Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
He took a few steps in and stopped, opening his mouth as though to respond to what I said, but then shutting it again. He gave his head a small shake and took another step forward. “I have something to show you that I think you’ll like.”
I squinted, as I walked toward him. “My uncles warned me about lines like that.”
He laughed as he took my hand in his and led me from the barn. “As they should have. In this case though, you’re probably safe.” He winked at me and champagne bubbles fizzled between my ribs.
I shot him a grin, gripping his hand back and then practically jogging to keep up with him as he pulled me along. “Wait until you see,” he said. “In here.”
He brought me inside what must have been a tack room once at the back of the barn. If there had been a door that led straight from the barn at one point, it’d since been covered. Instead of animal equipment, however, there were built-in potting tables that held all manner of plants from seedlings to greenery trailing halfway to the floor. There were bags of potting soil sitting here and there, and on the back wall was a…cat tree? Gage shot me another smile as he led me to it. It looked homemade, and fit perfectly in the space, with several ledges, the first of which—interestingly—was quite close to the floor.
When he’d called and asked me to meet him here, I figured it had to do with the baby raccoons because, what else? I thought he’d found a friend with an incubator, who maybe knew what milk to feed the babies from an eyedropper. I wondered if he’d brought them here because the Hales had room in which to house a cage with orphaned babies inside. But when Gage let go of my hand and I stepped up to the cat tree and went up on my tiptoes to peer into the box on one of the higher ledges, I pulled in a shocked breath.
It was a cat, feeding her two orange kittens, and also…the tiny raccoons. “Oh my God,” I breathed. The mama cat was purring loudly, obviously unfazed at having recently added two young family members of a different species. I stared, taking in the scene, tears welling in my eyes. This cat had accepted these tiny creatures because they needed her, and she could. “How did you do it?” I asked Gage as I lifted my hand and ran a finger over the cat’s head.
“I didn’t do anything except think of it,” he said. “It was up to Clawdia, and thankfully she agreed.”
“Thank you, Clawdia,” I whispered, scratching her under her chin as her purrs increased in volume.
I turned to Gage. “Thank you.” I hoped he saw the depth of my gratitude in my eyes. I’d been heartbroken at having been involved in leaving two innocent creatures motherless, and though there was no way to bring her back, Gage had done the next best thing and found another mother to care for them.
And he’d done it for me.
I somehow knew in my heart that even though Gage was kind and considerate, he wouldn’t have necessarily gone to these lengths if I hadn’t been so distraught.
“You’re welcome,” he said. Our eyes lingered, and I wanted to kiss him so badly it was a physical ache. I wanted him, his body and his heart. But I could have neither and so I leaned forward, wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight.
We stayed and watched the cats and the racoons for a little bit longer, the scene bringing me both joy and peace. But after a little bit, Clawdia closed her eyes, and we left the small, blended family to sleep.
When we left the room, the sun had dipped lower, the sky now a mixture of pale orange and twilight blue. Fireflies danced through the sweetened air, and for a moment, the world felt lovelier than it’d ever been.
“I do love a good sunset,” I said. “My mom was right about this place offering beautiful ones. They’re glorious.”
I looked around, taking in the row of parked pull wagons that held baskets. The paths through the trees were well-worn and I could picture families strolling and collecting fruit, laughing and making family memories before going home and baking pies, or making jam, or perhaps sharing their bounty with neighbors. “Is it okay that we’re here after-hours?”
“Yeah,” Gage said. “Travis said we could stay as long as we wanted and just asked that I close the barn door before we leave.”
I turned and squinted into the lingering line of fading orange along the horizon over the lake. “It’s so tranquil here,” I said. “I hope I can find this kind of peace someday.”
I felt Gage’s gaze hanging heavy on me for a moment and then he walked in front of me, over to a bench that was inscribed with something. Gage sat down, and I read the inscription out loud, “Dedicated to Connor Hale.” I sat down next to Gage. Hale. That must have been Travis’s father or grandfather.