Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
I shoved a straight lock of hair into the baseball cap haphazardly perched on my head. I hadn't even looked in the mirror that morning before heading out. Not that my commute was long. It was less than a hundred feet from the ancient farmhouse we lived in to the stables.
I bent forward to grasp a bail of fresh hay and froze, the hackles rising on the back of my neck. I knew I wasn’t alone. Someone was behind me. Not just behind me. Staring at me.
I slowly twisted my head and looked over my shoulder. A dark figure stood in the hallway behind me, immediately recognizable. He stood there looking like a movie star playing a cowboy. Or maybe like a movie star playing a biker, which is what he was in real life. The truth was, he looked like a whole lot of both.
He. Was. Here.
Nick Henderson. The idol of all my girlish teenage fantasies. The crush to end all crushes. The man I had written off, or pretended to, when I went off to college. I had never stopped dreaming about him, though.
I’d only seen him once in recent years, and that hadn’t exactly been a sterling moment for me. Not even a stolen glance from behind a bale of hay, which is how I used to spy on him back in the day. But somehow, he looked better than ever. His long hair softened the harsh lines of his jaw and sharp cheek bones. He was covered in tats and more muscular than most models, but other than that, he could've stepped right out of a GQ Magazine.
And if I was not mistaken, he was staring at my ass.
Oh. My. God.
“Nick?”
His eyes snapped to my face and he frowned, looking perplexed. He shook his head as if to clear it. Then he rubbed his face and looked at me again. I stood up awkwardly, brushing my work gloves off on my worn-in jeans.
“Hi,” I said uncertainly. He stared at me harder, if that were possible. I resisted the urge to touch the hair that was no doubt sticking out in all directions from my faded cap. I also resisted the urge to tug my shirt down.
And I was pretty sure I had a wedgie.
This. Was. Perfect.
“Meli?” he finally asked. I nodded. He tilted his head to the side like a confused dog. “You’re . . .”
I waited for him to finish the statement. He didn’t. So I did it for him.
“I’m here.”
“I thought you were in school.”
Ugh, I groaned inwardly. Why did he have to make it sound like I was still in grade school? He’d always treated me like a kid. It used to drive me nuts. All I’d ever wanted from him was attention. Well, more than that. I’d wanted him to notice me the way I noticed him.
“I was away at college for the past few years,” I corrected him. “But Mom needed me here so I took a leave of absence.”
I didn’t elaborate further or tell him that the leave of absence was most likely permanent. If I didn’t say that Mom was sick, and probably dying, then maybe it wouldn’t happen. To this date, I hadn’t said the ‘C’ word aloud.
Now you do sound like a child, my inner voice jeered.
"Hey. I'm sorry about your dad," he offered haltingly.
Nick had been at the funeral, but that was the last time I saw him. And I was in such a haze of grief at the time that I didn't even remember if we had spoken. That had been fewer than two years ago, I realized with a start. Now I was possibly losing my other parent. If Mom died, I would be all alone in the world.
Don’t think about it. Don’t even think about it for a second.
"Thank you. That means a lot. Dad really liked you," I said honestly. “And Hendrix, of course," I added.
He stood there with his hands in his pockets, still looking adorably confused like a puppy who was hearing a new sound. I’d never seen him looking anything other than supremely relaxed and confident. The man had no reason to be anything else.
"Do you want some coffee?" I offered, holding out my thermos. "I don't have a cup but I could go get one from the house."
“Oh. Thanks,” he said, reaching out to take the coffee. He grasped the thermos and our fingers brushed. Just for a second. But it was more than enough to send my entire body into chaos. That set off the whole chain of unwelcome tingles spreading down my arm.
No, do not, I told myself. You are not allowed to go back to being obsessed with him. No tingles allowed.
But those eyes, I argued with myself. Those lips. That glorious long hair. Those muscles . . .