Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“It’s not lame, but how did you get the land?” he asked, his footsteps following behind me.
“They gave it to me to help keep mine and Natalie’s dreams alive.”
“You were really planning to live a life hidden from the world?” he asked, grasping the edge to the door I opened. A hand on my lower back urged me outside.
“It was gonna be a good life. I’ve been painfully normal in my life. I never wanted anything else but to train animals and offer a refuge for many different animal types.” I spread out my hand again past the house to the barn in the distance. Slade had such a way of listening to me, watching me all the time. I had to redirect the attention back on the property, off my internal vulnerability. “That direction, I lined off the fences and placed the area for the pens.” I was again in Slade’s dust as he started toward the pens. The slightly bowlegged strut drew all my attention there. I had to corral the way my body responded. I loved watching him move.
Loved. The word triggered a crackling red neon light, flashing around the edges of my brain, which, oddly, didn’t send me running in fear. I liked Slade more than anyone in my life currently. Natalie was the only other person who made me feel all these special feelings. Except Slade had a penis that was both a hanger and shower. My mouth watered and my cock firmed right up at that thought.
My quiet huff of a chuckle drew Slade’s attention. He stopped almost to the barn, waiting for me to catch up.
“Did I do something dumb?” he asked. “I had friends whose families lived the cowboy life, but I never really did. I had a love of acting, dance, modeling, whatever else, from a young age. My mom was a registered nurse. I’d ride into town with her and take classes to learn how to do my job. I’ve never owned a pet before.”
My hand went to my heart in faux sorrow. “I hurt for you.”
“For some reason, I don’t believe you do,” Slade countered, reaching for the hand at my chest, encasing his hand over mine.
“It might’ve been true,” I said, and we started, hand in hand, toward the barn.
“So you’ve done all this work by yourself. You secluded yourself except for working at the bar enough hours to make you look like an active part of the community.”
“What?” I shot out at his astute ability to read me like a book. “You need to remember that I’m gay. I naturally hide.”
“Yeah right.” He pushed open the rolling door to the barn. Inside, I knew he’d see a pretty well put together horse barn, tack shop, and an area where I assembled the chairs. At the other end of the barn were four stalls. Again, a stunned Slade let my hand go and went farther inside the barn. “Is it climate controlled?”
“Yeah, I have a portable air conditioner. I used the app to turn it on before we got here. I treated Wildflower like a show animal, so I wanted her to have the best. I got her when I was twelve, maybe thirteen years old.”
“This her?” Slade asked, nodding toward the giant picture of her above the stall. “What a gorgeous animal. She’s looking at the camera confidently. No, wait. She’s looking at you, right?” He waited for an answer before saying more.
“You have a way of reading people who don’t say a word, I guess it extends to animals too,” I said and came to stand by his side.
“It’s the reason I can act so well. I catch subtlety that’s normally missed.” He shoved his sunglasses onto his head and turned to me. “Have you thought about becoming a carpenter? You’re talented.”
Since he seemed serious, I changed the sarcastic response edging its way to my lips. “I piddle. I think construction would drive me crazy.”
“And the chairs?” he asked. My thumb hooked over my shoulder, guiding him there. I watched him go, following slowly. Slade’s comments caused pride to bubble to the surface. “We need to spend our time here. What a turn-on to watch you work. Do you get all sweaty?”
Of course I didn’t respond to that question. “My funds are lackin’. I have the tip money from the July Fourth weekend, but I usually save that for property taxes and insurance…” The sign I usually used for selling the chairs was tossed on the nearby table. I hadn’t given it a second glance until Slade lifted it and then raised it and a questioning brow my direction.
“I paid hundreds of dollars more. Tell me it’s an old sign.”
I nodded my confirmation that the sign showing a fifty-dollar price was outdated, but I wasn’t sure my facial expression held the proper amount of assurance needed to make the lie believable. “Sure.”