Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Do you have any guys that you are good friends with? Maybe someone that helps on the ranch?”
I can’t help the very small laugh that slips out of me. “That would be an absolutely not. I love the guys that work for me, but they are more my dad's age and either married or divorced and honestly none of them are attractive to me. Plus, I’d never get them mixed up in this.”
She’s nodding, taking in every word I have to say. “Good point. All right, well what about an ex-boyfriend?”
“He’d be an ex for a reason.” I appreciate her trying, but it feels hopeless. Who can find a husband in two and a half months?
“I can talk to Tripp and see if any of his friends are single,” she suggests.
“Even if they are, no one is going to want to get married so quickly. It’s like a dead-end road. I don’t know what to do,” I say, feeling tears sting my eyes. They won’t fall though, they never do. I was raised to be tough and my emotions and feelings needed to be had in private or not at all. I haven’t cried since my mother died and I don’t intend on this breaking me to that point. I’ve broken wild horses, I can handle a hell of a lot.
“It’s never a dead-end road, Violet. There’s always a way. We’ll figure this out, I promise I’ll help.”
Millie is such a good friend. My only friend really. I don’t know what I would do without her. As much as I want to believe that she’ll be the one to help me figure out this mess, it’s futile thinking.
I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’ll figure something out. Losing my ranch is not an option.
Chapter 2
Callum
“If inventory isn’t done by this afternoon I’m going to literally kill people,” I say to Shepherd as he smirks at me. “I’m serious,” I tell him, my voice rising a bit. “We’ve got a ton of shit to do, and taking off the week for Paxton’s wedding seriously put us behind.”
Shepherd gives me one of his lazy smiles. “We’ll be fine.”
I hate that my younger brother doesn’t understand the urgency in getting inventory done for the brewery like I do. None of my younger siblings do. And I’ve got a lot of siblings. Most days it’s like herding cattle.
Shepherd’s only fourteen months younger than me. They used to call us the Irish twins when we were younger, until my mother had another son fourteen months younger than Shepherd. What can I say? I guess my parents like to fuck, a lot.
Okay. Gross.
Anyway, once Paxton came along they called us the Atwood hellions because we got into everything. My poor mother.
That didn’t stop her because a year or so later, she had her first, and only, baby girl—Anya. And let me tell you, that girl got away with everything. So, as her older brothers, Shep, Pax, and I had to raise even more hell.
A few years after that my mother popped out my younger brother, Brock, and fourteen months later she had her last son, Tripp.
She closed up shop after he was born and finally got her tubes tied. Or maybe they just stopped having sex as much. Who knows, all I know is I’m the eldest, and honestly, trying to keep my brothers, and sister in check is one of the hardest jobs I’ve ever had.
A few years back the Atwood hellions, Shep, Pax, and me, got together and opened up a brewery with my best friend, Griffin. The four of us slaved away every day to make this place what it is today.
It’s a well-oiled machine, and only because I make sure it runs smoothly.
I toss the iPad at Shep. “Just get it done.” I walk out of the dry storage area of Atta Boy Brewery and head downstairs to my office.
Once inside I shut the door and notice all the work I’ve still got to handle today. I swear there’s never a down moment here. I feel like a fireman, constantly putting out metaphorical fires every hour.
My cell pings in my pocket and I glance down at the chat I have with all my family members.
Brock: Cal, if you’re here…who am I kidding? Of course you are. Can you come to the brew floor? I’ve got a question.
Be right there.
Like I said, never ending. I leave my office, and as I walk the thirty feet to meet my brother, Brock, my phone pings with many more messages. One from my sister asking where the tablecloths are because our vendor hasn’t dropped them off yet. Great. See, another fire.
Anya walks up to me with her hands on her hips. “I can’t get ahold of Kyle. He’s the distributor for the tablecloths. I have a party in five hours and no tablecloths.”