Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Adalynn Tate made a promise to her childhood friend.
They vowed that they’d do everything together, including marrying their junior high crush and having all their babies at the same time.
Her friend has succeeded. She got the guy, and the first bun is in the oven.
Now it’s Adalynn’s turn to make her own dreams a reality.
When Adalynn’s best guy friend comes over, he sees the pamphlets for her to have a baby on her own.
Cash does what any best friend would do – offers his free, platonic services instead of extra medical bills.
He doesn’t know Adalynn has had a crush on him since junior high, something she’s done her best to lock down deep as not to threaten their friendship.
Adalynn knows in this world you don’t get to have it all: the baby, the man, the fairytale.
But Cash has other plans for her.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Cash
I press my fingers into my eyes, wondering just how bad it could actually be if I applied just a little more pressure. Surely, the compassionate folks in our small town would give me a break then, right?
“No, Mr. Prichard. That’s not a good reason to call 911.”
“Listen here, Cash Tucker, I’m too old to take lip from you.”
I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from saying something that will have the entire damn town talking for the next several weeks.
“All I’m saying is calling the non-emergency number about this is probably better.”
“No one ever answers the non-emergency number.” Mr. Pritchard huffs. “Margie is missing. That’s an emergency.”
“Margie always comes back home or someone spots her and posts in the online group,” I remind him.
“I don’t think I like your tone.”
I take another deep, fortifying breath. “Calling 911 because your peacock is missing isn’t appropriate. It ties up the county dispatcher. Now, the non-emergency number to the office is—”
“She’s a peahen,” he corrects. “And I know the number, but that still doesn’t negate the fact that she’s missing.”
“I’m sure your peahen will be back soon,” I assure him. “In the meantime, why don’t you head down to Wooden It Be Nice and grab a roll of chicken wire? If you cover the top of her run, she wouldn’t be able to escape.”
“Don’t call me when you have an emergency.” He huffs before hanging up.
The man has to know I’d never do that. If it were a true emergency, I’d call the sheriff’s department.
Lindell hasn’t had a police force for very long, but as the town-designated chief, I field a lot of ridiculousness. I wish I could say the calls from Bobby John Prichard are few and far between, but Margie sneaking out is a regular occurrence.
I guess I should be glad that nothing more serious is happening in town, but I’m catching shit from the county about the 911 calls. Although there are days I wish they’d charge Mr. Prichard for misuse of the emergency system they have in place the way they’ve threatened to, I know I’d never hear the end of it if they did.
Because it’s easy to copy and paste the note I’m required to make about the phone call, I feel a little better about how far behind I am on paperwork. That is until I look at the spiral notebook sitting beside the phone. When I went to college and got a degree in criminal justice, before going through the police academy, I pictured myself fighting crime and putting half a dozen bad guys in jail every day. Maybe that would’ve been the case if I’d stayed in Houston where I did my internship, but here in Lindell, Texas, my day usually consists of calls just like the one that just ended. There are occasions when Mike Hodson, the sheriff, needs help out on the highway or there’s a call just right outside of my jurisdiction. It’s most definitely nothing like how I pictured my life when I was younger, but Lindell is the only place I’ve ever found that fully welcomed me.
As an orphaned child who wasn’t adopted until eight years old, I’ve learned to take the care and concern where I can get it. It’s very possible that I have lower expectations of everyone in my life, but that’s another story for a different day. Right now, I need to focus on getting the mounds of paperwork done before the town starts waking up.
I’m pressing rough fingers into my eyelids and yawning when the chime above the door jangles. It takes blinking several times before Chandler Jacobs, the only other full-time cop the city has, comes into view. We have another reserve officer, Hank West, but he usually only works when Chandler and I just can’t make a shift.
“Brought breakfast,” he says, holding up a familiar rectangular box. “Adalynn was looking good this morning.”
I clench my jaw. I’ve grown used to this routine, so it’s easier to keep my mouth shut.
“Weren’t you needing a little time off?” I ask, the taunt suddenly making me feel like a complete asshole.
Chandler’s dad is sick, and they have tests scheduled later this week. I know they’re fearful that the man’s cancer has returned, so even hinting that I’ll take away his time-off request is a shitty move on my part.
My tease doesn’t bother the man, mostly because he knows better. I’ve always been a very flexible guy. We depend on each other, and there may come a time when that dependence will be a life-or-death situation.
“I think she was disappointed that I’m the one who stopped in this morning.”
“I saw her last night,” I inform him. “Had dinner with her dad and stepmom.”
I lift my hand to hide my yawn.
“Yeah? You seem tired. Have a little something something for dessert?” Chandler is waggling his eyebrows up and down animatedly.