Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Beck is up at the house with Mom. I’m sure she’s feeding him cobbler and smothering him in love.”
“How it should be.” He walks toward the river and picks up a rock, then taps it to his forehead. Then he skips it across the surface like magic. I always thought it was magic when I was young before he taught me his secrets. Angles and shapes of rocks matter, how fast the water flows, and a gentle tap to the forehead for luck. “Running from trouble or just need some fresh air in your lungs?”
My dad was never a man who talked to hear his own voice. He’s more of a get to the heart of the matter kind of guy. It’s a quality I’ve come to respect more as I’ve gotten older and dealt with assholes with their doublespeak to fuck everyone else at work for every lead, promotion, or opportunity presented.
Keeping my eyes forward, I reply, “A little of both.”
He steps closer and squeezes my shoulder before turning to walk away. “You always have a place to come home, Tagger.” He waves over his shoulder. “Come on. I want to see my grandson and get some cobbler before it’s gone.”
I pick up a rock and tap it on my forehead. I’m not sure if I have the same skills I once had, but I toss it anyway and hope for the best. I get two skips before it sinks. I’ll take the win. I turn to catch up to him. “Coming.”
“And you need to change clothes. I thought you were a tax collector when I saw you.”
Chuckling, I run to join his side. “It’s good to be home, Dad.”
CHAPTER 3
Christine
There’s nothing like falling into a bed clean after a long day of being covered in dirt.
I don’t bother drying my hair, figuring I’ll deal with the nest of tangles in the morning instead. Until I remember morning comes early on the ranch.
With a groan, I flip the covers off and push out of bed. The moonlight flooding my bedroom floor lights the way to my dresser. I’m not drying my hair, but I can at least brush it. I start at the ends, wanting to rush the process, but I know patience is a virtue, so I slow down. And just like every other time I stop rushing around and my mind has a moment to wander, Tagger invades my thoughts. Sort of like he did my whole life. The feelings of an innocent crush at eight differ from those I felt for him when I was sixteen.
I may have been invisible to him, but he made every fiber of my being tighten when he was around. I couldn’t think straight, struggled to complete sentences without giggling, and, worst of all, I made a fool of myself, thinking he might be interested.
Why in hell would a twenty-year-old, who had every girl falling at his feet, find me something special?
My chest flames in embarrassment, remembering how I made a fool of myself trying to flirt with him. I didn’t even know how to flirt back then. Asking him to help me onto my horse was ridiculous. He knew I could get on without help, but he still obliged. It was probably best he and Baylor returned to campus early that year. Otherwise, I might have done something else stupid to get his attention.
I can only hope he doesn’t remember as vividly as I do.
God . . . so humiliating.
Setting the brush down, I return to bed, tucking myself back into the softness of the covers and mattress. I close my eyes and snuggle the covers under my chin. It’s past eleven, but sleep doesn’t seem to come like usual.
Tag looked good today. Too good for his own good.
I can only imagine the type of woman he dates back in New York. Classically pretty like Grace Kelly and a pert tip to their nose, fashion-forward blond hair much lighter than mine cut with precision by the fancy stylists, and ten minutes doing yoga gets their bodies back in perfect shape to draw in a man like Tagger Grange. They probably even dry their hair before they get in bed . . .
Dammit.
Not sure how I managed to guilt myself, but I get back up and go into the bathroom. Since I’m wide awake anyway, I spend the next fifteen minutes drying my unruly locks before brushing it again and adding a little product to tame the flyaway strands. It won’t weather a hard night’s sleep, but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards for me tonight.
I don’t fully style it, but I like my hair’s natural shine and the way the light brown contrasts with the blond streaking through it. I even inherited a sprinkling of red strands from my mom.