Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Man. That was great. I can’t thank you and your father enough for allowing me to do this.” Hart slapped Bull on his back. He was big guy, practically walking shoulder to shoulder with him. “I almost hate to think of leaving.”
“Hey. It’s me that should be thanking you. Your boyfriend’s been working nonstop in there for hours. It would’ve cost me thousands for someone to set up the kind of system he’s talking about. So, seriously, anytime you wanna just come and take a ride, don’t hesitate. And of course, I can always use a hand around here too.”
“You got it,” Hart agreed eagerly. He and Bull climbed the porch stairs and the smell of fried chicken socked him in the nose, making his stomach growl loudly. “Oh man. Now that’s just the icing on the cake, right there.”
Bull nodded, displaying that half smile again. Hart thought he was an extremely handsome man. Not particularly his type, but he was real cool to be around when he dropped the frown and showed some personality. And, he knew ranching! Hart believed he’d made another friend.
“Smells like supper’s ‘bout ready. You go on and get washed up and I’ll see you at the table in ten.” Bull broke off and went in the direction of his part of the house.
They ate a meal fit for ten kings that evening. Hart had forgotten how incredible home-cooked food could be, especially when combined with good company. He and the Walkers talked shop for hours. Free was amazing, trying to join in when he could, most of the proper things he said earning him endearing laughs. After dinner came the brandy.
Oh wow, how he missed home. Missed his pop.
Free chose to go back to working instead of joining them in Walker’s study. They talked lots more ranch life and how it had changed over the years, and how so many farmers had taken a beating back home, with Texas holding the record for natural disasters last year. Bull continued to pick his brain for more business ideas, and he was more than willing to give them.
It was after midnight and he’d long ago gone to bed while Free was still downstairs working. He felt him join him early in the morning. Free’s naked body quickly seeking out his warmth. Free folded himself into him, sighing loudly. Hart rubbed his man’s back, sensing his fatigue. They’d both had a pretty exhausting day, and it was only seconds before he’d drifted again.
“Don’t do it, man. I got a plan.”
“No! Go! That’s an order!” Hart ran, ducking his head from the flames. “I have to save them.”
“It’s suicide. Listen to me.”
Hart could hear Fox yelling at his back, but he kept running farther toward the flames, while ordering his backup to stay away. The heat got intense. He threw his hand over his face, shielding himself from the blinding smoke. It was too much. He couldn’t make it…he needed help. The hostages were getting farther down the hall and he couldn’t reach them before the flames consumed him.
He turned around to radio for Fox, but his mic was gone. Shit. The meth-head had taken it. Hart ran back, but his team was already gone.
“No. Come back! I need your help! I can’t make it!” Hart yelled, choking on more of the putrid smoke. He reached up and felt his scalp. It was burning. “Noooooo!”
Hart shot upright in the bed, clutching the top of his head and heaving uncontrollably. He gripped his chest, trying to slow his breathing. “Len,” he gasped.
“I’m right here.” Free’s voice was gravelly and full of worry. “It’s okay. Shhh.”
Hart felt in the dark for Free, yanking him onto his lap. Hart was drenched with sweat, clinging to his partner for dear life as he came back to reality. He could’ve sworn he could actually taste the acrid smoke, could still feel the heat from the flames. This wasn’t his first nightmare since he’d been caught in that fire. Free stroked his wet back, murmuring softly against his temple.
“You’re okay. Shhhh. Calm down.”
His boyfriend had been right last week when he’d told him he needed to make an appointment with the department’s therapist. He’d been having classic symptoms of post-traumatic stress since the op. Ones he could no longer ignore. After several minutes of breathing and letting Free soothe him, Hart finally eased up on his grip. Free didn’t.
“I’m sorry about the bed,” Hart said, his throat raw. Not only had his night sweats drenched his clothes, but also their nice guest bed.
“Hey. I’m not worried about that.” Free held Hart’s cheeks in his hands. “I’m worried about you.”
“I know,” Hart said softly. “I’m gonna make the appointment. You don’t have to say it again.”
“Good,” Free whispered. He slid off Hart’s lap and got to his feet. “Come on. Get up.”