Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
"They're home for lunch. I need to prepare it," I say, hoping she's going to get the hint that she needs to leave.
"Well, I can help you with that," she says. "It looks like it's my fault for distracting you. It's the least I can do." Of course, she'd turn it all around and find a way of getting involved. I don't need her help, and I certainly don't want it. Just the idea of her scheming fingers touching my homemade bread makes me want to scream.
"Hello," Cash calls at the door. They must have seen Amber's car and gotten all polite.
"I'm in here," I say. "You're early."
"It's my fault. I'm ravenous." He appears around the door, noticing Amber for the first time. I'm waiting for his expression to change. Men often lose all of their dignity in the presence of a beautiful woman, but not Cash. He actually eyes her suspiciously as she changes her stance, putting one leg back and twisting her body like the celebrities do on the red carpet. "Hi, I'm Melanie's friend Amber," she says. Her voice is so falsely bright, but to me, it's like listening to nails scraping a chalkboard.
Cash nods but doesn't reply. Behind him, Colt and Cary appear. They are equally silent.
"Hi, I'm Melanie's friend Amber," she repeats, this time with a girlish wave. Colt and Cary turn to look at each other, and Colt's lips twitch.
"Go wash up, and I'll get the food ready as quickly as I can."
"They don't look like they need to wash up," Amber says. "Nothing wrong with a bit of dirt on a working man."
Where the hell is she getting this from? She looks like the kind of girl who tosses her panties in the trash rather than washing and re-wearing them, and all of a sudden, she likes a sweaty man? I call bullshit.
"Sure," Cash says. He saunters through the kitchen and into the hallway without even a sideways glance.
"You've got them trained," Amber chuckles, watching Colt and Cary follow their brother. Scott is next to appear, with Sawyer appearing behind. "There's more," she grins. "Hi, I'm Amber, Melanie's friend."
Seriously. She sounds like a broken record. "Your brothers are washing up," I say. Scott's dark eyes find mine, then flick to Amber and back to me. I'd give good money to know what he's thinking right now.
"Sure, Mel," Sawyer says, leading the way to follow the triplets. Scott hesitates just enough for Amber to pounce.
"So, what's your name?" she asks, offering her hand for him to shake. He glances down at his own huge palm, finding it covered in dirt and God knows what else. "I wouldn't risk it," he says. "Mel, can you put some extra sugar in my coffee. I need all the help I can get today." Shaking his head, he leaves the kitchen too, and I have to stifle the satisfied smile bubbling up inside me. Amber gave it her absolute best, and none of the Bradfords even blinked in her direction. They dismissed her without really saying a word, a skill I haven't yet mastered. All my worries about them being tempted away from me are gone.
For now, at least, they don't seem to be interested in even the prettiest girl I know. A fact that has soured Amber's previously glowing expression. "Well," she huffs as soon as they are out of earshot. "They're rude."
"They're tired. They've been working since before dawn. They're always like that over lunch." Except they aren't, really. Usually, they're chatty and fun and cool to be around. They share stories about their day and act interested when I tell them that I've washed their clothes and baked them a cake. It's usually really nice to spend time with them.
"Well, maybe I'll come back another day," she says. "You seem busy, and they don't seem in the mood for guests."
"Maybe that would be best," I say, hoping that she's reading my mind and hearing “Never, ever, ever come back.”
"Well, it was good to catch up." Amber takes hold of her purse and is out of the door without a backward glance. There's a droop to her shoulders that I don't think I've ever seen before, and although I know it's really mean to relish how dismissive the Bradfords were of her, I simply find that I can't help myself one bit!
14
That night, when the lights are out, Cash knocks softly on my door.
At least, I think it’s Cash. “Come in,” I call.
“Hey.” For a second, he lurks in the doorway, setting my heart skittering with his bare chest and low-slung shorts. Not even Michelangelo could carve a more perfect body for me.
I pull back the corner of my comforter, and he doesn’t waste any time in jumping in and wrapping me up in his big arms. “Who was that woman?” he asks.