Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
I bite my lip at the mention of that flower again and blurt out, “Did you… really not do anything with that stripper?”
His chest shifts again with a breath. “No.”
At his answer, my heart soars, but then I kick myself in the head for melting at it when it’s not as if his fidelity—even if you could call it that—means anything. Instead, I go back to the topic at hand and accuse, “It’s your fault that I was moving.”
“Pretty sure it’s yours,” he murmurs, pulling on the reins to guide the horse away from a particularly large rock. “Since you’re the one with all the moves.”
I ignore how expertly he does that. “That’s because I hurt, okay? In case you don’t remember. I’ve never ridden on a horse before.”
“I don’t.”
“What?”
“Remember,” he finishes while maneuvering the horse around yet another roadblock. “That it was in your third letter you told me you’ve never ridden before. But since you’ve read about it a fuck ton and seen other people do it, seein’ as you live in the Wild West, it’s probably the same thing.” Then, “How’s that workin’ out for you though?”
What an ass to not only poke fun at me but to also remember what I told him and in which letter. Even I don’t remember that.
I ignore the racing of my heart and dig my nails into his forearm as I mutter, “You probably remember it because you wanted to draw up an elaborate plan to torture me. As evidenced by this…”—I growl, trying to think up a word—“this whole traveling-by-a-horse bullshit and ow!”
All of a sudden, the horse jerks underneath me, making me jerk and almost lose balance. And I have to grab on to him even more tightly.
“You did that on purpose,” I accuse because he did.
“His name’s Rocky,” he tells me.
“What?”
“The horse. Learn to use it.”
I breathe out sharply, scratching his arm. “Oh right, you’re a cowboy.”
“That I am,” he drawls with exaggeration.
“Of course, you’d be more concerned about your ho—Rocky than me.”
“Ain’t no use denyin’ it.”
I scoff. “I knew it. I always knew cowboys made the worst boyfriends.”
“Well, what can I say; we don’t like to be tied down.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, tell me this: If your barn was burning, what’s the first thing you’d save?”
“Pretty sure I’m about to find out.”
“Your horses.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup.” I nod. “You’d get all your horses out first and then go in for your girlfriend.”
“You got me. I do love my horses.”
“Who, by then, would probably be dead.”
“Yeah, I don’t think you need to worry about it.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you aren’t just my girlfriend.”
“I—”
“You’re my wife.”
“I’m not. I’m—”
“And cowboys may be the worst boyfriends but we make the best husbands.” I open my mouth to protest, but he doesn’t let me get a word in as he continues, “So I won’t let anyone burn my barn down with you in it. And if someone even thinks about it, I’ll burn him down first. That clear enough for you?”
At last, I glance up at him.
He’s looking straight ahead, his features blank but sharp. The hat still perches on his head, casting a shadow over his eyes. But just like in the car, every few steps, sun pours down on him like honey, lighting those dark places up. Setting them on fire, making his dark eyes glitter and his bronzed skin sparkle.
He has to be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
I just didn’t know beauty could be dangerous too. Dangerous and lethal and lifesaving.
I open my mouth to say something, I’m not really sure what. Hopefully not about how his crime changed my life in so many ways; I’m not about to tell my forced fake-husband that I thought of him as my hero for the longest time when he’s nothing more than a criminal. But it doesn’t matter now because before I can utter another word, we come to a halt.
I look away from him to find that we’ve come upon a clearing of some sort. A large gap surrounded by trees where the earth looks covered in heaps and mounds of dried leaves. Up ahead, through the thick trunks of trees, I see a lake. Or more like a large body of water because it’s too small to be called that. The water is shimmering under the sunlight and looks so pretty that it takes my breath away.
Behind me I feel a movement, and before I know it, he’s climbed off the horse, and I have to grab onto its neck to keep myself from falling. It’s more from the sudden turn of events than losing my balance, but still. Then, standing beside me, he lifts his arms, his palms open as if ready to receive me.
And help me down.
It’s a testament to who he is, criminal enough to kidnap me, and yet careful enough that he doesn’t want me to fall. And it’s a testament to what I feel for him, too threatened to feel safe around him, and yet I trust him enough that I accept his help without a word.