Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Like a what?
I tumbled that comment around in my brain and smiled. “You think I look hot?” I hollered. “Josh, that’s just sick. I’m your sister, Bro.”
“Shut up,” he growled, finally stomping off, his face flushed with embarrassment.
Note to self: embarrass brothers daily to get their butts in gear.
Their grumblings finally faded down the hall until I heard two doors slam shut. I looked at my reflection in the toaster and sighed, then wet a paper towel and wiped the eye shadow and lip gloss off, leaving the mascara alone so I didn’t look like a racoon. My eyes were light green and did most of the work drawing attention to my face. Eye shadow was overkill, and I knew it. My father used to call me the girl next door because he didn’t think I needed makeup to catch a man’s eye. I thought he was nuts, every woman looked better with a little color on her face. But my brothers were right; if I drew too much attention at the bar Ty would become possessive and cause a scene.
I made a quick sandwich to take with me to work after I buttered their toast, then I had to hunt down my cell phone and charger. Unlike most twenty-somethings, I didn’t have it attached at my hip at all times. For one, my best friend worked at the bar with me, so I talked to her every day. And secondly, no one ever called me, so why bother? Since we were on a budget, I didn’t have a smartphone with all the bells and whistles to keep me occupied. In fact, all three of us, to the utter humiliation of my brothers, had talk and text only. If I needed access to the internet, I got on the computer at home or at work, so my phone barely got a passing thought once I put it down.
I started throwing pillows off our couch and checking down the back for my phone, when I didn’t find it I began tearing the living room apart, cursing because we were going to be late. It rang from across the room moments later. Turning toward the sound, I found it resting on the edge of the mantel. Picking it up, I noted the number flashing across the screen and smiled.
“Thank you,” I shouted at Jake.
Five minutes after that, we were out the door and in the only vehicle we owned. A white, 2005 Ford pickup. It got us from point A to point B on a wing and a prayer, was harder than heck to find in a snowstorm, but we didn’t have a payment. Which was good. What was left of my father’s life insurance was sitting in a CD, hopefully earning decent interest, so both of my brothers could go to college. If Jake got a full-ride football scholarship, then we were golden. We just had to get through his senior year without any serious injuries.
The drive into town took twenty-five minutes. We normally used that time to go over schedules, so everyone was on the same page. Ennis played their rivals the next day, so Jake’s practice would run late. That meant he’d walk to the bar afterward and then I’d drive both boys home.
“No cutting classes, Josh,” I ordered.
Jake shoved Josh in the shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot in general.”
“Dickweed,” Josh grumbled, rubbing his arm.
It was a good thing I loved them or I’d shoot them both just to get some peace and quiet.
My phone vibrated on the dash, and all three of us looked at it as if it were a snake. I meant it when I said no one ever called me. Josh reached out and grabbed it, frowning at the number.
“Who is it?”
“It says Chance Bear.” He turned incredulous eyes toward me. “Since when do you have that dickweed’s number?”
I nearly ran off the road at his reply. I’d gotten his number from my best friend, Jamie Webb, who’d obtained it from Chance’s ex-wife, Kenzie Cox. I wasn’t sure I’d ever use it, but a small part of me—deep down in the recesses of my heart that I refused to admit to—still hoped we could forge some type of relationship with our older brother.
Chance was ten years older than me with a thirteen-year-old son he’d had with the Ennis beauty at the age of twenty. Kenzie was sixteen at the time, and no one said diddly-squat about the age difference. They’d married quickly at the urging of her parents, and six months later Chace Bear was born. Five years after that, they were divorced.
I quickly pulled off the road and stared at the phone as it rang in his hand. Chance had never called us. Not even to send condolences when our father passed. When it stopped ringing then started up again, I knew this was trouble. I may have secretly wished things were different with Chance, but he’d made it crystal clear—whenever we met by accident in town—he preferred the status quo. So we gave him a wide berth and he returned the favor.