Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
We both stared at the once-proud Harley, now completely caked in reddish gook and filth.
“It’s red,” he said with a startled laugh. “Huh. I wasn’t sure to what to expect, but I’d pictured it either burned up or like normal. Wonder if that shit comes off.”
“It was insured, right?”
“Yup,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Your car’s in rough shape, too.”
I looked past the bike to see my Mustang. Sure enough, it was coated in the same stuff.
“We’re lucky,” I said, thinking of Darren and Carrie’s place. Gage pulled to a stop, and I hopped out, walking slowly across the crusted lawn. The front door was open, which seemed strange. I’d been almost certain I locked it when we left. Then I walked into the living room, looking around.
“Doesn’t seem like anything’s been damaged.”
“Check that out,” Gage said. I followed his gaze to see boot prints trailing through the dining room to the kitchen. Following them, I found six empty boxes of caramels on the counter, along with a note written on a paper towel.
The kitchen door was open, and we needed a place to rest for a while. We also ate your caramels and slept in your beds. We’ve been fighting the fire for nearly twenty-four hours, including four hours soaking the back of your building and the others in the neighborhood to save them. Hope you don’t mind.
It was signed Frank and Steve Browning.
“Wow,” I said, handing it over to Gage, who raised his brows.
“You know who they are?”
“No clue,” I said. “Although I’ll try to find out. I think I owe them more than caramels.”
Gage laughed.
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
I sighed. “We got really lucky here.”
He looked at me, nodding. “We did.”
“Gonna be a lot of work cleaning all this up,” I continued.
“You still on the fence about staying in Hallies Falls?” he asked, his voice serious. I shook my head.
“No, I want to be here,” I said, and it was the truth. “I didn’t realize how much I loved it until I almost lost it. I know it’s a small, weird town where everyone gossips . . . but it’s also the kind of place where two men will fight night and day to save a stranger’s home.”
Gage nodded slowly, his face thoughtful.
“You’ll need some help fixing things back up,” he said.
“You offering?” I asked jokingly, although I couldn’t look at him when I said it. What if he said no?
“Maybe,” he replied, his face serious. “Not in that apartment, though. I’d like somewhere more comfortable. You know, with space to stretch out. Maybe a house.”
“You could stay here with me.”
“And your dad?”
I shrugged, because at the end of the day, we were a package deal. “Guess that depends on what they have to say about his medication.”
“And whether Mary’s ready to give him up,” Gage said, cocking a brow. “You know, before all the fires, we were looking at maybe closing down the Nighthawks and starting a Reapers chapter in town. I’d be running the show. Could use an old lady to help me.”
Walking over to him, I wrapped my arms around his waist.
“Old?” I asked. “I thought you liked younger women.”
“I like you,” he said, digging his fingers into my hair for a kiss. I was just sinking into it when a sudden, random thought filled my head and I jerked away.
“The car!” I said, eyes wide. Gage cocked a brow.
“What about it?”
“Carrie and Darren’s place burned down,” I told him, breathless. “But when I picked up the girls, I filled a bag full of their stuff. You know, jewelry and pictures and their laptop. Then I shoved it all in the trunk of the car. I need to check and see if it’s still there—maybe they didn’t lose everything after all!”
Pulling away from him, I ran out the door like a shot, headed for my Mustang. Then I skidded to a stop, because I had no fucking clue where I’d left the keys. Thinking frantically, I tried to remember those last few, panicked moments when we’d been running for the truck.
Had I left them in the ignition?
Pulling my sleeve up and over my hand, I wiped at the ash and fire retardant covering the window, and peered inside. Sure enough, there they were. Seconds later I had the trunk open, looking down triumphantly to see the bag of Carrie’s treasures. Whipping out my phone, I called her.
“Tinker?” she said, sounding defeated and exhausted. “How is your place?”
“I think we’re all right,” I told her, feeling strangely guilty for my good luck. “Darren sent me the pictures of your house, though.”
“It’s all gone,” she said. “There were a few boxes in the garage, but nothing that really mattered. I know it’s silly to be so upset over losing our things—it’s just stuff—but right now I feel sick.”