Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
He glances at me, one of those angry brows raised. “You’re an idiot for paying the prices you paid for all the shit you bought for the mutt,” he says slowly. “You could’ve gotten all that shit from the supermarket for half the price.”
“Oh. Well, the supermarket isn’t open right now, and he needed these things.”
“He needs a coat? Right now?” He glances over at my feet where the coat among Buddy’s other things sit.
“Yes. He might get cold.”
He looks at the temperature gauge in the car and then to me.
It’s currently sixty-five degrees.
“Fine. He won’t get cold right now. But he might get cold at some point.”
“He has fur, Red. That’s what it’s there for. And you do realize that you live in Texas.”
“Okay, so he might not need the coat, but it’s cute.” It’s pale blue with little pictures of doggie bones on it. “Anyway, it’s always good to have things just in case of emergency. You know, in case it rains when I’m out walking him. It does rain in Texas.”
“The coat is fleece.”
Fudge. He’s right.
“Fleece is waterproof.” Kind of. Okay, not at all.
“Sure it is.”
I can almost hear him rolling his eyes.
Such a smart-ass.
I refuse to admit he’s right, so I bite my lip and stay quiet.
But River doesn’t.
“I never told you my name.” His words are low and quiet.
“Huh?”
“You called me River before, in my garden. I never told you my name.”
No, you didn’t. You were too busy ignoring me and being rude to me to share that piece of information about yourself.
But, yet again, I don’t say what I’m thinking.
And, even though I’ve done nothing wrong, I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and my face heats. I stare down at Buddy and stroke his soft fur. “I work at the diner in town—Sadie’s Diner. The cook there, Guy, he heard that I was living next door to you, and he mentioned your name in passing. So, that’s how I know it.”
“In passing. Sure.” He laughs without humor.
“Is it a problem that I know your name?”
He doesn’t answer.
And it annoys me.
But I let my annoyance slide. I really don’t want to get into an argument with the guy at one thirty in the morning.
He pulls his truck up outside my house and turns off the engine. That surprises me. I expected him to park on his drive, and I would walk over.
“Thanks again for the ride,” I tell him. “Sorry to have kept you out so late.”
He shrugs.
I take that as my cue to leave.
Holding on to Buddy, I open the passenger door and climb out of the truck. I’m about to reach back in to get Buddy’s things from the floor of the truck when River appears out of nowhere. I didn’t even realize he’d gotten out of the truck. He picks up Buddy’s things and then shuts the passenger door.
“I got them,” he says gruffly.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I walk to my front door, River trailing behind me.
I honestly don’t get the guy. He acts like an asshole. Yet he drives me all the way into town to the vet at midnight and waits there with me for over an hour. Then, he drives me home. Parks outside my house. And is now carrying Buddy’s things in for me.
That’s not the act of an asshole.
Maybe River isn’t the complete asshole that he seems to be.
Getting my key, I unlock my front door and walk inside. I left the lights on, so it wouldn’t be dark, coming home.
I really don’t like walking into a dark room.
Buddy gives a little wriggle in my arms, so I put him down to the floor.
“Welcome to your new home, Buddy.” I watch him as he goes off, exploring the living room.
When I turn to River, I find him standing just inside the doorway, filling it out, watching me. Those dark brows of his are lowered over his eyes, concealing whatever is in them.
“Where do you want me to put this junk?” He lifts Buddy’s things in gesture.
I ignore the junk comment and say, “On the coffee table will be fine, thanks.”
I shut the door while River puts Buddy’s things on the table.
He looks huge in my small living room.
After he puts the items down, he pauses, staring at the fireplace. Then, he turns abruptly. “Are you pregnant?” His eyes drop to my flat stomach.
Ah, he saw my ultrasound picture.
“Yes, I am. Seven weeks—that’s why I’m not showing yet.” I press my hand to my stomach.
“Where’s the father?”
My lips part in surprise.
I stare at him—not wanting to answer, but unsure of what to say.
“I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s none of my business.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “No, it’s not.”
Surprise flickers in his expression along with what I think is admiration. But I can’t be sure with him.