Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Now, my heart is thudding for completely different reasons.
I have no business doing this. I know it. My family is going to freak the fuck out at me. My dad may never speak to me again. Marrying Holden Lexington? Oh, hell no. My father has held on tightly to that feud, and there’s going to be hell to pay when I get home.
It already makes me sad.
The girls will want to know details, and they’ll be happy for me. They’re my ride-or-dies. My best friends.
But my brothers?
Oh, they’ll for sure try to kill Holden where he stands, so we might want to show up armed.
I smooth my hands down the skirt of my white dress. It’s not fancy at all. I bought it to wear to a BBQ last summer, so it has thin straps, a ruffled skirt that hits me right at the knee, and it’s comfortable. I paired it with a denim jacket and some brown cowboy boots.
It doesn’t look like I’m going for a bridal look, but even though this is a sham wedding, it is our wedding. It just felt right to wear white, especially since I have no intention of ever getting married again.
Holden’s in a nice pair of dark jeans with black boots and a blue button-down shirt that’s rolled up his forearms, and I saw him tuck his nice Stetson in the back seat.
I have to admit, it’s nice that he dressed up a little. At least he’s not in a ratty T-shirt and boots with cow shit on them.
Not that I think Holden would do that to me. He wouldn’t.
I can’t help but look his way again as we begin our ascent up one of the two mountain passes. The tattoos on his right arm are sexy. I admit it. I’ve seen glimpses over the years, because they come down his forearm and used to end at the wrist.
Until last year.
Last year, I noticed that he got ink on his hand, all the way down his fingers to the middle knuckles, and I have to assume that hurt like hell. And I’d never say it to him—in fact, I’d rather cut out my own tongue, but they’re hot.
So damn hot.
I can’t make out what all of them are. There’s an elk head and other flowers, and I’m sure they all mean something to him.
But my mind keeps going back to the one currently covered high up on his arm, almost to his shoulder. The only one in color.
The wild rose.
I almost punched him when I saw it, and then I wanted to kiss the bastard.
Don’t even think about it. Don’t let his swoony ways get into your head because he was also cruel and hurtful, and that’s the same man you’re sitting next to.
“Sex doesn’t mean forever, sweetheart.”
“Jesus, grow the fuck up, Millie. I never promised you anything.”
“What, did you think I’d marry you? Not likely.”
“I’m not even convinced that you were a virgin. You didn’t bleed.”
Of course, I didn’t bleed. I’ve been riding a horse since before I could walk.
So, yeah, he’s a bastard.
Never forget that.
“You’re thinking way too hard over there.” His deep voice breaks into the silence.
“Just taking in the beautiful rainy scenery.”
“Hmm.” He flicks his gaze my way and then back to the road.
“Do you know where we’re going? Do we just show up at the courthouse and boom, it’s done?”
“Something like that,” he confirms, his blue eyes jumping up to the rearview mirror. “Come on, you asshole, just wait and pass me after we get through this pass.”
I look back and see that there’s a sports car on our ass, but the pass is too windy to go very fast. He speeds up, hugs the back bumper, and then drops back, swerving to the side as if he’s judging if he should go around us. Even though there are two lanes, there’s a solid white line here because it’s too tight for two vehicles.
Sports Car Idiot is going to cause an accident.
Holden doesn’t speed up or slow down, but his jaw ticks as he looks in the mirror again.
“Motherfucker,” he mutters as the car goes for it, swerving around us on the inside just as we come around a blind corner, but there’s a huge semi-truck, flashers on, going about twenty miles per hour, and Holden has to slam on the breaks so we don’t rear end it. “Fuck!”
I’m rocked forward, but the seat belt does its job, and I’m not hurt when Holden turns my way.
“I’m okay.” My heart is hammering, and I know my eyes are wide, but I’m not hurt.
To my surprise, Holden snatches up my hand and pulls it to his lips, holding on tightly as he maneuvers us around the truck. We were already at the top of the pass, and if the driver had just had patience for three more minutes, he wouldn’t have almost caused an accident.