Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I guess it should be noted that I didn’t get permission from the city council or Mayor Wallace, but I’ll deal with their grumbling afterward.
I lean forward over my steering wheel, squinting as I read the words I told Chet’s painting crew to write.
Clay loves José
What the fuck? I blink several times and read it again.
Clay loves José
“Are you fucking kidding—” I start to shout, but Breezy’s scream stops me mid-sentence.
“Oh my God! Watch out!”
I dart my eyes back to the road, and that’s when I see it. One sheep, standing in the middle of the road, the rest of his flock in the grass. Holy fuck! I grip the steering wheel and slam on the brakes, and my truck skids across the gravel, smoke billowing up around us.
The sheep doesn’t move a fucking inch, until my truck comes to a stop but just barely bumps the side of it.
It falls over. Just fucking falls over, onto the road, and Breezy jumps out of the car on a scream. “Oh my God! The sheep!”
I hop out of the driver’s door and run around the car to find Breezy on her knees, her hands frantically checking the sheep for injuries.
“Clay! He’s not really moving!”
Trust me, I am the first person to help injured animals, but I know for a fact that my bumper barely touched this sheep. I can also see that his eyes are open and he’s blinking them.
“I think he’s just a little shocked, Breeze. Probably just needs a minute or two to get his bearings again.”
But a minute or two and then five pass by, and Breezy’s panic grows. “I think something’s wrong with him. I think we need to get him to a hospital.”
“No, no,” I refute. No offense to the sheep, but I’m getting married today, not sitting at a vet hospital for hours. Not to mention, I’ve got a water tower that says I love José. This sheep is going to have to figure his shit out and figure it out fast.
“C’mon, little buddy,” I encourage, kneeling down to slide my hands under his side. “Time to get up now and head back to your farm. Probably also time for your owner Tad to figure out how to fucking sheep farm.”
I swear, Tad Hanson’s sheep spend more time off his land than they do on it. He’s the worst sheep farmer who ever lived. Just ask Bennett; his and Norah’s property is right beside Tad’s. I guess it makes sense, given this wasn’t his intended career path by a long shot, but that’s a story for a whole different fucking day. Definitely a day other than my wedding day.
“Clay, I’m worried about him,” Breezy whispers, as if the sheep can actually understand her. “I think he might be hurt.”
I nudge the sheep again. “C’mon, little guy. Let’s get moving.” When I look to either side of the road, I see that the rest of his flock is just standing there, staring at us. “A little help would be nice,” I call toward them. “Mind giving your friend here a little support?”
But they do fuck all, and the sheep doesn’t move from his spot on the road.
“Help me pick him up,” Breezy says. “We need to at least take him back to his owner.”
“Excuse me?” I question, and she glares at me.
“We can’t leave him here for dead, Clay! We need to at least take him home!”
Fucking hell.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But we gotta hurry because I’ve got plans today. You know, to get married.”
“I know, I know,” she says, nodding as she squats down to put her hands under the sheep’s side. “Did you say Tad’s his owner?”
“Yeah.” When I see how awkwardly Breezy is trying to pick up this sheep, I gently nudge her out of the way and lift the heavy fucker into my arms. “Get the door,” I grunt out and she runs ahead of me to open the door to the back cab.
The sheep just sits there, in my arms, eyes blinking. He lets out a few mewls, but other than that, he just chills. Either this fucker is playing games with me or he’s actually injured. I honestly don’t know what.
By the time I get him loaded in, I’m sweaty and panting and silently cursing Tad Hanson’s name.
“Where is Tad’s place?” Breezy asks as I start the engine.
“You don’t know where Tad lives? You invited him to fucking Thanksgiving six years ago!”
She shakes her head.
“He lives right next to Bennett and Norah.”
“Really?” she asks, and I just shrug, my mind solely focused on getting this goddamn sheep to Tad’s farm as quick as I can, so I have enough time to climb up that goddamn water tower and strangle every painter on Chet’s team before I make them fix my love for José.