Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35372 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
"You're readin' me wrong, Legion."
A third scoff "Am I?"
"Yeah, because I'm not asking you to talk to make trouble. I'm trying to find a place for you here."
"A place for me?"
"Not with Savannah. With… me."
For a moment I'm actually stunned. So stunned I can't speak.
"You know," Cash continues. "Arrangements. Alliances. Brother-in-law type stuff."
The problem with this answer of his is… I don't actually know what that means. Is this a thing rich people do? Form alliances between families?
It feels very… royal family.
And the moment I name this feeling in my head, it kinda makes sense. So I'm about to sit down and have this talk when someone knocks on the hardwood frame of the study door.
Cash and I look at the same time.
Savannah. She's all peaches and cream. Cute prairie dress with a tight bodice and ruffled hem. Cowboy boots peekin' out underneath. Long blonde hair pulled up in a fancy way, a few sexy tendrils framin' her face.
My first urge is to fuck her. Right here, right now. Just slide those ruffles up, push her up against a wall, slide her panties aside, and impale her with my cock.
I stop the fantasy before the chub forms, but only just barely.
Damn, I'm an animal when it comes to this woman.
"Everythin' all right in here?" she asks sweetly.
But underneath the manners, Cash and I both hear the warning.
It's for him, not for me. Cash stands, adjusts the cuff of his shirt, and picks up his hat. "Everything's just fine, Savannah." Then he walks past her with a tip of his hat that isn't even on his head callin', "Dinner's ready. Let's eat."
We watch him leave and then look at each other.
"What was that about?" Savannah asks.
"Oh, you know," I say, walkin' over to her. "Royal family shit." I take her hand, give her knuckles a kiss as I look her dead in the eyes, and then place her fingertips on my arm so I can escort her to the dinin' room like a proper fuckin' prince. "Let's eat."
Savannah's brother Wyatt is already sitting at the table with Cash when we arrive. He didn't typically show up for dinner back when I was recovering here, so I didn't see him much. But people don't need to see much of Wyatt Ashby to understand what he is.
The family fuck-up.
I don't think I've ever seen him sober. And tonight is no exception.
"Wyatt," Savannah says, greetin' him.
Cash sits at the top of the table, Savannah sits at the bottom, and Wyatt sits on Cash's left, closest to the door. So he can leave easily, I think.
I only ever had dinner once at this table when I lived here.
And that was the night I left.
"Mmm, that's smells good," Savannah coos, as I pull her chair out and a servant uncovers a dish to reveal fried chicken.
"Don't mind if I do," Wyatt explains, more to himself than to any of us. Then picks up the platter and helps himself, before passing it along to Cash.
The platter makes its way around the table like this is just a normal Tuesday in Montana. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans cooked soft with bacon, buttermilk biscuits, and some kind of slaw I've never had before that's got apples in it. Country food. Food I grew up on, kinda, except ours came from a can, or a box, or nowhere at all.
I watch Savannah unfold her napkin and lay it across her lap without lookin', like her hands just know where napkins go. Cash does the same. Wyatt skips the napkin entirely and reaches for a biscuit with his fingers.
I set my napkin on my lap too, a beat late.
Savannah takes small portions. Cash takes normal ones. Wyatt takes too much and doesn't care. I try to land somewhere in the middle and end up with more mashed potatoes than a grown man should eat, but fuck it.
There are two forks by my plate. Two. I don't know why. I only got one mouth. Savannah picks up the outside one for her salad and I follow her lead real casual, like I knew that the whole time.
Small things, ya know. Shit that comes natural to them. Shit I gotta watch for and copy. Cash cuts his chicken with a knife and fork instead of pickin' it up. Savannah does too. So I set down the drumstick I already had halfway to my mouth and reach for my knife.
Two different worlds. It hits me like that. Not mean, just true. She was raised at this table. I was raised on a busted couch watchin' Deacon eat straight outta the skillet.
But then I watch Wyatt shovel green beans in his mouth and miss, and a piece lands on his shirt, and he doesn't notice or care, and I think—okay. Maybe not two worlds. Maybe one world with different weather.