Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“No, thanks, I have plenty of clothes.” I head for the hall, wondering about what she’d just said.
“Don’t be afraid to show a little cleavage!” she shouts in my wake.
Good Lord.
I love that woman, though, even if she’s blunt as a brick. She’s as tactful as she is tall, which is barely five feet.
“Did you hear me?”
“Unfortunately!” I yell back.
And maybe, just for kicks, I won’t be afraid tonight.
Every so often, Granny’s unique lunacy turns out to be a stroke of genius.
What if Quinn is the distraction I need?
What if it’s just a little innocent flirting?
Granny was certainly right about the crush I had on him once upon a time.
And that last innocent summer, given the chance, if Quinn had done anything even hinting at being more than my big, older, adorably overprotective friend...
God. I would’ve been all over it. Head over heels.
As I step into the shower and let my brain go to shower-thoughts, the same question hits me over and over.
What if Quinn feels just as torn up over what-ifs as I am?
I towel off, blow dry my hair, and use the straightener before I realize this is way too much effort for a man I’m not dating.
Then I toss on a pair of skinny black jeans, a low-cut pink-and-white cami-tank top, and Granny’s dress boots with the bright-pink stitching. At the last second, I grab a silky white blouse, just in case I feel exposed with too much boob hanging out.
It’s just to humor Gran, and myself, I think. I’m not actually giving Quinn a show.
Right.
Maybe if I repeat it enough times I’ll believe it, too.
Granny is still putzing around in the kitchen, whipping up a homemade ranch dressing for her salad.
The shrill wolf whistle she belts out as I enter the room makes Owl bolt up. The big mastiff lets out a heavy woof! of approval. I think.
“See? Smart boy! How’d you hook up with old Dean, anyway?” Laughing, Granny flashes me a wink.
“I wondered the same thing. How did Uncle Dean ever train him so well? He hasn’t had him too long.” I’d never asked until now.
“Train him? You kidding?” Granny cackles. “He came with the goats, dear.” She then gives me a critical eye. “Wait. Those aren’t my jeans.”
“Nope, mine.”
“I might have to borrow them. They have a way of making your cute butt even cuter. Good eye.”
I shake my head at her, beyond mortified, even if I’m also glad she’ll go to her grave being Granny Coffey.
“Have you heard about how Faulk—as everyone calls him now—helped Ridge Barnet bust some baddies who were after Ridge’s wife? Grace is such a doll, and one hell of an interior decorator. I can’t wait until my kitchen and bathroom remodels are done. She’s been drafted to help.”
“I heard, it’s quite a story. And when are you having remodeling done?”
She spins around and fumbles with the lid, fixing it on her bowl of dressing. “Um, soon. Very soon. Do I hear a truck?”
I get a feeling that something is off somewhere, but I’m not sure what as I walk into the living room and look out the window.
“Is it Quinn?”
“Not yet. You know, half the single ladies in this town have tried to flash him for attention ever since he moved back to town. Why, the Bobcat is practically turning into a low-grade strip club some nights between girls chasing Quinn and his pal, Grady. Lucky for that grump of a bartender he can hide behind his little girls.”
“Yeah, I found that out today,” I say, still looking out the window at the empty street.
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
“Carolina Dibs.”
Granny’s face twists like she’s bitten into a rancid orange.
“Yuck, yuck, yuck! That strumpet? She’s had more men on her than a Vegas sofa, and I guarantee you Quinn Faulkner isn’t one of them. The boy has the good sense not to rot his equipment.”
Snickering, I pivot on one heel and watch her standing in the archway from the hall into the living room. Earlier, when Carolina told Quinn she’d missed him, I’d felt a stab of jealousy far deeper than I’d felt over Jean-Paul and Madeline.
“How do you even know that, Gran? You’re an expert on Quinn’s love life too?”
Granny laughs. “Because he has good taste and a brain, dear.” She walks into the living room. “When did you see Carolina Dibs?”
“Oh, I dropped the goats off for her landlord.”
“Wesley Grouper?”
I shrug.
“Don’t remember the name, only the address.” Recalling the old man I’d also delivered goats to, I say, “I also delivered goats to Robert Duncan.”
“Oh, that old goat? I don’t like the idea of you going some places all by yourself.”
“Not alone. I have Owl.”
“And Quinn?” she asks, obviously hell-bent on tormenting me as long as she can.
“He called while I was at Carolina’s place and kinda bailed me out. She wasn’t happy about the goats showing up, to put it mildly.”