Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Griffen laughed. "You're right. They're in the honeymoon phase. There's no arguing good sense with all those hormones flooding her brain."
Scarlett leaned in to whisper to Hope, "You should have seen them in the hall. I thought they were going to set the wallpaper on fire."
"Ooh, tell me more—"
Griffen pulled Hope into his lap. "Why don't we stop talking about my baby sister kissing some guy, get rid of these two, and go back to what we were doing before they barged in?"
I got to my feet and took Scarlett's hand, tugging her toward the door. "I believe we had plans involving a door with locks?" I loved the way her cheeks went pink at being teased in front of Griffen and Hope.
Scarlett on my mind, I forgot all about Forrest Powell. In retrospect, I wish I hadn't.
In the end, I'm not sure it would have made a difference.
All around us, unseen forces were moving toward each other on a collision course. One we wouldn't see coming until it was far too late to stop the explosion.
Chapter Forty-Two
SCARLETT
Boom! My ears rang from the concussion, the sparkling crackle of the fireworks popping against my senses, my eyes dazzled by the splash of color where the stars should be. Fourth of July fireworks lit the night sky above the Inn and we had a front-row seat. Tenn and Royal had gone all out, transforming Tenn's office into a party room complete with a picnic and champagne.
The penthouse had the best view, but the Inn at Sawyers Bend was sold out for the holiday, the grounds below packed with guests and locals who'd bought the Fireworks Package; An elegant picnic dinner and reserved lounge chair, complete with pre-toasted s’mores.
We'd gone a little crazy with our own picnic, and I'd had a few too many glasses of champagne. Enough that my smile stretched my cheeks and the fireworks set off matching sparkles in my giddy brain. August and Thatcher had plowed their way through most of our picnic basket as well as the Fourth-of-July-themed cookies and other treats the staff had sent up. I made a half-hearted attempt to grab yet another cookie out of August's hand only for him to evade me and jam the cookie in his mouth, crumbs flying everywhere.
"Housekeeping is going to cry when they see what we did to your office," I murmured to Tenn.
He tightened his arm around me, dropping his mouth to graze the side of my neck. "They'll survive. It's not that bad."
A hitching gurgle sounded in the corner of the room. One cookie too many for poor August. "Thatcher!" I cried out, seeing my oldest was closer to August than we were. He jolted into action, grabbing Tenn's trashcan and shoving it at August.
Too late. Damn. So much for our picnic and fireworks. August raised his head, his face and t-shirt splattered with vomit, matching the mess he'd left on his sneakers and Tenn's carpet. Pulling away from Tenn, I crossed the room to my little guy.
"Come on, babe, let's get you to the bathroom." Over my shoulder, I said to Tenn, "Had enough of the Hall family throwing up on you?"
"Hey, August didn't puke on me, just my carpet." He winked at August, whose head hung as he rubbed his roiling tummy. "Want a ginger ale, buddy?"
August nodded, swallowing hard. "Mom, I think I'm not done—"
"I know kiddo." I ushered him into the bathroom just in time for him to lose the rest of his dinner in the toilet. At least he missed the floor.
Tenn stuck his head through the door. "He okay?"
My heart squeezed when August lifted a shaky thumbs-up, turning his head to look at Tenn. "Sometimes, when I eat too much junk, I puke."
"Me too, August." To me, Tenn added, "If you want to throw him in the shower, I'll get something from the shop for him to wear. And a ginger ale."
"Thanks, Tenn."
"I've got you guys." He was gone, and August's next heave had me rubbing his back and murmuring meaningless words of comfort.
I should have been watching him more closely. This hadn't happened in a while, but I knew better than to let August have free run of junk food. A quick glance told me Thatcher wasn't having any such problem. He stood in front of the big window, riveted by the fireworks, shoving yet another sandwich into his mouth. I couldn't believe how much food the kid could pack away.
When August was sure he was finished throwing up, he let me strip him of his puke-covered clothes and push him into the shower. Thank God for Tenn and Royal's early morning runs, necessitating a private shower in their office bathroom. With all the guest rooms—and their showers—occupied, we would not have enjoyed driving home with August smelling of puke. Yuck.