Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Relief washed through his eyes, but he shook his head. “I’m not abandoning you to my family.”
“I have to live with them, Griffen, and I know your family. At this point, probably better than you do. Anyway, I wasn’t exactly going to mingle. I thought I’d see if Savannah needed any help getting everyone settled, and if she didn’t, I’d hide in our room until dinner.”
Griffen’s green eyes warmed. He reached up and rubbed the back of his fingers across my cheek. “I’m a lucky bastard, you know that? I don’t deserve you.”
“Maybe not, but you’re stuck with me anyway. Now go, get some fresh air. Shut your brain off for a while.”
He leaned in and pressed a hard kiss to my mouth before parking in his spot and heading into the house. We went our separate ways, me looking for Savannah while Griffen peeled off up the back staircase to change and escape Heartstone Manor. Just for a little while.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Griffen
My feet thudded on the gravel in a familiar rhythm that set my mind at ease. It was March in the mountains. Cold and damp, the sun already dropping in the sky though it wasn’t yet five o’clock.
I didn’t care about the cold or the damp. How did Hope still know me so well? I’d needed this. The fresh air in my lungs, the solitude. I felt guilty leaving her at the house, though not guilty enough to stay. I hoped she didn’t regret her suggestion.
I was still reeling from seeing Ford. It had been like looking in a mirror. All these years apart, and somehow, I’d imagined he’d changed, imagined he’d look as much like a stranger as he felt. I’d been wrong.
I needed to call Cooper, see if he could send someone down to look into things a little more. I understood West when he said his hands were tied. I didn’t blame him, but Ford was my brother. He hadn’t killed our father.
I couldn’t stand the idea he’d serve time for a murder he didn’t commit. Part of me hated him, but only a part. He was still my brother, and while he hadn’t looked changed by his week in jail, decades in prison would turn him into another person. I didn’t want that for him. How could I?
At the end of the long drive to Heartstone Manor, I turned right, heading up the mountain, further away from town. My legs and lungs burned. I ran hills in Atlanta on a regular basis, but Atlanta hills had nothing on the mountains. Maybe I wouldn’t get out of shape living here after all.
The rumble of an engine sounded behind me, growling up the mountain, drawing close faster than I would’ve expected. The turns were tight up here. Most people took it slow. I glanced over my shoulder, realizing twilight had set in while I’d been focused on my burning quads. In the shadows, I’d be difficult to see. I should have grabbed my reflective jacket, but I hadn’t bothered. I’d just wanted to get the hell out of the house and clear my head.
I slowed down and moved to the uneven gravel on the side of the road. The road opened up ahead, giving the truck a wide sightline and plenty of room to hit the gas and pass me by.
It didn’t. The rumble of the engine slowed and the truck drifted to the edge of the road, the tires crunching gravel as it drew closer. Closer.
Another glance over my shoulder. In the shadows of twilight, it was too dark to see who was at the wheel. Not short. Not wide. Other than that, it could have been anyone.
When that anyone slammed their foot on the gas and barreled straight for me, the revving engine a roar in my ears, I didn’t have to think. I dove off the side of the mountain, catching myself with my hands and rolling, letting the rocks and fallen trees beat me to a pulp. Better the rocks and trees than getting flattened by a pickup truck.
The screech of brakes penetrated through the crack of tree limbs and the thud of my head on the dirt. Deliberately, I kept my limbs loose, not fighting gravity, using my arms to protect my head and neck. The incline was steep enough to keep me moving but not so steep that I was plummeting dangerously fast.
I weighed the risks. What was worse, slamming into a rock or tree trunk the wrong way or stopping myself while I was still in view of the truck?
Whoever had been driving had planned to hit me. That much was clear. If they’d come with the intent to kill me, they’d be armed. The light was bad, and I was shielded by trees, but I wasn’t going to bet my life on my would-be murderer having bad aim.