Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 104919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
But it didn’t come. That expertly hid disappointment he’d been expecting, he’d been bracing for. His grandmother was wearing it, right on her face. She liked Anastasia. More importantly, she respected her.
It made him happy—then pissed him right off. Because Anastasia wasn’t his. And he’d never be able to measure up to this, once he finally did bring someone home.
Something in his chest pricked at the thought of that, at another woman meeting his family, telling some story of how they met. It didn’t feel right. No one would be able to replicate the night they’d had last night.
“Me and Anastasia,” he said, looking up. “It’s not...” he trailed off. He couldn’t tell his grandmother, whom he’d never lied to in his life, that this was all a sham. Mostly because it would put her in danger, but also because he couldn’t do that to her. “It’s not all what it seems,” he finished.
His grandmother grinned. “Of course not. I’d be disappointed if it was.”
“Well, hello cowboy,” I said, making sure to sound sarcastic and cruel. It took effort, considering he wore the shit out of that cowboy hat.
Most of the men at the ranch did.
Obviously, Duke’s father and brother had the same macho-men genes, so they looked the part in theirs. And the ranch hands, the same. They only had a handful, which I understood was unusual for a ranch this size. But what the fuck did I know?
Mostly they were older, grisly, graying and handsome as all hell. There was one young boy, barely able to shave and unable to put his eyes back into his head at seeing me. That was, until Tanner smacked him over the head and murmured something in his ear. Then, the rest of the morning, the men studiously made sure not to stare too long or act like I was a famous actress.
Nor did Andrew or Anna. They didn’t treat me like they were trying to impress me. Or get something from me. They treated me like I was Duke’s woman. With respect. I did know they were somewhat surprised that I could ride, and could do it well. They were impressed.
I liked that, being able to keep up with real-life ranchers.
I was only able to do so because it was a real-life rancher that trained me how to ride. That was after various arguments with my agent, my director, and head of the studio, who did not want the liability of their lead actress falling off a horse and suing them.
As I was known to do, I threw a hissy fit and got my way.
Which I regretted after my first lesson with my rancher. He was an old man with a hell of a moustache and an attitude to match. He made it clear he was only there for the paycheck, and the added bonus of watching me fail. He trained me hard, without sympathy, and with a healthy dose of dislike.
It was the only way a woman like me could be trained, to prove a man wrong.
And I did—after breaking my wrist, dislocating my shoulder, and putting the movie behind by three months. The studio would’ve been pissed off, had the movie not done so freaking well, with the publicity of my fall only helping the movie earn top spot at the box office.
I still sent Kyle—my trainer—an email here and there. Sometimes he returned them, other times not.
That I’d earned the accolades for my horsemanship seemed like an important thing at the time. But this, out here under the country sky, breathing in the dirt, and herding cattle with men that were real men—that meant more.
A lot more.
I would’ve stayed out for much longer, despite the ache in my thighs and my protesting ass, but Tanner decided to bring me back.
“Before Duke skins me alive for stealing away his woman,” he said with a grin.
I did my best to grin back and not tell him his brother would most likely thank him. Instead I asked him a question. “Why aren’t you married?”
He looked sufficiently taken aback. And I should’ve stopped there. It wasn’t my place to ask and I never usually wanted to know such details about people. I did small talk for appearances only. But I wanted to know this. The past of this man, the empty ring finger, the reason behind the hardness in his eyes when he looked at his brother.
“I mean, you’re a nice guy,” I continued, unable to stop myself. “Easy on the eyes. Got a good family. That counts for a lot most places, except Hollywood of course, where your family only matters if they own a studio or an island in the Caribbean,” I said. “But here, in the country, I’m thinking there is a shortage of men, and women aren’t stupid—if your mother and grandmother are anything to go by. Smart women usually find good men. Hold on to them.”