Twisted with a Kiss Read Online B.B. Hamel

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
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The vet confirms everything Nicky said. He goes over treatments, aftercare, gives his predictions, makes it clear he’s not at all sure Bomber’s going to pull through, schedules follow-up appointments, and drives off with his staff in tow. I stand in the parking lot with Ford watching the big white van disappear down the bend of the gravel driveway and feel so worn out I could curl up on the ground and pass out right then and there.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, not looking at me.

“I’m all right. Relieved. Worried. You know, the usual.”

He nods and glances over. “Kat told me what you said. About buying the horse.”

I hold up a hand. “If you’re about to offer me money—”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to, but you know I would.”

“I know, and I love you guys for that, but you’ve done too much for me already. You could just give me Bomber and keep him here, but I can’t live with that. I need to start earning my keep.”

He nods, looking thoughtful. “You know, I don’t think our relationship is as unequal as you seem to.”

“Oh, yeah? Did I give you a good job? Pay you too much?”

He laughs. “I’m paying you too much? Sounds like we need to renegotiate your compensation.”

“You know what I’m saying.” I start back toward the barn and he follows, hands clasped behind his band.

“I do, but look at it from my perspective. You’re Kat’s friend and she loves you.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes me feel good, I’m getting paid to be her friend.”

“No, you’re being paid to run this place. Don’t give me that look, you know it’s true. Kat’s great with the animals and she loves it, but you’re the one with real experience. You’re the one holding everything together, day in and day out. I know you feel like you’re a burden on us, but believe me, you’re not. Kat loves this place and I love that it makes her happy. You owe us nothing. We’re even in my book. So if you want the horse, take the horse. If you want to buy him, you can buy him for whatever you think is fair. Either way, you’re important to us.”

I nod and can’t look at him. Gratitude swells in me. I hate feeling like I’m a burden, like Ford and Kat are constantly doing me favors, and I’m here mooching off their generosity, and to hear Ford say that I’m carrying my fair share feels better than he probably knows.

“Thanks for saying that. I still don’t want you to pay for Bomber.”

“All right, well, I had to try. Should I send you the bill for the vet too?” He tilts his head and frowns. “After the state-of-the art X-ray, the advanced casting materials, all those helpers, not to mention his borderline extortionate hourly rate—”

“Thank you, Ford, I get it.”

He grins. “I’ll handle the vet. You can do the rest.” He stops when we reach the main buildings, and I keep going on. “Take a break sometime, okay, Melody? You’re allowed to worry about yourself too.”

I wave at him and walk on into the paddock. Taking a break sounds like heaven, but there’s no break for me, no rest, no quiet. Not when I’m constantly trying to prove myself, constantly trying to keep the veil of who I am firmly in place. I step into the stables and find Bomber in his stall, still sedated, his leg wrapped in blue and white with a complicated support system bearing most of his weight. I stare at the beautiful creature and a deep, black pain fills my throat, and I think about my cousin Rosie for the first time in a long, long time.

She hated horses. Hated them. She used to come into my room, chewing her bubblegum, her mouth packed with the stuff, chomping away at it, and she’d rip the horse posters down off my walls. She’d sit on my bed, kicking her legs, and sneer at me with her straight black hair and her deep brown eyes. You’re just like those dumb, smelly animals out there, you dumb, smelly Melody. Smellody, that’s what we should call you. She’d blow a massive bubble and laugh. This horrible, ugly laugh. Smellody, ugly little Smellody. One day I’m going to shove you off one of those horses and we’ll see how much you love them when you get trampled to death.

Rosie’s gone now. Dead for a while. I wish I missed her, but I don’t.

“You won’t be doing much trampling, will you, big guy?” I say quietly and watch Bomber’s breath come in, slow and even. “No, I don’t think you will, not for a while.”

The magnitude of what I’m going to do slowly descends on my shoulders. Horses are expensive—their stables are expensive, their feed is expensive, and their medical care is expensive. Add in the fact that Bomber’s going to need extra medications, extra rehab, more imaging, more vet visits, and he’s going to be like a mortgage. Worse than a mortgage. And while Ford really is overpaying me, it’s not nearly enough.


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