Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
I never dated in high school. Papa was determined that I would get out of this place, that I would leave Courage County in my rearview mirror. It would be the town I returned to only for the occasional family reunion.
At the time, I didn’t understand. But after he and mama passed, I found their marriage certificate. They were married and six months later, I was born. She had dreams, big dreams of leaving our town.
I guess he always felt like he held her back and he was determined that wouldn’t happen to me. If only he could see me now, about to marry a man I don’t love to save our family’s legacy.
I take my time washing Striker’s hair, making sure to lather up the shampoo. He practically purrs as I massage his scalp. But the sound doesn’t remind me of a tame, domesticated house cat. No, this is the purr of something wild and untamed, a savage lion with a hungry glint in his eye.
When I’ve finished rinsing the shampoo, I direct Striker to a new chair for his cut. “Just a trim?” I confirm.
He reaches for my wrist, wrapping his big fingers around mine. I’ve never thought of myself as a small girl, but his touch makes me feel delicate and little and protected. Warmth wraps around me. I haven’t felt protected since the day I got the news my parents passed away and that I’m alone in the world except for my little brothers.
When he speaks, his voice is deep and gravelly. As if he hasn’t spoken aloud to anyone in months. “Even. Make it perfectly even.”
I nod and he finally releases my wrist. I rub the spot where his fingers were, feeling branded there. I take extra care to make sure that his beard and hair are both cut evenly.
Soon as I’m done, he’s gathering it in another ponytail and putting on his Stetson. He pays for the cut and shampoo. He tips me too much, a hundred dollars over what he should.
I try to give it back to him, the familiar Whitlock pride bubbling up inside of me. “Whitlocks don’t take charity.”
He squints at me. At least, I think he does. It’s hard to see under the brim of his black Stetson. I miss seeing those sparkling dark eyes raking over me.
“Seems like an after-hours cut. Means a rush fee.” Striker ignores my protests and says, “Don’t marry Tristan. You’ll regret it.”
Then he’s gone, disappearing from the barbershop and leaving me to wonder about this grumpy cowboy who’s never spoken to me before tonight.
2
STRIKER
She’s dead on her feet. She has to be, but I’ve never once seen her complain. The woman has a spine of steel which only makes me admire her more. Her daddy and mama died over the summer. Damn fools tried to cross one of the creeks around here during a thunderstorm. Least, they didn’t have them little ones with them. Small mercies, I suppose. Hard to feel that way when you’re standing at a grave site though.
I wait in my truck for her to leave the shop. I can still feel her fingers in my hair, her hot breath on my neck and her cute little tits pushed against me. Thank fuck she put that cape on me before she started the haircut. Otherwise, I’d scare away my precious pearl.
It’s strange to me. I’ve lived in this town all my life. Born and raised here, same as Maisy. But I didn’t notice her until after her parents passed. Course that must have been because she left a tiny slip of a teenage thing and returned a woman with juicy curves and a breathy voice that shoots straight to my cock.
I watch her close the place. She’s singing under her breath, dancing her way across the floor as she sweeps. She does this every night, a fact I know because I’m always here. Watching over her from the shadows.
She’s making a mistake by marrying Tristan. He’s a low-life, one of them pretty boys that knows it. He’ll cheat on her first chance he gets. Can’t figure out what she’d see in him. Maisy don’t seem like the type of woman to judge based on appearance or rumors. Least if the way she looks at me is any indication.
She finally emerges from the shop, locking up and pulling her thin jacket closer to her shoulders. She hurries to her truck and starts down Main Street.
I follow behind her, always making sure she gets home safe. She’s a smart girl and she’d be fine on her own. She doesn’t need me to protect her but that’s the thing about it. I want to protect her. Hell, I want more than that. I want to own her, to possess her, to be the only one who knows her the way a man knows his woman.