Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
“Will you eat eggs?”
She was too hungry to be difficult. “On occasion I do.”
“I can visit the coop.”
She winced. “You’re going to take them from actual hens, aren’t you?”
“That’s where eggs typically come from.”
“I prefer the ones that come from cartons in the grocery store.”
“Ah, yes, because those only come from mother cartons.”
“Exactly.”
“What if I put them in a bowl?”
She was being ridiculous, but if she overthought the source, she’d lose her appetite. Her stomach growled again, this time louder than before. “That’ll work.”
Christian went to visit the coop while she nosed around his kitchen, pulling supplies from his pantry. Nothing was labeled in the familiar fashion she recognized. Flour and sugar were stored in sacks and seasonings were kept in unmarked jars she had to sniff to identify. By the time she had the ingredients for French toast gathered, he was back with the eggs.
She frowned at the sad collection. “Did the mothers fuss?”
“No. We collect their eggs daily, so they don’t have a chance to get attached and broody.”
She still felt guilty. “Maybe we should just eat sandwiches.”
He picked up an egg and cracked it in the large bowl she’d set out. “Now, it would be a shame to waste such a sacrifice.”
She bit her lip. “We need four more.”
“Shut your eyes.”
She covered her eyes until the next three eggs were cracked, appreciating his willingness to do the dirty work. She was a total hypocrite, but he was polite enough not to say so.
“Do you have bread?”
He went to the Hoosier cupboard on the wall and pulled open a drawer with metal sides, removing a linen sack. “It’s a few days old.”
Pulling back the linen flap, she revealed an untouched loaf. “Did you make this?”
“A friend makes it for me.”
She took a step back, without touching it. She saw the friend in his mind. She was a beautiful young woman, one he held in high esteem. That was the second time she caught herself getting angry at the thought of him having any sort of intimacy with someone else, but she couldn’t help it.
“It’s only bread, Delilah.”
She’d remember that next time he got jealous over something silly. She took the loaf and grabbed a knife.
It never occurred to her how spoiled she was until she learned what a whopping pain in the butt slicing bread could be. Her slices were plump and crushed from trying to gently hold the loaf while sliding the blade of the knife. She had crumbs everywhere. “This is a fucking disaster.”
“That’s three, pintura.”
“Three?”
“Profanities.”
“Are you counting to a certain number or just doing an impression of Count von Count?”
“Who?”
“He’s a vampire puppet.”
He drew back, appearing appalled such a thing would exist. “This is something for children?”
“Yeah. He counts, thus his name—The Count.” For emphasis, she did an impression. “One, ah-ah-ah. Two, ah-ah-ah…” Realizing he wasn’t getting it, she grumbled. “My Transylvanian accent isn’t the best.”
“It’s not very life-like. I don’t understand the connection between vampires and arithmetic.”
“Well, you know, we try not to scare the children. Don’t want to desensitize them too soon. Biting and blood-sucking are a little too PG13 for the little ones.” Her mind instantly jumped to Jaden. “Speaking of which, when I visited the Hartzler’s, their baby brother wore a leather mask. They said he was teething, but isn’t that a bit extreme?”
He carried the eggshells to the rubbish bin. “I’m sure it’s just a case of colic.”
“Is that normal?”
He leaned into the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and smiled as he studied her.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
He shook his head, still grinning. “I enjoy this, chatting with you. It’s nice not to bicker for a change.”
She met his grin with a tentative one of her own. “It is nice.”
“To answer your question, I was the last baby in the Schrock line. That was a long time ago. In terms of child-rearing, normal is a fad.”
She considered how old he actually was as she whisked together the ingredients. “You’re really robbing the cradle with me.”
“I’ve always been a fan of veal.”
“Gross.” She dipped the bread into the batter and carefully laid each slice onto the skillet. “How hungry are you?”
His hands went to her hips, startling her. Sometimes he moved with such agility she didn’t hear him approach. He pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck. “Well, I just ate, so…”
She looked up at him from over her shoulder, recalling how good he looked and felt between her thighs. “Where do they mention that in the Bible?”
“Genesis,” he said all too quickly. “‘Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you.’” His hand slid between her thighs. “You are food for my soul.”
Her bare legs gave him easy access under the long shirt she stole from his drawer. His hand slipped easily between her folds and he cupped her suggestively. She sucked in a sharp breath and stilled when his finger sank inside.