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)
Cash’s place is cozy. Comfortable. Lived in.
I love it.
The window across the room is open. It’s early, the light barely gray. The rain has stopped, and now a cool, crisp breeze blows into the room. My heart leaps at the thought that autumn has finally arrived.
Somehow, Cash and I are still spooning.
Somehow, I’m still turned on, despite the pair of epic orgasms he gave me last night.
Ordinarily, I’d feel a flare of panic. I make it a point to never overstay my welcome at a guy’s place. Mornings can be awkward, and no one is a fan of the walk of shame. Usually, I prefer to get laid and get gone.
But Cash made it crystal clear he wanted me to stay. And, yeah, the fact that he got in a fistfight over me makes me feel…
Wanted. Adored. Safe, as messed up as that sounds.
And really, what did I have to lose by spending the night at Cash’s cabin? If things get awkward, the pain will be temporary. I’m not staying in Hartsville longer than I have to. Definitely not long-term.
But listening to Cash’s deep, even breathing behind me—feeling his warm, hard body wrapped around me—kinda makes me wish I were.
Oh my God, do I want to stay on the ranch?
Even if I did, could I? What about Mom? And Bellamy Brooks? Wheeler can’t do the heavy lifting forever. My whole life is in Dallas.
Except I suddenly, unexpectedly have a life here too. And as much as I love the city…
I think I’m totally falling in love with the country too.
Then again, that could very well have something to do with the incredible sex I had with the incredibly attractive man beside me. But is Cash just part and parcel of why I’m enjoying life on the ranch so much? There are always people around. People who care, who give a shit about the right things: family, being outdoors, looking after each other and the land.
I like my life in Dallas. But even though it’s a huge city and there are technically always people around there too, I don’t feel the same sense of connection to those people that I do to Patsy, or Wyatt, or even Ella. In Dallas, everyone’s always in such a rush.
Here, we gather around a table three times a day. We eat real food. We use our bodies instead of sitting in front of a screen all day. The heat is brutal, but seeing the sun rise over the Hill Country makes all the sweat worth it. Feeling that connection with nature is life-giving.
I get what Jen was talking about when she said her life is more vibrant in a small town. There’s just a real sense of community here, of family, that I feel like I’ve been missing in Dallas.
I miss Mom. I miss shopping. I miss sleeping in my own bed.
But I wonder if I’d miss this more? Sleeping in this man’s bed, a man who knows what he wants? A man who puts the people he loves above everything else? Windows open, homemade breakfast imminent?
Speaking of breakfast, although Patsy will have stocked the fridge with oodles of leftovers from the week, I like the idea of making breakfast in bed for Cash. We were up late last night. And, yeah, I feel like making him an omelet is the least I can do after he defended my honor like some old-timey Clint Eastwood character in a Western.
Maybe—maybe—if I make Cash breakfast, I’ll be able to convince him to stay in bed with me all morning. I definitely want to have sex again. And I definitely think Cash could use a day off.
He turns his head on the pillow so that he’s facing me. I hold my breath, hoping I didn’t wake him, but he continues to breathe deeply, evenly, his face expressionless with sleep.
I can’t believe I’m up before him. And yet I totally can. The man is beyond exhausted. Honestly, when was the last time he slept in?
Seeing him this close in the morning light, I notice all the freckles he has. They dot his nose and cheeks, and a few darker ones are spread out over his neck.
I resist the urge to reach out and trace the little maps they make with my finger.
My pulse panics. I can’t remember the last time I wanted to linger in a man’s bed. Much less the last time I wanted to linger over a man. But here I am, my fingers itching to express the achy tenderness inside my chest.
Is that such a bad thing?
The question has me thinking about Dad. He turned away from this kind of vulnerability.
That had to be one of his biggest regrets.
There’s a whisper in the back of my head. A catch, like pieces of a puzzle coming together.
I imagine it’s a regret Dad wouldn’t want me to have. And the person who’s opened me up the most over the past few weeks, who’s encouraged me to turn toward vulnerability, has been none other than Cash Rivers.