Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 74668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Giving her a kiss on the cheek I said, “See you tonight.”
She nodded. “Yeah, see you then.”
I grinned and winked before whistling for Mocha. “Come on, girl.”
She came, following me outside and back into the world of SWAT.
Chapter 12
Let me check my give a shit meter. Nope, nothing. The fucker must be broken.
-E-card
Memphis
“This place looks pretty good. I thought you said it wasn’t livable,” I said as I scanned the outside of Downy’s house that he’d been fixing up for the past couple of weeks.
He grunted. “The outside was never the problem, it was the inside.”
It was a log cabin.
Actually, a huge log cabin.
Two stories tall, with a wraparound front porch and a red tin roof, it looked beautiful. In fact, it looked brand spanking new.
Large adult pine trees surrounded the house and nearby area, shielding the house from view from the road. There was a covered walkway that led from the two-car garage in the front to a large barn-type structure off to the side. Possibly a shop of some sort.
Red storm gutters sat at the ready on either side of each of the house’s front windows, and the door was half stained glass, half wood.
I walked up closer, climbing the porch steps to come to a stop at the front door, studying the beautiful piece.
“Wow,” I said once I got a closer look.
“My grandfather did it. Looks good, doesn’t it?” He questioned.
“It looks beautiful. I bet that was hard to keep from breaking,” I said, shaking my head.
The design was beautiful.
Reds, greens, blues, oranges, and yellows filled the hundreds of pieces of glass that made up the design of a hot air balloon in flight.
He grunted. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never lived here before. Never even stayed overnight.”
I turned to him in surprise. “You haven’t stayed the night? But why?”
He sighed and pulled his keys out of his pocket.
“I didn’t even know about this place until I was in the army. I got a letter when I was eighteen from the manager of this property explaining what I had, and asking to visit with me about some oil royalties that I never even knew about.” He shook his head. “We lived poor growing up. Really poor. One bedroom apartment. Our lights were turned off every three months or so because of non-payment. Peanut butter and ramen noodle soup were our main food staples.”
He flipped on the light and illuminated the dark interior living room.
It was majorly outdated, and the floors were in the process of being refinished.
They were a pale, dusty brown, and pieces of it were missing in places.
The entire place was one big open floor plan.
The living room, dining room, and kitchen was one big open area, and beyond the kitchen a door led to what I assumed were bedrooms.
Stairs were immediately to my left, leading up to the second floor, and those, too, were being refinished.
I could see now that it was in a great state of repairs, but the integrity of the house was sound.
“I assume the reason we didn’t live here had a lot to do with Ronnie Prescott; but, when I was eighteen, I couldn’t see past the fact that we lived in near poverty. I was so busy whining about wearing the same clothes every day rather than the fact that my mother had a real reason for what she did. So, I was bitter and stayed away from her. Now we have absolutely no relationship to speak of,” he explained softly, closing the door as I started to pick my way through the house. “That’s partially why my mother and I have such a rocky relationship, and why I never got to know her husband. Although, it doesn’t really help that he tries to get me to sell this place back to the Prescott’s on a weekly basis.”
“Hmmm,” I wondered. “What’s the deal with that?”
He flipped the lights on in the kitchen and uncovered the countertops.
“Jackson, my stepfather, works with Ronnie. He’s a lawyer for the city and works closely with Ronnie Prescott, on a daily basis. I’m sure he has to hear it often, which in turn, he feels the need to share with me,” Downy rumbled.
I turned to find him studying the piers and beams above me, his eyes taking in the work they were doing up there, too.
“This place is looking good, Downy. I think I’ll be really sad when you move in here,” I admitted, trying to get off the subject of his father and the land, since it seemed to be a major upset to him.
He tipped his lip up at me, grinning slightly.
“I’ll have to make sure your wall’s fixed before I leave. Can’t have Miller and Foster having access to your place when I’m not there,” he teased.
I turned away, hiding the hurt on my face.
I didn’t want him to go.
If…no, when he went, would that change our relationship?
I was sure it would. How could it not?
“What are you doing to these counter tops?” I asked, running my finger along the counter…or would be counters.
“Concrete. It’s being stained Monday,” he explained, pulling out a square and showing it to me.
“Wow, that’s what it will look like? That doesn’t even look like concrete,” I exclaimed.
He nodded. “Yeah, it looks pretty good. And, that way, the countertops will never break or go out of date.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. Is there any other construction going on besides this main part of the house?”
He shook his head and took my hand, leading me to the back door and the porch beyond it.
“I’m having a well dug right there. Although, I’m fairly positive there’s one already on the property, I haven’t been able to find it. I’ve been looking for months,” he said.
I walked down the porch steps and out into the trees beyond, scanning the area. “How do you know there’s a well?”
He shrugged. “The neighbors. Well, the ones that’ll talk to me, that is.”
I nodded. “Let’s look.”
He grinned and started walking behind me, hands in his pockets. “It won’t look like a normal well. It’ll probably only be a hole in the ground with some sort of grate covering it up.”