Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Taylor’s giving off virgin vibes.
Fuck.
This is destined to end badly—not just badly. It’s designed to implode and take all of us down with force.
Jesse holds out his hand, and Taylor takes it, but not before I notice the tremble in her fingers. Our eyes meet, and it’s like seeing a reflection of my own; warm hazel with flecks of green and gold, like sparks of fire flaring off the forest floor.
“I’m Jesse,” he says gruffly. Taylor nods and focuses on Clint, who’s still lurking in the background. Her silent question fills the space between us: which one of you is going to be my husband?
“This is Clint.” Jesse waves in the general direction of Clint’s rigid form. “And Maverick.”
I tip my hat and force a smile onto my face despite my reservations. Smiling is what I do best, but today, it feels about as natural as a pig mating with a bull.
“Hi.” Her attention drifts to Dixie’s back as she moves through the crowd to deal with the next girl.
“We’re done for the day, so we’ll leave now, okay?” Jesse gestures toward the barn door in the direction of our truck. The livestock we purchased today will be delivered, so Taylor is the only purchase we need to transport.
That sounds so wrong, even in my head.
“Okay.” She couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if she tried.
We walk toward the truck, Jesse leading, Clint behind him, and Taylor and me at the rear. I try to hold a place next to her as she drags her feet. The awkward silence begs to be filled.
“You’ll like Twin Springs Ranch,” I say. “It sure is pretty.”
She nods, glancing at me, but then lets her gaze shift.
“Yeah. The landscape, the house, the animals. It’s the best.” I sound like one of those douchebag realtors on daytime television.
Taylor doesn’t answer, so I continue.
“You’ll settle in fast.”
“Who am I marrying?” she blurts as we emerge from the building. She stops, watching Jesse and Clint’s retreating forms.
“Clint,” I say. I lift my hat and swipe my hand over my sweat-slicked brow. My hair is probably a mess.
She stares at me, surprised. Of all of us, he’s been the least engaging.
Her teeth dig into her bottom lip so hard it turns white.
“This is what you want, right?”
She blinks a few times, her eyes turning glassy. “Yes,” she whispers. “Of course.”
Why don’t I believe her?
None of this is my problem. Jesse will have to pick up the pieces of his foolhardy scheme. If she’s trembling about becoming Clint’s wife, how the hell is she going to feel about the rest of what she has coming?
“Let’s go,” I say. “The quicker we get back, the quicker we can show you around. You’ll like it, I promise.”
It’s the weakest promise I’ve ever made.
The drive home takes two hours, and it’s hella awkward. Clint sits with Taylor in the back, dodging conversation the whole way. In his defense, Taylor falls asleep within ten minutes with her head resting awkwardly against the side of the truck. Me and Clint exchange a loaded look. The poor girl’s either exhausted or pretending to sleep so she doesn’t have to engage with us. Either way, it’s probably better. Clint’s the strong, silent type. Jesse’s tone usually carries an element of command that strikes fear into the unsuspecting. He’s bullheaded, too. I babble and make jokes to fill the empty space. Between us, we probably make a terrible, mystifying, or terrifying first impression.
The shirt I wear pinches my neck, and I unfasten the top two buttons. The breeze streaming in through the open windows is warm and dry but cooling, nevertheless.
I don’t feel right until we reach the boundary of the ranch. Like a fish out of water, I only breathe easy when I’m home.
We’re driving past the main herd when Jesse brakes suddenly, pulling the truck close to the fence. One of the cows has gotten itself caught and is struggling in vain to free its strangled throat.
“Stupid goddamn animal,” Jesse grunts as he slides from the truck. I’m close behind him, kicking up dust as I rush to help. Clint’s last to exit the vehicle, or at least, I think he is, until a minute later, Taylor’s standing six feet away from us as we wrangle with the frantic cow, dirtying up our clothes and exhausting our strength. When it’s finally free, the fence is a mangled mess, and we’re disheveled and sweating.
This is far from a good first impression.
Taylor’s eyes are wide as the cow tries to return to the herd, its gait uneven and its eyes still bulging.
“Should we take it to the barn?” Clint asks Jesse.
“Let’s wait a few minutes… see if it eats and drinks.”
While I search for tools in the back of the truck, Jesse and Clint lean against the fence, watching the cow. Taylor, still maintaining her distance, does the same.