Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 81407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Including my body.
Including me, God help me.
I missed the furious lovemaking, but I was also enjoying this side of Rock. He seemed more real to me, and I liked it.
I liked it a lot.
I took a seat at the small oak table in the kitchen and inhaled again.
“Ready?” he asked. He handed me a plate of what appeared to be a breakfast casserole.
“Hash browns and bacon topped with two eggs over easy and green chile.”
“It looks amazing,” I said, “but I’ll never be able to eat all of this.”
“Sure you will, once you see how good it tastes.”
I laughed and brought a forkful to my mouth. It was indeed delicious, but a little spicier than I had anticipated. I took a sip of coffee.
“Best chile in Montana,” he said.
“Where’d you learn to make it?”
He looked at his plate. “Nieves, actually.”
Did he expect me to react? I’d show him. “Well, she must come from a line of good cooks.”
“True. Just because she’s a pain in the ass doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy her chile.”
I tried to ignore the stab of jealousy. Nieves wasn’t here. I was, and Rock had made it clear which one of us he preferred. I could have done without him mentioning her, though I was the one who’d asked about the chile.
And Rock was right. Before I knew it, I’d gobbled up the whole plateful.
He laughed. “Told you.”
“It was amazing. You’ll have to give me that recipe.”
“Good luck finding chile peppers like that in New York.”
Did that mean he wasn’t going to give me the recipe? I wasn’t getting a good read on Rock at all this morning. Then again, when had I ever? The only time I’d ever read him accurately was when we were having sex, and that hadn’t occurred yet, which was in itself really weird.
Rock finished his plate and took the dishes to the sink. “I need to shower, and then we’ll be off. Jeans today for sure, and long sleeves if you don’t want to get sunburned. And no open-toed shoes.”
I dropped my mouth open. “That’s all I brought.”
“We’re going riding, Lace.”
“You didn’t tell me I needed anything special.”
“I assumed you knew.”
“Why would you assume that? I’ve never been riding in my life.”
“For Christ’s sake!” He raked his fingers through his hair. “We’ll stop at the Harley shop and get you what you need.”
I sighed. This weekend wasn’t turning out at all as I’d imagined.
When Rock’s phone buzzed, and he narrowed his eyes and left the room to speak privately, I felt it get a little worse.
41
Rock
“Any news?” I asked Reid.
“Not about Riley, no. I’m calling about something else.”
“What?”
Silence on the other end. I counted to ten.
“For God’s sake, Reid. What?”
“That detective is sniffing around. He called me at home this morning, at six fucking a.m.”
“So?”
“He has questions,” he said, “about Roy.”
“Roy? What about him?”
“I have no idea.”
“Shit. I told you I shouldn’t have left town.”
“I know. You were right. But we had no idea this guy would be in my face this morning. Has he called you?”
“Not that I know of.” I took a quick look at my phone. “No, I don’t see any missed calls.”
“He’ll get to you eventually. I told him you were out of town until Tuesday.”
I cleared my throat, thinking. “Do you think Roy is hiding something?”
“I don’t know. He’s really hard to read. Always has been.”
“Agreed, but I’ve been gone for so long anyway, I wouldn’t know how to read any of you. I did get the feeling, though, that he was hiding something the other night in the bar. What was the guy asking you about him?”
“Mostly about his mental state. Weird shit, like had he ever had any psychotic tendencies.”
Roy? Psychotic? “Seems pretty far off.”
“I know. Roy’s an introvert for sure, but psychotic? Not in this lifetime. Also, he was asking me about Roy’s art. He seems to think some of his paintings show signs of psychosis.”
“I’m no art expert, but I think the detective is the one who’s psychotic.”
Reid chuckled but then said, “This isn’t a laughing matter, Rock.”
“Then why are you laughing? And as far as Roy’s art goes, I haven’t seen any of it. I assume you have. Do you think it’s psychotic?”
“No. But I’m no art expert, either. He does a lot of portraits, but he also does abstracts. Some of it is pretty dark, but some isn’t.”
“I’m not sure this detective has a clue,” I said. “I do think Roy knows something—something he wanted to tell us at the bar the other night. But our brother is no psycho. That’s a term reserved for the bastard who fathered us.”
“You think Dad was a psycho? I don’t know, Rock. He was an asshole for sure, but I don’t think you could call him psychotic.”
Of course Reid didn’t. He didn’t know what he’d done to our sister. Did that make him psychotic? Probably not. Sociopathic, for sure.