Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Noelle grabbed the edge of the napkin, and with a sharp intake of air, she pulled the piece of fabric off the . . . thing beneath, immediately yanking her hand back and flinging the white cloth.
“It’s a rope,” she said.
“What the hell?” Evan asked.
She reached out, picking up the white nylon rope. It felt silky between her fingers.
“Let me see that,” he said excitedly.
Noelle hesitated. She’d been given this rope, not him, and she wasn’t going to give it up so quickly. “No,” she murmured, frowning down at it. Had someone smuggled this to her under the napkin? Or was it given to her on purpose? And if so, for what reason?
Evan made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat. “Fine, but try to use it to lasso that ice pick. Hurry up.”
Noelle glanced at the ice pick and back to the rope. She didn’t know if she had any lassoing skills, but she might be able to fling the rope at the tool and somehow knock it off? Evan was at least onto something. It was worth a try.
She crawled to the front of her crate, and instead of attempting a lasso on the end of her rope, she tied a double knot, something she hoped would provide enough targeted force to knock the ice pick off. “Tie a lasso,” Evan instructed again. He’d crawled to the front of his own crate too.
“Anything other than a knot will shorten this rope too much,” she said. She could already see that even completely unknotted, it was likely too short to reach the counter. She looked over at Evan, at the eager expression on his face. He had marks on his cheek from the rough cement floor where he’d slept. “And it’s been a while since I ran down a heifer. I’m out of practice.”
“Funny. Okay, try your method.”
Noelle stuck both hands through the bars at the bottom of the front of the cage. The door, the bars of which were too small for her hand to fit through, took up the rest of it, and so going low was her only choice. She could feel Evan’s eyes on her, feel his tension mixing with her own. As best as she could from the awkward position, she tossed the rope up and out, but it flopped uselessly on the floor, a good foot away from the counter and nowhere near as high as it would have needed to be to reach the surface. “Damn,” she muttered.
She gave it a few more tries, just to prove to herself the fruitlessness of that plan, but then pulled her hands back through the bars, tossing the rope aside.
“Yeah, damn,” Evan muttered. To his credit, he didn’t ask her to pass the rope to him so he could try what was clearly impossible. He’d seen as well as her. “Any other plan?” he asked instead.
She sighed, heading back to the tray of food and reaching for the bread. Next to her, she heard Evan moving too. “Trade you half a pat of butter for two peach slices,” he said.
She whipped her head in his direction. “You got a pat of butter?”
He nodded, holding up the small rose-imprinted square, a tiny piece of plastic covering it.
She stared longingly at that miniature package of creamy goodness. When was the last time she’d eaten any fat? Didn’t you need fat to live? She was pretty sure she’d read once that fat was what carried vitamins and minerals to your brain. But they also needed vitamin C. How long until scurvy set in anyway? “Deal,” she said, scooping up the two remaining slices of peach and holding out her cupped palm to him.
Evan eyed her hand. “Some of the juice too,” he commanded.
She narrowed her eyes but pulled her hand back through, turning to the tray. Why does he think he has any right to make demands? Evan Sinclair was simply used to getting his own way, and right now, while trapped in cages, it was in their best interest to cooperate. Even with someone I loathe. She drank all the water in her cup in three big gulps and then scooped half the peach juice up before again reaching both hands through her bars and offering the cup and the fruit.
While she’d been turned away, he’d begun to cut the pat of butter in half using the small piece of plastic that had covered it. He finished just as she shoved her hands through the bars. For a few beats, they both locked distrusting eyes, each obviously trying to figure out the best way to exchange their items. Someone would have to let go first. Evan thinned his lips as he placed the half pat of butter still on the paper bottom on the floor, using his finger to push it toward her. It slid to the edge of her cage. For the breath of a moment, she was the one in possession of all the goods, and by the look on his face, he had bet on her integrity, at least in this matter, but wasn’t at all sure if it would pay off. Noelle leaned forward, placing the cup on the ground so he could reach it, and held her palm open.