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)
15
TAYLOR
A TIME FOR CONFESSION
The hot water pounds into the bathtub, sending a wave of steam towards the ceiling. I stare into the churning foam of bubbles, my mind consumed with what happened at the bunkhouse. It was all my fault. They sensed my weakness and preyed on it. It’s what happens to girls like me. If I was stronger or older, they would have left me alone. But I have victim written all over me. Mindy sensed it, and Beth, too.
Brian made me feel so on edge, bringing my past crashing back. Everything about him, from his tired, watery eyes to his grimy fingernails, felt familiar. I can’t begin to bury the past while the present provides such stark reminders. I think I’m okay, but then the sensation of Michael’s punishing grip on my ass and his hot breath on the back of my neck returns like a ghost wound. I can still smell the stale aroma of unwashed clothing and tobacco breath.
Collapsing into Jesse’s arms felt like a failure. These cowboys don’t want a weak woman who falls apart. They want a strong, practical wife who can handle all the stresses and strains of ranch life—a woman strong enough to be a wife to three powerful, brooding cowboys and a mother to their children.
Brian’s words were like a whip across my chest. You look like a kid. I was so mortified. So much for lipgloss and mascara and my attempts to dress more maturely. I might look young on the outside, but inside, I feel older than my years.
Worst of all, Mitch could hardly bring himself to look at Jesse. And that’s my fault, too. If it wasn’t for me, none of this would be happening. Jesse seemed so defeated. I’m starting to think things would be better for everyone if I wasn’t here.
I’ve lived enough of my life as part of an unhappy family.
Now, without meaning to, I’ve brought the same atmosphere here. I can’t live under that cloud, and I don’t want to bring Molly into yet another stressful situation. Although Jesse tried his best to comfort me, and I felt safe in his arms, I sense that he’s consumed with how much my arrival is affecting his life.
I feel so confused about being here.
Hearing nothing from Natalie about Molly is a constant pressure at the back of my skull.
Feeling tired to my bones, I perch on the edge of the bathtub and rub my hands over my face.
A disturbance from downstairs breaks my spinning thoughts, so I shut off the tap so that I can hear better.
Clint and Maverick are back. Their voices are raised enough to carry them all the way up to the second floor and through a closed door, but not enough for me to hear them clearly. I need to know what is going on. Silently, I pad out of the bathroom and open my bedroom door, just an inch at a time. Holding my breath, I creep along the landing and down the staircase as swiftly as I can. By this point, their voices have risen to almost crescendo level, and I doubt that they’ll hear me even if I wasn’t trying to conceal my presence. I sit on the bottom step, trying to calm the sinking fear sitting in the pit of my stomach and the guilt of having driven this happy home into a battleground.
“You can blame Mitch’s boys all you like, Jesse, but this isn’t just about what happened out there. Do you really think she’s so stupid she doesn’t realize why she’s here?” Clint shouts.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Maverick says, his voice even. “This morning was tough for us all, and we’ve got to rein in these young men soon, or they’ll start to think they’re here for a holiday.”
“She’s too young, Jesse. Have you ever thought that maybe she doesn’t even want kids? You didn’t pick right, and it’s not fair to expect her to fill the gap in your life at only nineteen. Jesus.” I can’t see Clint, but I can imagine his expression—rage and frustration carefully held behind an impassive mask.
I gasp and press my hand over my mouth. So I was right. Jesse has been trying to get me pregnant. He wants me to carry his child, but he didn’t think it was important to ask me if I want the same thing.
There’s a moment’s silence before the clattering sound of breaking dishware drives me forward instead of away and I’m in time to see Jesse holding Clint around the scruff of his shirt, both wild-eyed with Maverick trying to force his way between them. The scene is one of broken mugs of spilled coffee and three testosterone-fueled men at breaking point.
“Please—” They all turn in unison. Maverick stands aside, and Jesse lets go of Clint, who steps forward to approach me before stopping and standing awkwardly, his shirt twisted and his hair disheveled. A thick silence ensues while my mind spins.