Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 127527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 638(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 638(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
A picnic table was situated near the large grill that was currently covered with protective tarp. A few folded lawn chairs leaned against Saxon’s wagon beside his ax and a pile of wood that was intended for the firepit.
Often, Teague would find his clan gathered around the pit, but not this evening. Going by the music coming from Gideon’s wagon, he suspected they might be gathered inside. They weren’t really people who sought ‘alone time’.
Teague parked outside his own wagon and unmounted his bike. The dogs danced around his legs—well, all except for the eldest bloodhound, Hugo. That lazy fucker remained sprawled on the ground near one of the logs surrounding the pit. The canine lifted his head, spared Teague a brief look, and then settled again.
The other dogs were bundles of energy at all times. Moreso, Baxter and Reggie, who still acted like pups. Temperament wise, Dutch was more of a troublesome juvenile. Barron, the calmly assertive Alpha, somehow managed to keep the others in line.
Teague gave their heads quick pats, removed his protective gear, and then stowed said gear in his saddlebag. He looked up as a whistling Leo exited the neighboring wagon, his arm wrapped around several bottles of liquor.
Teague frowned. Leo liked a drink, especially whiskey. But he didn’t overindulge—they left that sort of thing to Gideon and Tucker. “Are we supposed to be celebrating something?”
His deep-brown gaze sliding to Teague, the lean male adjusted the position of the glasses he didn’t actually need to wear, since his vision was perfect. Leo believed that they made him look ‘distinguished’.
Why he wanted to look distinguished no one was actually sure. Just as they weren’t sure why he persisted in always dressing like a golfer—collared polo shirt, flat-front chinos, white socks, golf shoes, and a baseball cap to cover his short dark hair. Sometimes, he went the extra mile and wore one white glove as well.
“Gideon wants us all to have a few birthday drinks in his wagon,” said Leo, descending the wooden steps attached to his tiny porch.
Teague felt his frown deepen. “It’s not his birthday.”
“We’re gonna overlook that.” Leo ducked as a squawking raven swooped down low, aiming for his head. The bird sailed through the air and settled on a nearby tree branch beside one of its small flock. “Fucker,” he spat at it.
“You’ve been throwing wood chips at him again, haven’t you?”
“He keeps biting Dutch.”
“Who keeps pissing on his favorite tree. The three of you are caught up in some kind of revenge cycle, and I don’t know why you won’t admit that you like it.”
Leo smiled. “There are moments when it’s fun.” He tipped his chin toward Gideon’s wagon. “You coming?”
Why not? He had some news to share with the clan anyway. Teague nodded, turning toward his home. “Just give me a sec.”
The wooden steps creaked beneath Teague’s feet as he climbed them to reach his porch deck. It was small, but there was enough room that he’d been able to add a rocking chair. A chair he’d painted to match the deep burgundy color of the wagon’s exterior.
Gold carvings of birds, scrolls, leaves, horses, and wolves decorated the entire front of the wagon, including the glass-paned door and the arched crown boards above it. Similar carvings could be found on the sides and rear of the wagon.
He pulled open the door and then stepped inside. The gold carvings and burgundy paint continued here, running along the walls and curved ceiling. Moonlight beamed through the stained-glass window on his left, which sat above the kitchenette that was equipped with a small cast-iron cooking stove resting on a wooden fireplace.
Built-in cushioned seats ran along the opposite side of the wagon. Another bench had once been situated beside the fireplace, but he’d replaced it years ago with a small table and two dining chairs. Opposite those stood a tall, vintage, glass-fronted china cabinet.
The wagon might not be very spacious, but he had more storage than he knew what to do with. Small intricately carved cubby holes, lockers, and cupboards were built into several places—including high up on the walls, within the bench seat, and even between the wooden frames on the ceiling.
Teague stalked through the arched opening that led to the rear of the wagon. In the small bedroom there, he pulled out the thick wad of cash he’d won from a few well-placed bets at the stadium. The money he’d won from participating in the race would be wired directly into his bank account.
He stuffed the cash in the hidden compartment in his chest of drawers. The piece of furniture was made of the same mahogany wood as not only the slim wardrobe beside it but the frame of the double bed that sat beneath the rear stained-glass window.
Needing to answer a call of nature before heading out, he went into the small en suite bathroom. Once he’d done his business and washed his hands, he walked back into the—