Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
He sprinted toward her, his eyes wide in his handsome face. “Run!” he shouted, shooing a hand. “Head for the other side of the field. There’s a tree we can climb.”
But Yasmin didn’t turn to run. Enough was enough. Sampson had gone too far. Attacking family was one thing; pecking the heck out of total strangers was another.
Whipping off her sandal, Yasmin bent her knees, narrowed her eyes, and prepared for battle. As her would-be hero raced past her, she dodged his grab for her elbow and launched her sandal at the rooster’s head. Thankfully, her pitcher’s arm—honed through nine seasons playing softball for Lonesome Point teams growing up—was still in excellent condition. The sandal connected with Sampson’s head, Sampson squawked in pain and indignation, and a moment later the monster had turned and high-tailed it down the hill, flouncing back toward town.
“Should we call the police?” Not Bruce asked, catching his breath as he came to stand beside her. “Warn them or something?”
Yasmin shook her head as she fetched her sandal and slipped it back on. “No, I think it’s okay. Sampson usually doesn’t go after other people. Just me. It’s a sibling rivalry thing.”
The man’s eyebrows crept higher on his forehead. “Sibling rivalry?” His glance skimmed down her body and back up again, making her cheeks feel hotter. “You don’t look part chicken.”
Yasmin laughed. “I’m not. Though I do prefer to run from conflict.” She held out a hand, smiling up at her would-be hero. “Yasmin North. My mom raises prize-winning roosters. They enjoy trying to kill me so that they can be my mama’s only babies. It’s the stuff of town legend.”
“Noah O’Sullivan,” the man said, his beautiful mouth curving into an even more beautiful smile as he took her hand. It was a warm, dry hand and it felt way too nice folding around hers. “Nice to meet you, Yasmin North. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”
“No, you were great.” She pulled her hand from his, trying her best to conceal the warm, aware feeling prickling across her skin. “A big help. I wouldn’t have had time to get my shoe off without you. I hope your, um…parts are okay.”
She would normally say “butt” or “ass” and use this entire interaction as an excuse to flirt her way into a date with this gorgeous specimen of musclebound manhood. But that was the old Yasmin. The old Yasmin flirted with practiced ease and hadn’t met a man she couldn’t win over—at least for a date or two. But the old Yasmin also dated serial killers. New Yasmin didn’t date anyone and used words like “parts” or maybe “backside” when she was feeling particularly sassy.
New Yasmin was boring and would probably have tumbleweeds rolling down her vagina in a few years, but at least, she would be able to keep herself, and her future baby, safe.
Noah winced and dropped a hand to press against one firm, rounded butt cheek, making it almost impossible to keep her gaze above his belt. She’d only peeked for a second before, but it had been long enough to assure her that this man filled the hell out of a pair of jeans.
“It’s been better,” he confessed. “But at least now I know better than to turn my back on trouble. Especially when trouble has a beak and claws.”
“Never turn your back on an angry rooster,” she agreed, resisting the urge to offer her first aid services to whatever tender parts were wounded. “I don’t care what the experts say. My mom has been telling me for years that if I’ll just turn and walk away, a rooster will leave me alone, but experience has proven otherwise. Your best bet is to pick them up and hold them immobilized until they acknowledge you as alpha. But I can never manage to get a good grip on one of the bastards without getting pecked to death, so…”
“So you’re not a very good alpha?” Noah asked, his deep voice vibrating across her skin and his dark eyes telegraphing a clear invitation to engage flirt mode.
Old Yasmin would say something naughty about preferring submission over domination. She would soften the overt sexiness of the comment with a dimpled grin and a bat of her long lashes and be well on her way to sexy fun times with a gorgeous new boyfriend by dinnertime tonight.
New Yasmin simply blushed and said, “No. I’m not.”
“Guess I’m not either,” Noah said, smiling. “Or maybe I just need more practice.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone to help you out with that, Noah O’Sullivan,” she said, backing away, down the hill from whence she came. “Have a great rest of your day and thanks again for the rescue.”
And then she turned and ran away because temptation is a completely different animal than an angry rooster. One you don’t turn your back on; the other you run like the devil…while secretly hoping the devil will catch up.