Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
He felt one side of his mouth go up, then he followed his kid.
He found Ledger in his bathroom, brushing his teeth.
Riggs stretched out on his son’s bed, hands clasped behind his head, until Ledger came in wearing his sleep shorts and a tee.
Riggs rolled off and Ledger crawled in.
His boy had pulled the covers over himself before he said, “Just so you know, I approve. She’s pretty, makes good cake and lets me win card games.”
So Ledge had noticed the tell too.
Not a surprise, his kid was sharp.
That said.
“Nothing to approve of, buddy. We’re just getting to know our new neighbor.”
Ledge gave him the side eye, mumbling, “Right.”
Damn.
Ledger had read this wrong.
“Seriously, Ledge. She’s in MP working through some stuff. Then she’s gonna go back to Chicago. But everyone needs friends no matter where they are, or how long they’re there, so we’re gonna be that for her.”
Ledger took this in and replied, “You should go for it anyway, because she’s pretty, makes good cake and lets me win at card games.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Ledge.”
Ledger gave him a look Riggs had never seen, before he said, “Well, maybe you should work it to make it that way so she’ll stay, seeing as her cake was that good.”
This suggestion made him uneasy.
“Is there another conversation we should be having, kid?” Riggs asked.
“No. It’s just that you’re a good guy. And you should be happy like Aunt Kate is happy.”
“I am happy,” Riggs asserted.
“Not like Aunt Kate is happy.”
He wasn’t going to explain how he took care of that particular happy in his way to his nine-year-old son.
Instead, he said, “How about you let me do my job as your dad and look after you, rather than the other way around.”
“Just sayin’, while she’s here, make sure she makes us Brenda’s tacos.”
Riggs shot him a smile. “I can do that.”
Ledger reached for the book on his nightstand.
Riggs took his cue, mussed his son’s hair then strode out.
When he hit the bottom of the stairs, he heard, “I’m in here,” coming from the dining room.
So he rounded the stairwell and saw Nadia standing at the dining room window, looking out.
The rain was gone, but the clouds remained, and dusk was settling in.
She had her arms crossed on her chest, beer bottle still in hand, and he should keep his distance.
But he didn’t.
He was a demonstrative, affectionate kind of guy with people he cared about, primarily women, though that wasn’t why he walked to her, got behind her and rounded her chest with his arms.
It was because she undoubtedly needed a hug.
And because he couldn’t stop himself.
She didn’t get stiff or pull away.
She settled into his chest.
“He good?” she asked.
“Yeah. He likes you.”
“Good,” she murmured. Then, “I hesitate to ask, but have you heard anything about your friend?”
He had.
“Swelling going down, but other than that, no change. They still have him induced and the prognosis is still guarded.”
She twisted her neck to catch his eye and whispered, “Sorry, Riggs.”
He gave her a squeeze.
She looked back to the lake, and so did he.
“I wasn’t snooping,” she told him. “But I saw your house from the opposite side of the lake during my walk, particularly this room, and I was curious. It’s amazing. The view from here is spectacular. And I don’t know where you found that table, but it’s perfection.”
“I made it.”
Her head twisted again, this time faster. “You made it? You made that table?”
“Yeah. Got a workshop west of the house. During down time, I make furniture, refurb it, and create other pieces on commission. Like, I made the mailbox structure for your cabin.”
He watched her eyes grow wide.
“Wow, I’m impressed. That piece is magnificent.”
He gave her another squeeze, a smile with it this time, and muttered, “Thanks.”
“I’m seeing now, but barely, how you can afford your own lake,” she teased. “Seems to me you work all the time, even when you’re not working.”
“Got the ghost of Roosevelt Whitaker to thank for that,” he explained. “All that mess, people freaked about it, the trustees couldn’t keep the houses leased, and in the case of this house, the vandals from fucking with it.”
“Vandals?” she asked, openly shocked.
He lifted his chin. “Yup. Graffiti. Broken windows. Once, they tore up the pier, and I know that because the trustees hired me to fix it. Heard word they even threw rocks to break the windows when they had renters inside in the early days. It was a situation.”
“But nothing while you’ve been here?” she pressed.
He shook his head. “Nothing.” He smiled. “Not even a…boo,” and he gave her an abrupt squeeze on the last word.
Her body mildly jumped, then she shot him a fake glare.
To that, he grinned.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, he felt it there, but after that, he lost her.
“That’s good,” she murmured, her thoughts seeming to fade to something else.