Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Nothing.
As a result, I lead Miss Bethy out of the building and into her pasture. I decide to leave the barn door open, so I can check in on the man without have to wrench the squeaky doors open and disturb him.
Excuses. You just don’t want him to know you’re sneaking peeks at his prone form.
As if to prove to myself that I have better self-control than that, I head to the spigot, refill the bucket, and tend to the garden. But my resolve quickly begins to wane, and I swear I hear a sound coming from the barn. Plus, I need to get some tools for mending one of the fences.
It’s perfectly logical to check in on him while I’m in there. He’s injured and could be bleeding out. It’s the responsible thing to do. I practically run back to the barn but tiptoe once I’m inside and head straight to the back. The man is still sleeping, a soft snore escaping from his nose every few breaths. I shake my head at the whole situation. How on earth did he get here?
Shaking my head, I back off once more before heading back to the house because there are chores to be done. But as the morning progresses, I continue to find little excuses to sneak back into the barn. I need more nails, and more wire too. Miss Bethy needs fresh water in her bucket. Each time, I sneak a peek at the man sleeping in the barn stall, wondering what could have brought him here.
Around noon, I decide it’s perfectly reasonable to see if the stranger is awake and to bring him some lunch if so. I heat up some leftover soup and tear off a chunk of homemade bread to serve along with it. Carefully, I set everything on the tray that had been used by my beloved Pa during his final few weeks, when I had to take him meals in bed.
Don’t think about all that. The past is past.
Squaring my shoulders, I push open the screen door and make my way across the yard toward the barn. The sun beating down overhead makes it hard to see into the dark shadows by the stalls, so I set the meal down on a bucket near the entryway. As I do, so I hear the telltale signs of someone struggling to sit up. The man’s awake.
“Mister?” I call out, my normally steady voice stammers.
“Ma’am.” The masculine voice is hoarse, but powerful.
“Oh good, you’re awake!” I say in my most chipper voice, hoping to hide my nerves. I approach the back of the barn and see that the man is now sitting up again, his eyes alert if tired. Even in the dim light, I can tell they are a piercing shade of blue. The kind of blue that could look as friendly as the summer sky one moment and as ominous as an icy lake the next.
You’re staring again, Darcy. Embarrassed, I search for something to say. “I brought you some lunch, if you’d care for it.” I gesture helplessly.
He grunts. “I’d be mighty grateful for some food.” The man tries to stand, pushing off the hard ground with his arms, but it’s shaky. Quickly, I sweep in to help him, but too late. As he rises, the blanket slips off, revealing his exposed manhood.
“Oh!” The sound is involuntary, and I blush tomato red at the sight of him.
“What the hell happened to my pants?” He looks down, shock registering on his handsome face.
Scurrying to grab the blanket and wrap it around his naked form, I keep my face turned away as I answer him. “I had to cut them off with the shears. You have an awful bad gash in your leg.” I gesture toward the deep cut, keeping my eyes averted.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He reaches to pull the horse blanket more tightly around him, much to my relief and disappointment. The stranger is tall, which had been hard to tell when he was lying down before. But he easily stands several inches above me, his height only adding to his already massive figure.
Carefully, I help the man hobble to the front of the barn, where it’s brighter and the aroma of hot soup fills the musty air. Together, we sit on the plank bench, and I place the tray between us, wanting a little distance from this strange man who turned up out of nowhere.
“I know it’s weird to eat hot soup when it’s warm out.” I venture, trying to make small talk to calm my nerves. “But Pa always said when you’re unwell, no matter the illness, soup is the cure.”
The man takes a tentative sip. “It’s delicious.” He smiles at me and I feel my insides go to mush. “How long have I been out?” he asks between sips of the steaming broth.