Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“A fact he and Dad will never forgive me for,” I mutter.
“That’s not true. Does it make your father sad? It does, but he respects you, Ryder. He never misses a game that he can find and he brags to all the guys at Gun’s bar when your Arby’s rating is better than some of the guys in the majors.”
“My what?”
“Your Arby’s. You know that stat they keep showing whenever you make a home run.”
I frown, wondering what on earth she could be talking about. Is it some kind of baseball themed fast-food commercial they show during the game, and she gets confused. “Mom, I don’t know—”
“He swears you’re going to beat Babe Ruth’s record one day. Well, him or that Hank guy. He keeps telling them how the record is one hundred and ninety something in a season and his boy is getting closer and closer.”
“RBI’s,” I murmur when it hits me what she’s talking about.
“That’s what I said,” she responds, and we both know it’s not what she said, but I let it go with just my lips twitching. “Anyway, the point is, your father is very proud of you. You, my son, just hold grudges and never forget things that were said in the heat of an argument—another thing your brother does as well.”
“I don’t,” I start, but I rub the back of my neck, because she’s kind of right. There’s always a part of me that holds onto my father telling me that I’d never make it in baseball and the ranch life was a family operation. It was where my life was meant to be. Those words only got more vehement when I passed on the rodeo offers after winning a few local buckles.
“We both know you do. If you ever sat down and talked with your father, you might find that he’s not only mellowed on the subject but that he’s happy for you.”
“He hasn’t exactly made a beeline to talk with me either,” I point out. I look up at Mom when I feel her hand on my shoulder, her fingers sifting through the hair at my spine. I don’t have my hat on. I think it’s still at Tillie’s. I didn’t even think about it this morning. I was too fucking happy that I had Tillie and we were getting closer.
“I didn’t deny that the stubbornness you and your brother share, comes directly from your father. Maybe instead of being cool with him, you just be… Ryder.”
“I am always Ryder,” I mutter, “and I’m pretty damn cool.”
She slaps me softly against the head and I look up at her, smiling.
“Just try,” she whispers. “It will be your birthday present to me.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“Love you,” she adds.
“I love you, too,” I respond as the emotion moves over me.
“Damn it, Clara. Are you giving away my crumble cake?” Dad complains, stomping inside, dressed in his worn jeans, his brown Stetson, white T-shirt, and dusty cowboy boots. He’s every inch the American cowboy made famous in the movies, but better. Then again, I’ve never been a western movie fan.
“There’s plenty and you know it. If you give me that kiss you forgot this morning, I might just cut you a slice,” Mom laughs.
“I didn’t forget, honey. You were sleeping and you were up late last night reading. I didn’t want to wake you,” Dad responds. “I did kiss your forehead.”
“The day I’m too tired for my man to kiss me good morning is the day the good Lord should just call me away. I like your kisses. They make my day better.”
Dad smiles broad, his face going soft. I take in the moment the two of them are sharing. When they are looking at one another, I cease to exist in the room. I smile. That’s what I want. They’ve always been like this and that is exactly what I’ve always wanted in my life. Dad and Mom fell in love when they were both sixteen and it has lasted. I’ve never wanted anything more than that and I’m almost positive that’s why I tried so hard with Emily. I was young and stupid, but I loved her—or so I believed at the time. To me, that meant I needed to do whatever to make it work, because that’s what my parents did.
I grieved the fact that I wasn’t able to do that for way too long. Now, with Tillie, the need to have her, to make her mine, and to keep her is strong and more powerful than it ever was when I was young. The connection doesn’t feel exhausting or forced at times either and I’m starting to realize that there’s a very good chance that I confused love with the idea of it and a huge, healthy dose of lust.
I definitely want Tillie—more than I have ever wanted a woman. It’s not just sex, though. I’ve always felt this pull toward her. I tried to bury it, but it remained and refused to go away. Now, with just the taste of her that I’ve had, I can see her in my life. I can see us building a future together. I smile, I can even see us arguing over kisses and coffee cake.