Southern Heat (Southern #6) Read Online Natasha Madison

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Southern Series by Natasha Madison
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
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Chapter 23

Quinn

"Good morning," I say, sticking my head into Amelia’s office. “You’re here early.” I look at the clock on the wall and see that it’s only after eight.

"I have to leave early today." She puts down the pen in her hand. Amelia is my officer manager, and I don’t know what I would do without her, to be honest. She comes in and makes all the appointments and pays the bills each month and makes sure everyone has their paychecks. "I have to get to the bar this afternoon." She looks at me. “We have a couple of bands playing tonight, and they want to set up."

"You could have taken the day off,” I say, and she leans back in her chair. She is working two jobs, and no one actually knows this but she is silently buying the bar from our aunt Savannah, who wanted to just give it to her, but being the stubborn woman who she is, she fought her. I even offered to loan her the money, but she didn’t want to take it from me.

"Did you just get back?" she asks, and I nod, going to sit in the chair in front of her. "You like the morning rides?" She picks up the coffee and brings it to her lips, trying to hide the smirk.

For the past five days, we have come to the barn at five thirty and taken a ride. "You know me. I love to ride no matter what the time is."

"Where is Willow now?" She looks around, peeking over to the door and seeing it empty.

"She is mucking out Hope’s stall,” I say, shaking my head. After our first ride, she watched me for a couple of minutes and then walked over to grab a bucket and made sure the rest of the horses had water. I told her not to, but she didn’t listen. Instead, she just did what she wanted to. I told her to stop, but the way she smiled when she talked to the horses was everything. So instead, I watched her and made sure she was okay. "Then she’s going to make sure everyone has water and feed them." I lean back in the chair and stretch.

“She’s going to leave," I admit to Amelia, and just the thought makes my stomach ill. It makes my body go tense, and my anger comes to the surface. I have tried to ignore it, and I have tried not to think about it, but every single time I do, it just makes me sick.

“She already has one foot out the door,” Amelia says, sitting up and making sure it’s just us. “She hasn’t unpacked anything yet,” she points out. “She sleeps in her clothes at night,” she whispers. “She rotates between two pairs of jeans, washing one and then wearing the other.”

“You don’t think I know that,” I say. “Every single night, I go into her room to make sure she’s covered. She hasn’t even gone under the covers yet,” I say, and I lean forward. “I have no idea what to do."

"What do you mean?" Amelia asks.

"I mean that I don’t know what I need to do for her to relax,” I say, frustrated. "I don’t know what else I can do to make her feel like she’s at home." I run my hand through my hair.

"I finally got her to try on two pairs of jeans," she points out. “And she accepted my cowboy boots."

I shake my head. “I bought her a new pair. She put them on the floor in her room next to the black fucking bag,” I say through clenched teeth.

"Did she talk to you about what she is going to do after all this?" Amelia asks, and I look down.

"She wants to go someplace where no one knows her,” I say, and the pain in my chest is like a punch to the stomach.

"Why doesn’t she want to stay here?" she asks.

"Maybe because we know who she was before,” I say, not even sure if that is really the answer. “I have no idea."

"So why don’t you show her,” she says, picking up her coffee again. “Show her why she should stay here."

"By doing what?" I ask, my leg moving up and down, thinking that maybe if I can show her, she might think about it.

"Show her why this should be her home. Take her to the diner. Take her out and let people meet her and start fresh." She shakes her head. “God, how are you so stupid sometimes."

"I’m," I start to say. “I haven’t been sleeping," I admit to her.

"Whatever you do, Quinn,” Amelia says, putting her cup down and looking down at her hands, “don’t play games with her."

"How could you say that to me?" I ask, almost insulted by what she just said. “I would never do anything to hurt her." I get up.



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