Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
She didn’t move when I sat down in a chair and watched her sleep.
I couldn’t make myself leave. I watched this childlike, unsophisticated woman sleep and wondered who she was.
And I still don’t have a fucking clue.
Homeless woman?
Battered woman?
She says her husband put those bruises on her.
I’ll find out who that son of a bitch is.
I never even pretend to be a good man, but only assholes beat women.
“Your husband,” I repeat, staring at her. “He hit you?”
Her wide blue eyes stare at me, uncomprehending. “Well, yes,” she says, as if this is normal. “I upset him.”
The need to punch something smacks me in the solar plexus, but I hold my temper because I can see the fear in her eyes.
I want to ask her where he is, but I don’t want to ask another question she won’t answer. I try to frame my question in a way she can answer.
“Is he nearby?”
A shake of her head, followed by an audible growling of her stomach.
“Are you hungry?”
“Finally,” she says with a relieved sigh and a smile revealing straight, white teeth and a radiance that could light up the universe. My heart does a strange and unexpected flip, such a foreign feeling I don’t recognize it. “A question I can answer! Yes, I’m starving. And I may not have any money, so I can’t offer to pay you, but I do have skills that I’m happy to barter and trade to thank you for allowing me to sleep here.”
Skills.
That she can barter and trade.
Like we’re goddamn pioneers.
“Oh?” I ask, sliding my hands in my pockets because I don’t want to intimidate her. We’re finally making some progress here. “Like what kinds of skills?”
My mind immediately goes to dark, dirty places, to the ways I could defile and use this innocent, gorgeous woman, but for God’s sake, I can get my shit together long enough to shut that off.
I don’t care that she’s “married.” I don’t give a shit about wedding vows that give a man a license to hit someone. And she’s here now, so a part of me wonder if she left. Why else would she be sleeping in this bed?
“I’m an excellent cook,” she says eagerly, leaning closer to me so I can see her earnest, beautiful eyes, and I reel myself back to the present conversation. “Actually, I can cook and bake. I’m also quite skilled at mending, sewing, and quilting. I preserve and can pickles and jams, know how to plant and garden, and I’m very good at knowing what to do with small children and babies. Additionally, animal husbandry is one of my specialties. I could go… on…” she continues haltingly, “but I… I don’t want to brag.” A faint flush colors her cheeks.
Child rearing.
She sounds like a live-action resume for an Amish mail order bride.
“Animal… husbandry.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sir.
Until now, I had no idea one of my kinks was despoiling an innocent woman.
“What might animal husbandry involve?”
“Caring for livestock,” she says in a small voice. I watch as she visibly shrinks. “Milking cows, collecting eggs…” Her voice trails off. She finishes in a whisper. “Though I’m sorry, I’m starting to realize my skills may not be… applicable here.”
Oh, they’re fucking applicable.
She ran from one place and ended up here. Bartering her skills as if she wants to actually stay. She must’ve left him.
“As luck would have it,” I say, as if I’m thinking things over, as if my mind isn’t racing with the ways I could make her stay here if I wanted to, “I temporarily need someone who can cook.”
I need to know more about her.
“Do you?” Her face lights up in a way that makes me want to give her anything she wants.
It’s dangerous. So fucking dangerous, I’m tempted to tell her to leave. Men like me don’t give a shit about wedding vows to asshole wifebeaters. So while she might think being married gives her a barrier of protection against me…she’s wrong.
Run. Run, while you still can.
“I’m having an event here and the caterer bailed again. My cousins are going to help, but they’re supposed to be attending the event.”
I can’t have her cook for the whole crowd, but she can do something.
I don’t care that she slept in this bed. I don’t care that she trespassed.
I want an excuse so she’ll stay.
“Well, then,” she says, nodding as if it’s decided. “I need to freshen up a bit and then I’ll get right to work. It’s a deal.” When she extends her hand awkwardly, I stare at her. I don’t trust myself to touch her.
“I’m—I’m so sorry I’m awkward,” she says. “I haven’t—I don’t—”
“Stop apologizing.” I’ve had enough of all the unnecessary apologies. How any man could hurt a woman like this—Jesus.
She opens her mouth, probably to apologize for apologizing, then shuts it when she thinks better of her response.