Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Oh, who’s this?” my sister-in-law Sawyer asks. She stops next to me and peers down at the angel in the car seat.
“This is Madeline and her momma, Wren.” She gives me a questioning look, and I shake my head as subtly as I can. She thinks they’re mine, or at least the baby. They’re not. I would have remembered Wren. Her short blonde hair rests just above her shoulders, and her blue eyes are piercing, almost like looking up at the sky on a cloudless day. I’m guessing she’s about five foot four or so comparing her to my six-foot-one frame. She’s sexy as hell, and if I hadn’t seen her with her daughter, I never would have guessed she was a mom. Or a widow if the woman at the pharmacy’s story checks out.
“She’s what? Five months?” Sawyer asks.
“Yes,” Wren replies.
“I have a five-month-old little boy at home,” Sawyer explains.
“Aren’t you the cutest?” Layla chimes in. I didn’t even realize she’d joined us from behind her desk. “I have a one-and-a-half-year-old. Boy.”
“We have lots of boys. Two more on the way,” I tell Wren. “These are my sisters-in-law, Sawyer and Layla. I have two more who are both expecting boys a week apart,” I explain. Doing so helps me seem like less of a creeper from our interaction yesterday.
“What? You can introduce our wives but not us?” Royce asks.
“What are we, chopped liver?” Owen jokes. It’s so good to see him coming out of his shell. We have Layla and their son, Carter, to thank for that.
I chuckle. “These knuckleheads are my brothers. Royce, Owen, Grant, and Conrad,” I point as I say their names.
“That one’s mine,” Royce says, pointing to Sawyer.
“And this one’s mine,” Owen says, placing his hand on Layla’s shoulder.
“Ours aren’t here,” Grant speaks up.
“We should open a bakery in the building,” Conrad muses.
“That’s not a bad idea.” I point at him. “It would make our morning stops so much easier.”
“It’s nice to meet you all. I just—” Wren starts. When I look at her, I see a flush to her cheeks.
“Come with me.” With Madeline in her seat in one hand, I place the other on the small of Wren’s back and lead her away from my loud, nosey family and to my office. Once we’re inside, I shut the door. “Sorry about that. There’s a lot of us, and we sometimes forget how overwhelming it can be for all of us to be in the same place at once. Especially for someone new.”
“Here.” She thrusts the envelope at me.
“I’m not taking that back,” I tell her as I place the infant seat on my desk. “What do you think, Madeline? Can you help me out here? Can you tell your momma to keep the money?” The cutie grins at me and sticks her hand in her mouth.
“Marshall,” Wren sighs.
I turn to face her. “Look, what I’m going to say is going to make me sound like an as— butthole.” I quickly catch myself before cursing. Not that Madeline is old enough to understand, but regardless. “I’m just going to say it, but know that it’s coming from a good place, and I’m not trying to be rude or degrading.” I wait for her to nod as she crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t need the money.” She opens her mouth to argue, but I raise my hands to stop her. “My family has worked hard to grow this company to what it is today. I’m proud of that. I’m proud to be a part of it. My brothers and I were handed our family legacy, and we’ve expanded and grown. The business is thriving. The shoes I’m wearing cost four times what I gave you. I can afford to help you, Wren, and I want to help you.”
“I’m not your responsibility.”
I nod. “You’re right. You’re not. You’re a complete stranger to me, but that’s okay. What is the point of my having all of this money and not being able to use it for good? How do you expect me to sleep at night knowing you and your daughter are struggling, and I have the means to help?”
“What? Are you going to try and save the world?”
“No. Not the world. I just want to help.” I shrug.
“Why?” Her tone is softer. “I’m not sleeping with you.” There’s a tic in her jaw, and she shuffles her stance from one foot to the other. She’s nervous.
I can’t hold in my laughter, and it’s so loud it startles the baby, making her cry. “I’m sorry,” I tell the baby as I rock her seat back and forth on my desk. “Look, this isn’t some scheme to get into your pants. I was there at the right time to offer assistance. That’s all this is. I can help, so let me help.”