Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 97836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
That last bit had the ring of truth to it, and seeing him squirm didn’t seem funny anymore—not when it wasn’t our sham marriage but his very real sexual identity he was trying to explain to the town.
I wanted to grab Waylon and rush him out of there to someplace private. Fly us both away on my plane to an isolated island where he could take a break from everyone’s opinions and the town’s demands on his time and attention.
“That’s cool, then. I just want you to know I’m happy for you,” the man continued with a genuine smile. “When I tell Cara, she’s going to insist on having a barbecue or something to celebrate. You up for it?”
Way gave him a big friendly smile, the kind that would fool most people. Something about it tweaked my gut, though, as if there were only so many more of those golden-boy smiles he could afford to toss out before completely losing his mind.
“Course I’m up for it. But tell her we can celebrate her contract renewal at the school instead. Thanks to her hard work with the school board, we got the budget squared away just in the nick of time.”
The two of them bantered a bit more before the man took his leave with a friendly nod and “nice to meet ya” toward me. Once he was gone, Way’s shoulders slumped a little, but as soon as the next person stopped by our table, they straightened up again.
“Hey, Judge Whiteplume.”
The older man had long, shiny black hair, olive skin, and eyes that seemed to be permanently squinted from either being in the sun or laughing. “Mayor Fletcher. It seems congratulations are in order. I didn’t know you were seeing anyone. Might you introduce me to your husband?”
Way took a breath. “Sure. Silas, this is Kush Whiteplume. He’s our local judge and has been a tremendous help to me in my job. Judge Whiteplume, this Silas Concannon. My… husband.”
I reached out a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you. Way’s mentioned you,” I fudged. It was true. He’d mentioned the judge’s clerk had loose lips, but the judge himself could be trusted to be discreet.
“Welcome to Majestic, Silas. You couldn’t have picked a better man. Waylon Fletcher is one of the most upright people I know, and everything that’s good about our town.” His eyes narrowed at me. “I hope you don’t have plans to take him away from us.”
“No, sir,” I said, speaking truthfully. “I would never presume to take him away from here. He obviously loves Majestic.”
Way’s aunt stepped over. “And Majestic loves him. You probably already know this, but Waylon holds the record for being voted Mr. Majestic eleven years in a—”
Way flapped his hand in the air, frantically interrupting her. “Now, now, no need for any of that. Silas doesn’t need to hear more town gossip. But thanks for your kind words, Judge, and I’ll see you and Foster tomorrow morning to go over the crowd permits we discussed.”
He nodded and smiled before murmuring good wishes again and disappearing. Way’s aunt beamed at us before sighing happily and heading toward the kitchen.
Sheridan appeared with our lunch. After setting down both plates filled to the brim with food, she gave a soft squeeze to her brother’s shoulder, which seemed to relax him.
“Hope you like it,” he muttered after she walked away. “No wrap is worth what you’ve had to pay for it so far.”
I reached over and took his hand again. His eyes snapped up to mine in surprise, but he didn’t pull his hand from my grip, even though I could sense several pairs of eyes on our joined hands. “It’s okay,” I said softly before raising my voice back to normal. “I like chicken wraps, and this one looks amazing.”
It was amazing. We spent the next several minutes busily inhaling every scrap of food on the table. As Way ate, I remembered he was a horse rancher in addition to his job here in town. The way he inhaled his lunch made it clear his metabolism was running at top speed. I’d seen his defined ab muscles and remembered clearly the strength of his ass and thighs on the dance floor. There wasn’t a scrap of fat on his body, and if he could eat lunch like this every day, it must mean he worked his ass off on the ranch when he wasn’t stuck in the office.
I thought about all the people who’d come up to him, all the people who seemed to orbit around him. He reminded me of my sister the way he attracted attention as a leader, as a do-er.
Camille had taken a personality test once in college that had identified this trait as being an “activator,” which meant she energetically moved people and projects forward. We shared that trait in common, but her personality carried altruistic and philanthropic aspects the way Way’s seemed to, while mine seemed more inclined toward corporate achievement.