Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
It looked as if the house had sprung out of nowhere, with nothing else close to it from east to west, north or south. Just Mother Nature wearing a macabre gown.
An instant throbbing in her head arose as she concentrated on what was before her and second-guessed herself.
I don’t know what I expected him to live in, but it wasn’t this. Actually, I do know what I thought he’d live in. I hate to say it, but I figured it would be some run-down shack, or a little house with nothing in it. Something boring, or just normal. Unspectacular. Regardless, what if he’s unfriendly like Martha said? What if he gets angry that I came here? It’s too late for all of that now… I’m going through with it.
Turning off the engine, she sat in the driver’s seat of her vehicle, staring in awe. How bad could he be? He doesn’t live under a bridge or in some dark cave like the monster some of the people at work tried to paint him to be. She chuckled to herself. He lives in a castle as far as I’m concerned. Castles are made for kings and queens. Well, King Firon was a king, too…
Shaking herself out of her deliberations, she reached toward the backseat and grabbed the ‘thank you’ basket she’d made for him, then headed towards the porch, ready to set it by the front door and drive away if he wasn’t home. Martha said he was a ranger and sometimes worked after hours, so he might not be around. Hell, that might actually be for the best. She’d just drop it off and leave.
After getting out of the car, it took less than a couple of seconds to realize that the storm that was on the way wasn’t selling wolf tickets. Clutching the heavy iron basket in a firm grip, she held her head slightly downward as she walked on, trying to avoid the brisk wind that gusted at a diagonal angle, smacking her hard in the face. When she reached the front door, she realized that she’d tripped a motion detection sensor, and then another… and another. She flinched as she stood under three spotlights.
Now she was center stage, like in one of her Broadway shows. Quickly averting her gaze from the light, she pressed her gloved finger on the doorbell. A loud chime ensued, startling her. She waited about a minute, then rang the bell again. Just in case.
Again, she was met with silence. Placing the goodies by the front door, she grabbed the thank you note she’d written up from her pocket and tucked it under the emerald-green basket cover. It was plenty cold to keep the contents perfectly chilled. Disappointment set in as she had to admit, she really wanted him to be there after all, even though she couldn’t explain why.
Just as she resolved that this outcome was perhaps God’s intervention and turned to walk away, she heard a noise. A loud thud against the door, or a wall. She spun back in the direction of the sound, then heard the locks disengage. The door opened fast, revealing the statuesque man who had plucked her from the snow and carried her carefully in his strong arms to the restaurant booth.
He looked a bit less menacing without his fur-lined, hooded coat. Jack was wearing a white long john shirt that fit snugly around his arm muscles, and a pair of indigo jeans. His thick, dark brown hair with graying temples appeared slightly damp, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower, and it was brushed straight back from his face, revealing a broad forehead, piercing gray eyes with flecks of amber, and chiseled features. Around his neck hung a silver chain with a small oval pendant.
“Jack…” She smiled. “Hi, how are you?”
He just stood there, staring.
“Okay… well, uh, maybe you don’t remember me dressed like this. It’s me,” She pointed to herself, then did a bit of a shimmy sort of dance, trying to lighten the mood. All he did was lift his chin higher, cross his beefy arms, and swallow. The corners of his mouth turned downward as if he’d had enough of her shit already. “…I’m Kim, from Gus’s restaurant.”
Come on, now. Say something! There aren’t that many Black women around here. You have to remember me. You know who the hell I am unless you have selective memory.
Maybe he’s just pissed that I’m here. I guess I should’ve taken Martha’s advice, but I’m like Eminem—I’ll take a knee at the Superbowl when I was told not to… Rebel without a motherfucking cause…
“I know who you are. The question is, what are you doing here?” It was then that she noticed the big ass rifle leaning up against the doorframe. That must’ve been the source of that loud thud. His eyes narrowed on her as if she were some intruder. With a gulp, she pointed to the basket she’d placed at his door.