Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
When we pull into the driveway, Pauline twists her head to glance back at me. “I’ll have Micah bring you something to eat in your room.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat and continue to hydrate, so he’ll bring you something, and I’ll check on you later.”
“I can eat in the kitchen.”
“I think it’s best if you stay in your room. Jolene and Milo are having a small gathering to open their wedding gifts tonight.”
“And this is all happening in the kitchen?”
“Indiana …” Fletcher glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Go inside. Go to your room. I don’t want to hear another word out of you today.”
I climb out of the truck and make my way to the front door, ripping off the taped gauze from my arm where they placed my IV. Opening the front door, I’m met with a moment of déjà vu, only this time I’m at the door and Milo’s standing at the top of the stairs.
He doesn’t hesitate before descending them.
“Oh, Indiana, you’re home.” Jolene appears just behind him. “We were just heading out to—” Her words die harder than shooting a horse between the eyes.
Milo hugs me.
I don’t move. I’m not sure this is happening. It might be a dream.
“Indie …” he whispers.
“Indiana, you need to rest. Go,” Fletcher says behind me as he and Pauline walk in to see what’s happening.
I’d go to my room, but Milo’s holding me too tightly. I couldn’t break free if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.
A thick silence settles in the foyer. Our onlookers are at a loss for words.
In Milo’s time, not anyone else’s, he releases me. Concern lines his face, but he remains quiet.
Jolene steps between us. “So glad you’re okay, Indie.” She hugs me, but it’s not the same. “I certainly hope you get the help you need.”
I push away from her. “For what?”
Jolene eyes Pauline and Fletcher before returning her attention to me. “Indie, you tried to take your own life. You need help.”
“I had too much to drink. I didn’t—”
“Too much to drink involves a little vomiting and a headache. You had alcohol poisoning. You tried to drink yourself to death,” Jolene frowns; it’s condescending.
I look past her to Milo, but I can’t read his expression. Does he think I tried to kill myself? Is that why he hugged me the way he did despite our audience?
“Let’s go, Milo.” Jolene sidesteps me and takes his hand, pulling him toward the doorway.
“Everyone will be here in two hours; don’t be late, you two,” Pauline says with a much cheerier tone than she uses with me.
“We won’t. We just need a little alone time. We’ll be in the barn.”
I head toward the stairs. I’m done listening to Jolene. She doesn’t want alone time with Milo; she wants revenge. And I did this. Maybe she never had any intention of having sex with him, but after the things I said to her yesterday, I’m sure she will do whatever it takes to claim what she thinks is hers.
Micah brings me food. I don’t eat it. And nobody checks on me.
Hours later, I hear laughter from the main level, so I sneak down the stairs and listen.
“It’s perfect,” Jolene gushes. “Not that I plan on cooking. We’ll hire that out, but it’s a lovely Dutch oven.”
“Maybe Milo knows how to cook,” someone else says. I don’t recognize the voice.
“I’ve never asked. Do you cook, Milo?” Jolene asks.
She doesn’t know if her husband can cook. She knows nothing about him.
“Depends what you call cooking,” he says, and it draws a round of laughter.
I can’t see his face, but he doesn’t sound miserable or excited. Milo is adaptable. He’s a survivor.
Leaning against the railing, I sit sideways and pull my knees to my chest, listening to people I don’t know and people I wish I’d never met. Milo doesn’t say much … until now.
“I’m going to grab a water from the kitchen. Can I get anyone else anything?” he asks.
“Milo, honey … we have people to do that,” Jolene says.
“I need to stretch my legs.”
“I’ll take more champagne,” Pauline says. “Thanks, Milo.”
Down the wide hallway, Milo crosses from the living room toward the kitchen. At the last second, his head turns in my direction.
My heart wakes up, beating harder, as it always does when he looks at me.
Milo glances over his shoulder toward the roomful of guests and then back to me. He jerks his head once before continuing to the kitchen.
I tiptoe toward the back entrance to the kitchen, a small hallway with a half bath on one side and Ruthie’s sewing room on the opposite side. Milo converses with some of the staff. Then … he turns the corner, and it’s just us.
My out-of-control heart makes it hard to hear past its thundering beat. Milo eyes the bathroom; then his gaze slides to the sewing room. Again he jerks his head. I step inside, and he follows me, quietly closing the door behind us.