Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Cowboy’s voice drops to a dangerous level. “No, son. It’s between you and every man in this county who doesn’t want to see a little girl hurt.”
Stellan bristles. “She’s not a little girl.”
I step in closer, cutting off his retreat. “You’re done. You don’t text, you don’t call, you don’t look at her from across a goddamn parking lot. You understand?”
He hesitates, eyes darting, calculating. “Or what?”
Cowboy leans in, big as a barn door. “Or you’ll be sucking hospital slop through a straw for the rest of your life.” He grins that grin again, all teeth and no humor.
Stellan’s knuckles go white on the pitchfork. For a second, I think he’ll swing, but he just swallows and backs up a pace. “I ain’t doing nothing illegal.”
“You want to play with the law, go ahead,” I say. “I’ll fuck you up before you sweat it out in a cell.”
Horses are stamping now, some picking up the anxiety, a couple of the mares tossing their heads. Stellan sees it too, and his bravado cracks.
“Whatever, man” he says, voice flat. “The bitch ain’t worth it anyway.”
I swing hard landing a solid punch square in the middle of his smug goddamn face sending his ass sprawling on the hay covered floor. “Call Casey a bitch again and they won’t find your goddamn body.” I stare him down, making sure he understands. Cowboy just stands there, arms folded, backing me up.
Stellan spits out a few words before crawling to his feet. “Whatever.”
Cowboy jerks his head toward the stall. “Get back to work and keep your nose clean or you’ll be jobless, homeless and praying for Sheriff Armstrong to rescue your stubborn ass.”
Stellan glares at us as we walk away. “Thanks for your help,” I say, but I can’t shake the prickle on my neck.
“Any time.” Cowboy doesn’t mince words. Back outside, the day looks different. Lighter, somehow, but also fragile, like the peace we bought was made of spun glass.
“Think he got the message?” I ask my friend.
He glances back at the barn, shrugging. “For now.”
As I walk back to my truck, I promise myself, for the hundredth time, that I won’t let my guard down, not for a second.
CHAPTER 13
NAOMI
It’s been three days since Wyatt broke Stellan’s nose, and Silver Spoon Falls has returned to its default setting of sleepy and boring and I’m enjoying the change of pace.
The sun set not long ago and Wyatt is standing next to sofa, close enough to touch from where I’m sitting. He’s wearing old jeans and a tight black t-shirt that shows off all his muscles. He’s been acting twitchy for the last hour and I’m starting to wonder what’s going on. He keeps checking his phone, adjusting the thermostat, running his hand through his hair. I try not to stare but I do, because watching him fuss around our house is secretly turning me on.
He finally blows out his breath and kneels down in front of me. “Are you okay?” I ask.
I notice sweat shining on his brow and wonder what is going on. He glances at me, then away, then back again. “I have something for you,” he finally growls, and pulls a tiny blue box from his pocket.
My brain short circuits and I can’t breathe.
He pops the box open I gasp at the size of the diamond. It’s huge, and beautiful. And freaking perfect. The thought of Wyatt picking this out by himself warms my heart.
He doesn’t say anything for a second. He just holds it out, waiting. His hand is steady but his jaw is flexing, the only sign he’s not actually made of granite. “I’ve been dreaming about this moment since the first night I saw you,” he says. His voice is low. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
I blink, and then blink again, because this is not something I know how to process. “You’re serious,” I say, but it comes out as a question, because part of me is still not convinced this is all a dream.
His lips twitch, but he manages to keep a straight face. “Dead serious.” He slips the ring onto my finger, and it fits perfectly. “I want to make you mine. Today, tomorrow, for every day I get.”
I still can’t process what’s happening. I laugh, a weird, breathless sound. “You want to marry me?”
He nods, and for the first time I see a flicker of real fear in his eyes. Not the kind of fear that comes from staring down a loaded gun or an angry groupie. It’s the kind of fear that comes from putting your heart on the line and hoping to god it doesn’t get run over by a truck.
I look down at the ring, turning my hand so the diamond catches the light. It’s a thing of beauty, and it looks obscene and beautiful and totally right on my finger. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely focus.