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)
“I’m the mother of Tagger’s son,” she replies like she’s birthed the heir to the throne. I guess she did, technically. It’s not a title that can ever be taken away. I exhale a breath, somehow relieved she’s not breaking in and defeated that I had to meet Anna this way—a bird’s nest for hair, no makeup to hide my freckle-covered face and dark circles, and naked under this Spartans shirt.
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. “Beckett is an incredible kid.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, looking horrified, judging by the lines she’s trying so hard to form between her brows on her already tight face. “How do you know my son?”
“Um . . .” I have a strong suspicion that I just screwed up. Do I lie to her? It would be easy to get to the truth. All she would have to do is ask Beck or Tagger, for that matter. Go with the truth. It’s always best. “He came to the ranch when Tagger and he were visiting Peachtree Pass.”
The sneer vanishes instantly, and she laughs. “You’re from his hometown in Texas?”
“Yes. We’ve known each other a long time.”
“Tagger has a girlfriend from his hometown in Texas?” she asks, but it’s not really sounding like she wants an answer, especially since she already got it. Her gaze goes to my suitcase, and then returns to me. “What is your name?”
“Christine.”
“Christine.” She stares at me as if it’s the first time she’s heard it. Not exactly an original name but it’s not as sour as she makes it sound. “Miss Christine.”
It was at that moment I realized I’m a dead woman walking in her eyes. “Beck calls me Miss Christine.”
“I know he does. He’s mentioned you before.” Her arms lower to her sides, and she says, “I had an image of some sweet little old lady who was baking pies and feeding her pigs the leftover scraps from dinner.”
“Well, I’m not old, but the other part isn’t so foreign. Beck fed the horses—”
I go silent when her palm flies up. “The name fits where you’re from.”
My head juts back on my neck. “Did you just insult me?”
“Is it an insult to reference your town?” Dumb is the last thing I believe Anna is, though she’s feigning it.
I lower the covers, the fear long gone. “I’m proud of where I’m from.”
“It’s so cute. Tagger used to say the same thing until he realized how it made him look like a foolish cowboy to everyone.”
“Only assholes,” I bite back. She laughs, though I don’t.
Nodding, she says, “I can’t even argue because it’s probably true.” She points at the dress lying across my suitcase. “It’s really brave of you to wear a piece from three seasons ago. I could never do it, but it suits you.” She turns and starts down the hall. “I stopped by for Beckett’s navy-blue cardigan. We have lunch down at the pier with friends.”
I sit there, more astounded than upset. I don’t give a crap what she says about that pretty dress, and who cares how she feels about my name. But the jab about the Pass pisses me off. I get out of bed and wait in the room, debating if I’d love for Tagger to walk in to defend me or hoping he’s never the wiser she was here.
None the wiser wouldn’t ruin our final hour together. So I hope he doesn’t run into her.
When I hear the door close, I tiptoe into the hallway and down to the living room. She’s gone, but the damage of her presence still lingers, like her perfume. It’s not strong and actually smells really good. Damn her.
I get my jeans on and put on a bra under the shirt I’m stealing. When I slip a sweater over my arms, I don’t bother buttoning it up. That’s when I hear the door open. “Hey babe, sorry. The fucking crowds of this city are relentless.”
“It’s okay.” I come to the kitchen, where he’s laid out what he’s hunted and gathered for me. Sliding my fingers into the hair at the back of his head, I kiss him—long and deep and filled with the passion he’s shown me all weekend. When I pull back, I lick the corners of my lips, and say, “I’m going to miss you so much.”
Am I marking my territory? Maybe.
Am I making sure he knows exactly what he’ll be missing? Absolutely.
His arms come around my waist, and he’s so handsome when he grins that I consider changing my flight so I never leave his arms again. “Nice shirt.”
“You like it?”
“So fucking sexy, babe.”
We kiss once more, but this time when our lips separate, the inevitable sinks in. I’m leaving, and he’s staying. “We have the Peach Festival to look forward to.”
“Three weeks. That’s all.” Caressing my face, he wipes under my eyes with his thumb, catching the sadness before it falls. “It will fly by. I promise.”