Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I sighed and kicked the empty weed bucket across the gravel parking pad, accidentally scaring the chickens who’d snuck out of the yard since I’d pulled down the old chain-link fence. Even though I had the baby monitor clipped to my belt, I’d still had to rush into the house every ten minutes to make sure it wasn’t accidentally broken. Being a parent was no joke. My chore list was taking forever to get through, and at this rate I thought I might get in good enough shape to win custody of her right around the time she became a legal adult.
“Stop bitching and get back to work,” I told myself. “Parrish Partridge isn’t for the likes of you.”
As I began nailing fence pickets to the rails, I couldn’t help but slide back into thoughts of the pretty little man. He was adorably flustered and prim, and something about him made me want to pull him into my arms and protect him from the world.
As if I needed someone else to protect right now.
“You just want to fuck him,” I grumbled out loud. “It’s your lonely dick talking.”
One of the chickens squawked in response and tried to get in my face. I shooed her away from the box of nails she mistook for feed. “Get away, Brenda, this isn’t for you,” I muttered. She tossed her plume of white head feathers and strutted off in a snit.
My brain unhelpfully provided the memory of Parrish’s gentle touch with Marigold, the sweet sound of his singing to her, and the way he’d blushed to the tips of his ears when I’d caught him checking out my ink.
Memories of him helping me in the courthouse were quickly overridden by memories of the rich boys in high school calling me Reverend Rust and Deacon Dirt. They’d thought they were so fucking funny after they’d learned where I’d come from, that I’d stowed away on a wrecker that had brought me to the salvage yard, before Stix Yancey had found me and pulled me out of an old Chrysler chassis by my ear and turned me over to the aunts next door for safekeeping.
But this place had become my own version of home. Even after the aunts had cleaned me up and presented me to the courts to foster me, I’d escaped time and time again back to the salvage yard until Aunt Birdie, Aunt Dot, and Stix had come to some kind of agreement. I’d started working for Stix on the up-and-up, hauling shit and sorting parts, cataloging inventory until I suddenly understood how to run the whole damned place. Which, I guess, had been their point all along since Stix was gone not two years later from lung fucking cancer.
This was never going to work. Any judge in the world would be stupid to award me custody of a baby. I was uneducated, unsuccessful, unpopular, unpolished, and probably lots of other un’s too. Case in point: Parrish didn’t even stop to decline my request before getting the hell out of Dodge. Hell, I’d probably scared him with all of my grunting, and… had I told the man I slept around? Did that actually happen?
I whacked my hammer into my thumb and bit back a shout. Even though Marigold was far away from me, tucked inside the house, I wasn’t taking any damned chances. I needed her to sleep or I was never going to make this place presentable for the caseworker’s inspection.
Add uncoordinated to the list of un’s.
This time, I tried again to focus on the task at hand. After three more pickets, I heard the familiar crunch of gravel indicating someone turning into my driveway. I stopped hammering and turned to see who it was. When I spotted the dusty Mustang from yesterday, my heart did a little stutter. Maybe this would be my chance to apologize to Parrish for being a raving lunatic yesterday.
I tossed the hammer at the toolbox and stood up, trying to smack the dirt and dust off my work pants as if that would make me more presentable. Putting me next to someone like Parrish was like setting a homegrown turnip on a plate next to sushi.
My insecurities all reared their ugly heads at once, and I found myself crossing my arms in front of my chest and tightening my jaw against the desire to start apologizing for being dirty and sweaty.
When Parrish stepped out of the car, I noticed he looked nervous and flustered which seemed to be his default state when he was around me. I was used to people being nervous around me with my tall, muscular frame and heavily inked skin, but seeing Parrish nervous around me was a kick in the teeth. For some reason, I wanted him to like me, as ridiculous and immature as that sounded.