehension on my sister’s face. Alex has always had the hardest time with animals. Where our father used water to torment me, it was animals for Alex, and it’s something she’s never gotten over.
“Hey,” I say softly, getting her attention. “It’s okay.”
She nods, and then the five of us sit around the table.
“Okay,” Skyla says, bumping her shoulder against Bee’s. “Spill it. Who, what, where, and did he rail you all night long?”
“Irish people say rail?” I ask, blinking in surprise.
“I’ve lived in the US for a long time.” Skyla winks one moss-green eye at me, and we return our attention to Bee.
“So, this guy came into the bookstore yesterday. He was a tourist from somewhere. Canada? No, Europe somewhere because he had an accent.”
We laugh at that. “Quite a difference in geography there, but okay,” Alex says.