Total pages in book: 198
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
And my smile slowly melted off.
What was he—? Oh. Right.
How the hell could I forget when I’d spent the entire day having customers fawn all over my bruised face? One of the customers who I’d met a few times by then, a local man in his sixties named Walter, had left the store and come back with a loaf of homemade bread his wife had made. To make me feel better.
I’d just about cried when I’d given him a hug.
“Nothing happened,” I started to tell him before he cut me off.
His back couldn’t have been any straighter, and I was pretty sure his expression couldn’t have been any grimmer. “Who did that to you?” he asked in a slow, slow voice.
“No one,” I tried to explain again.
“Someone jump you?” Mr. Rhodes asked, drawing out each word.
“No. I dropped—”
My landlord got up to his feet at the same time one of those big, rough hands went to my shoulder and curled around it. “You can tell me. I’ll help you.”
I closed my mouth and blinked up at him, fighting the urge to smile. And the urge to tear up.
He might not like me much, but man, was he decent.
“That’s really nice of you, but no one hurt me. Well, I hurt me. I dropped a box on my face.”
“You dropped a box on your face?”
Could he sound any more disbelieving? “Yes.”
“Who did it?”
“No one. I dropped it on myself, I swear.”
His gaze narrowed.
“I promise, Mr. Rhodes. I wouldn’t lie about something like that, but I appreciate you asking. And offering.”
Those pretty eyeballs seemed to take in my features some more, and I was pretty sure the alarm in his eyes faded at least a little. “What kind of box did you drop?”
I’d walked right into that, hadn’t I? I plastered a smile on my face even though it hurt. “A bat house . . . ?”
Creases formed across his broad forehead. “Explain.”
Bossy. My face went hot. “I read that they help with bat problems. I figured if I got them a new home, they wouldn’t keep trying to sneak in to pick on me.” I swallowed. “I borrowed your ladder—I’m sorry for not asking—and found a tree with a good, sturdy branch on the edge of your property”—where he wouldn’t see it—“and I tried to nail it there.”
The branch wasn’t as sturdy as I’d hoped, and according to Clara, the nails hadn’t been the way to go, and it had fallen . . . on me. Hence, the black eyes and puffy nose.
The heavy hand on my shoulder fell away, and he blinked. Those short, thick eyelashes swept over his incredible eyes again even slower. There were lines branching out from the corners, but I swear it just made him more attractive. All weathered. How old was he really? Late thirties?
“Sorry I didn’t ask for permission,” I muttered, busted.
He watched me. “Tell me it wasn’t the eight-foot ladder.”
“It wasn’t the eight-foot ladder,” I lied.
A big hand went to his face, and he swept it down over his chin before aiming an eyeball at me as the song inside the garage changed and Amos started playing something different, something I didn’t recognize. Slow and moody. Almost dark. I liked it. I liked it a lot.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to give you a one-star review or anything over it. It was my fault,” I tried to joke.
Two irises the color of a Weimaraner bore into me.
“I was joking, but really, it was my fault. I didn’t know I was scared of heights until I got up there and . . .”
He tipped his head to look at the sky.
“Mr. Rhodes, you made my whole day by being worried, but I’m sorry I was snooping around your property and didn’t ask for permission, but I haven’t slept a full night in two weeks, and I didn’t want my screams to wake you up anymore. But mostly, I don’t want to sleep in my car again.”
He gave me a side look, and I couldn’t help but laugh, pain forcing me to stop almost immediately. Jesus Christ. How did boxers handle this shit?
His look went nowhere.
And that look made me laugh more, even though it hurt.
“I know it’s stupid, but I just keep picturing it landing on my face and . . .” I bared my teeth.
“I get the picture.” He dropped his head and his hand. “Where’s this bat house at?”
“In the studio.”
Those gray eyes were back on me. “When he’s done, put it in the garage.” That full mouth twisted to the side. “Never mind, I’ll bring it down when you’re at work, if you’re fine with it.”
I nodded.
“It’ll be too dark today by the time Am is done, but I’ll put it up next chance I get,” he went on in that serious, level voice.