Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
We’re still in it when Wren walks in twenty minutes later, wearing bright pink bunny print pajamas and carrying a shotgun.
Chapter Four
TATUM
Wren walks in and I’m instantly torn between thinking the tiny woman with the long black hair and big green eyes is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and being terrified that she’s going to shoot me for banging her secret crush.
“You aren’t going to use that to separate us, are you?” I ask, really hoping my “secret crush” theory is wrong.
If it’s not, there’s not much I can do to make an apology for banging her man seem sincere while I’m still hooked to him in such an intimate fashion.
“What?” She blinks, pushing her glasses up her nose. She follows my no-doubt horrified look to the shotgun and lets out a nervous laugh. “Oh, no, of course not. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to leave it in the car. There have been break-ins around the lakefront lately.” She sets it in the corner behind the door and shrugs off her backpack. “And I can’t afford to have it stolen. I’ll need it to get back into the house later.”
“That turkey still bothering you? Even at night?” Drew asks before I can form a coherent theory as to why she might need a gun to get home.
Safe to say, turkey troubles would not have been one of my guesses.
Wren sighs, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on the coat tree. “Yes, darn it. It’s out for my blood. Pecks at me every time I leave the house without a gun to fire into the sky to scare it off. And animal control is no help since I won’t let them shoot the pesky thing.” She reaches down, grabbing the backpack from the floor. “Tim thinks it’s hysterical, laughs his stupid butt off every time I call for advice. He thinks the turkey’s in love with me, but if that’s love, it’s not the good kind.”
“You’re in a toxic relationship with a turkey,” I observe as she slowly approaches the couch.
She laughs again, more relaxed this time. “I am. And there aren’t many self-help books about that, I’ll tell ya.” She casts a pointed glance at our blanket-covered lower halves. “Not much online about separating people with conjoined private piercings, either so I just brought a little of everything. I grabbed my first aid kit, a small set of surgical implements, and a few things from my toolbox in the garage. I figured between all of that, we should be able to get things sorted out for you guys.”
“Thank you,” I say with a gulp. “But if we could make surgical tools the last resort, I’d appreciate it. I’m not good with blood. I think it’s because my little brother, Maximus, used to get nose bleeds all the time as a kid and I had to help clean it up. But it could just be genetic. My grandmother also hates blood. My mom is okay with it, obviously, since she’s a nurse. Thank you for your service, by the way. Nurses don’t get enough credit. You’re freaking warrior heroes.” I gulp again. “Sorry, I’m babbling. I’m nervous. I’ve never been in a situation like this before with a total stranger.”
“Well, we can fix that part,” she says, with a kind smile. “I’m Wren Marie Baxter. I grew up in Bad Dog with my mama and little sister, went to college in St. Paul, then came right back to my hometown because I love it here. I’m a nurse for Drew’s brother, Barrett, at his OB-GYN office. In my spare time, I enjoy making jewelry, trying new recipes, and plotting ways to scare off the turkey terrorist living in the woods across from my house. Better?”
I grin. “So much better.”
She sets her tools on the coffee table. “Good. And you can tell me all about you over coffee and cookies tomorrow. I’m partial to marshmallow and chocolate chip, but open to just about anything. Now, let’s get a look at what we’re dealing with here before I go scrub up in the kitchen.”
“Ready?” Drew asks, shooting me a meaningful look.
Pulling in a breath, I nod. “Let’s do it. But I’m going to close my eyes because—embarrassment.”
Drew pulls back the small throw blanket we wrapped around our lower halves, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I sense Wren moving closer and hear her soft, “huh, okay then,” but almost no time passes before the blanket is back in place and Wren’s at the sink, running water.
“Think you can bust us loose?” Drew asks, making me gulp, yet again.
“Or gently wiggle us loose?” I counter. “No busting or anything violent sounding required?”
“Right,” he says, adding in a whisper, “Sorry.”
“I don’t like to count my chickens before they’re hatched, but I think this will be pretty easy,” Wren says, soaping her hands up to the wrist. “And I don’t think we’ll need anything but my jewelry pliers.”