Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
And the worst part of it all is, I’m almost eager to do it.
That’s my blessing and my curse. I was born into the wealthy and elite Stockton family, descended from ancient cattle barons, men and women that ruled the Texas plains. Now we’re stupidly rich and most of our business revolves around breeding and selling premium racehorse stock, but mostly we live off our investments. I grew up being told the Stockton name means more than my life itself, and in my case that’s very literal. Nobody knows who my father was, and my mother’s been an addict her whole life. I’ve grown up in this house, hated by everyone that matters and ignored by everyone else.
I should want to tell Grandfather to go to hell, but instead the idea of making him happy—of making him proud—of being useful for once in my life is extremely enticing.
I only wish I didn’t have to get married to do it.
“We will begin this weekend,” Grandfather says as he paces back to his chair and sits with a sigh. “You will meet your first potential husband. Be quiet, demure, obedient, and choose quickly and wisely. Do not embarrass me like your mother does, Katherine. You can be useful now, but if you ever become a true nuisance—” He doesn’t finish that sentence. I don’t need him to.
Grandfather would love an excuse to cut me off and send me packing.
It’s mortifying how badly that scares me.
I’ve never lived on my own. I don’t know how to wash a dish much less how to get a real job that isn’t at my family’s horse farm. Passing that vet tech course was the highlight of my life and it really was as brainlessly easy as possible.
The idea of living on my own makes me tremble worse than the thought of marrying a stranger.
“I’ll do my best, Grandfather,” I say and stand.
“Step up, Katherine. Do right by the family. Try to fix some of the damage your mother has done over the years.”
“Yes, Grandfather. I won’t let you down.” The words taste like vomit in my mouth as I spew them out.
He nods and waves a hand in dismissal. I turn and hurry out of the room and pause in the hallway, my heart racing, sweat beading under my arms. I feel sticky and gross and used, like Grandfather just held me under a microscope, pinned my arms and legs back like a butterfly, and used me for some sick science experiment. I’m nothing more than meat to him, a sack of walking and talking flesh that can be bought and sold at a whim, and I’m letting him get away with it.
I hate myself for being so passive and eager to please, and I hate him for taking advantage of it over and over again.
But I will do my duty. I’ve always done my duty, despite being asked to be twice as good as everyone else in my family, all because I have an unknown father and a junkie mother. Everyone’s always waiting for me to screw up somehow, and I’ve gotten to the point where I’m waiting too.
Maybe for once I can make my grandfather proud.
Except I doubt that’s possible.
Chapter 3
Ford
Grandpop walks with a pronounced limp and leans heavily on a walking stick. He’s in his mid-eighties and still does a three-mile hike through the Texas wilderness every morning, rain or shine, heat or freezing, though it’s mostly just heat. He pauses at the top of a rise, and we watch the sun spill up over the hills. I have to admit it’s a beautiful sight: gold grass waves in the morning breeze as red and orange light glimmers through the sky.
“I don’t know how many more of these I have left, Ford,” Grandpop says without looking at me.
I’m not sure how to answer so I say nothing. Better to let him enjoy than to ruin it, but I can tell Grandpop’s mind is elsewhere. He’s been quiet for the last few days, which isn’t like him. My cousins have been all over his ass, asking what’s the matter, doting on him like children, like he’s an invalid or something, and I can tell it’s been pissing him off. I kept my distance and waited, and now I’m rewarded with this.
A hike at the ass-crack of fucking dawn.
But I know it’s important or else he never would’ve brought me. Grandpop likes his hikes solo unless there’s something big on his mind.
“Come on,” he grunts and gets moving again, picking up the pace as we descend the hill and curve along a path that skirts a shallow valley. “I’ve been thinking about your father a lot, Ford. How long’s he been gone now?”
“Ten years,” I say and look at the scrub brush, remembering my father’s twisted and broken body lying at the bottom of the steps.