Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
His expression darkens. “You’re hurting, aren’t you?”
“No.” I put my hand on my back, biting back a wince.
I’m glad John B and Duke aren’t here to witness this. They’re out in the corral, tending to some horses that need medical attention.
“Time to call it a day, Mollie.”
I shake my head. I’ll be damned if I disappoint Dad. What would he think of his daughter, the one who can’t make it through a single day on the ranch he loved with all his heart?
My throat closes in. “I’m good.”
“Are you crying?”
Shit, I am crying. The exhaustion, the pain, the wonderfulness of this day—it’s finally getting the better of me.
I won’t let it.
I can’t fall apart now.
I press the back of my wrist to my eyes and blink, hard. “I’m not crying. There’s no crying in cowboying.”
“Cute League of Their Own reference,” Cash says, even as his nostrils flare. “But cowboys do cry, Mollie.”
“Tom Hanks was so good in that movie.”
“Madonna was better.”
My heart dips. Of course he’d say that. Goddamn it, this man is relentless today.
Makes me cry harder. I’m overwhelmed.
I’m so sore, it hurts to breathe.
“I love Madonna.” I wipe my nose on my sleeve.
“Of course you do.” He ducks his head to look me in the eye. Lowers his voice when he says, “You crushed it today, Mollie. No shame in calling it quits. I’ll be doing the same in an hour. Less.”
My heart full-on plummets. “You really think I did okay?”
“I really do. Go home, Mollie.”
“But you need help.”
“You need to rest.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. Let me drive you back to the house in the ATV.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can walk.”
“You’re a stubborn motherfucker, aren’t you?”
I can’t tell if his words are a dig or a compliment.
I shuffle toward the stall’s door. “So are you!”
“I’ll walk you home, then.”
“Stop.” I wave him away. “See you in the morning.”
But when I reach for the latch on the door, a muscle in the middle of my back cramps. I cry out, heat flooding my face as my knees buckle. How embarrassing to go down like a sack of potatoes like this.
There’s a shout behind me. “Mollie! Jesus fuck.”
Then I’m scooped into huge, hard arms, Cash literally sweeping me off my feet as he cradles me against him.
I look up at him and my pulse seizes. His eyes are dark. Hard and soft and hot, all at once.
Oh, God. Now I really can’t breathe.
“Cash—”
“Enough,” he snaps. “You’re coming with me. Put your arms around my neck. Don’t make me ask twice, or so help me God, I’ll get really angry.”
His steady, rock-hard tone brooks no argument. It also draws my nipples to tight, aching points.
Go figure. My body is broken, but Cash Rivers can still turn me on like nobody’s business.
Help, I say to the universe.
“Okay,” I say to Cash and loop my arms around his neck.
I’ve never been carried damsel-in-distress style before, and I have to say, I don’t hate it. Cash is barely out of breath as he brings me outside and sets me gingerly in the passenger seat of the nearest ATV.
I startle when he grabs my seat belt and buckles me in, his hand brushing the side of my breast.
“Sorry,” he grunts.
I’m not. “I can do that myself.”
“Don’t move.”
“Okay, okay.”
I’m confused when Cash hangs a left when we should be making a right to go back to my house. “Where are we going?”
A muscle in his jaw tics. “My place.”
“If you’re planning to have your way with me—”
“The supplies we need are there.”
“See? Kinky.”
He cuts me a look. “Mollie.”
“Cash.”
“Stop.”
“What supplies are you talking about?”
“You’ll see.”
My chest contracts when we pull up in front of a small log cabin ten minutes later. It looks old, the chinks between the weathered logs thick and uneven, but it appears to have been recently—lovingly—restored. It’s got a sloping tin roof and a wide front porch, stone chimneys standing proudly on either side of the structure. The windows have hand-blown panes that waver in the late afternoon sun. There’s not a smudge or speck of dirt in sight.
It’s romantic and pretty and so very him.
“Cash,” I breathe. “This is yours?”
He dips his head. “Was the original log cabin your great-granddaddy built when he claimed this land. It was abandoned after the farmhouse was built in the twenties. Total wreck when Garrett took over, but he wanted to restore it.”
“Let me guess.” My heart drums an uneven beat inside my chest. “You helped.”
“I did. When he offered it to me as the new foreman’s cabin—hell, that was one of the best days of my life.” Cash climbs out of the ATV. “Probably because I got to move out of the bunkhouse.”
I unbuckle myself, but Cash doesn’t even let me try to stand. Instead, he bends down and reaches for me, pulling me into his arms.