Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I don't know what the fuck she's trying to do.
Can't tell anymore whether it's all in my head. I just know I have to avoid those eyes, especially over pie and coffee later, or else I'll wind up putting Mia to bed early and opening the door to God only knows.
Time for another resolution: no more mistakes this year.
Not with Red. Not with Mia. Not with Jackson Kelley.
Definitely not with Red. Again.
The fact that I'm more worried about screwing up with her than the others drives home an ugly truth I don't want to put into words. It involves the two of us, an empty bed, and a very hard night of fucking.
The road to desolation might be paved with the best sex of my life. That can't be how Marshal Howard ends.
I've fought too hard and come too far to let my dick lead me to ruin.
I'm happier than ever to get back to work the next day. Getting my parts together and hauling them three towns over to the small company who hired me takes the whole morning.
When I get home, several thousand bucks richer, there's no car in the driveway. I shouldn't feel so relieved. Red took Mia into town just like she said, a grocery run and an errand for her family, supposedly.
I sit down at the table for lunch, thinking nothing of it, until I see the tall black Escalade through the window pulling into the driveway. The fucking truck that belongs to the bastard I'm supposed to murder.
“Shit!” I toss my half-eaten sandwich against the plate so hard it rattles.
I haven't planned for this scenario, what the hell to do if asshole himself shows up on my doorstep. The guns are locked up in my shop, and even so, I'm not sure even I'm so insane I'll shoot a man in broad daylight on my doorstep.
There's also no time. I move.
My fists are on fire as I crash through the screen, heading straight for the truck, ready to rip the driver's door open. The vehicle stops in Red's parking space, dumping gasoline on the cauldron roaring inside me.
Then I see the kid's seat and my daughter's smiling face in the glass. Urge to destroy, gone.
Well, mostly. I still don't understand why the fuck Red is here with this vehicle. My eyes flick to the license plate, confirming my worst suspicions. There's no mistake. It's Jackson's.
“We're back! No worries about lunch, we stopped off in town for a bit. Brought you a little something, too.” Red holds a sandwich out from my favorite deli, dangling in a paper bag.
It doesn't make up for the questions beating in my temples. I reluctantly grab the food and ignore her confused look, watching as she makes her way to the other side to retrieve Mia.
“Daddy?” My little girl looks up from her nanny's arms. She senses the worry, the rage, the relentless questions written on my face.
“It's okay, honeybee. Sadie, get her inside. We'll talk later.”
I only catch the briefest glimpse of her shocked green eyes before turning my back.
Then I head straight for my shop, trying to decide if having this vehicle here is a lucky break or a fucking curse.
I look around the corner a few hours later. I see Mia on the floor playing with her tablet. A delicious aroma wafts through the house – so appetizing it makes my stomach growl through the anger.
Red sits in front of the stove, eyes on her phone, waiting for the timer to announce the most heavenly chicken dumpling soup I've smelled since grandma's. She's a damn good cook, I'll give her that, but fuck if it absolves the menace parked outside.
“Oh, there you are. Finally,” she says, looking up, pressing her phone tight against her thigh. “What's wrong?”
“You didn't tell me you were driving his truck.” I fold my arms, trying not to scowl.
Maybe there's a rational explanation. One that won't make me blast through the roof.
“Just a family favor, Marshal. I'll only have it a day or two. They needed me to pick it up, and I figured it wouldn't be a problem. Jackson knows. He's also perfectly aware why I'm here and who I'm working for.”
My fingers pinch my arm. I suppress a growl. “I'm not asking you to fall down and beg for permission. But shit, it would've been nice if you'd decided to drop a head's up before bringing a killer's fucking wheels here.”
“Killer?” Her echo is pointed and sharp. As it should be.
I've said too much. Fuck this.
I'm about to walk away when she rushes over, throws her hands on my shoulders, refusing to let go. I turn, giving her the ice in my eyes. “I don't understand, Marshal. Killer, what? What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. He's an asshole, is all I meant.” I can't let her on to what I'm planning. “Look, I want that thing gone ASAP. Next time you drag his shit on my property, ask first.”