Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
“I wish I’d have come with you. It’s damn hard to sit my old ass back here while my boys are out there taking care of a small-dicked wannabe of a man.” I come around the last bend and see Mr. Johnson. He’s got his arm propped up on the bed of the truck, phone to his ear, and he’s chewing on a toothpick. “Yeah, yeah, Colorado ain’t that far away.”
There’s no way, none at all. Lane wouldn’t lie to me, would he? He wouldn’t put himself in jeopardy. That’s not who he is. Yet I know that is exactly the man he is. I take a deep breath and continue to where Mr. Johnson is standing. He’s clearly talking to Lane. And I’ve got a few things to say to him.
“Oh shit, gonna have to call you back,” I hear Russell say into the phone.
“Nope, not at all. Can I talk to Lane, please?” It’s a question, but my hand is already out, palm up.
“Birdie knows,” he says quickly into the phone and then talks to me, “If you think my boy isn’t going to make sure the person who hurt you can’t hurt you or others, you don’t know him as well as I thought you did.”
I nod my head. “I’m very much aware of the man you raised. He’s a great man, one of a kind. The problem I have with him taking care of the trash is that he didn’t tell me first.” Russell nods in understanding.
“Birdie, don’t be mad at Dad. You want to be pissed, be pissed at me,” Lane says before I can get a word out.
“I’m not upset with your father. I’m assuming he was meant to keep me occupied tonight while you go out and play superhero?”
“Not entirely. When I get home, I’ll explain everything,” he attempts.
“You’ll tell me now so I know if I should drive to Colorado and kick your ass, Lane William Johnson.” He takes a deep breath as if it pains him to tell me about his operation. Being stupid and attempting a rescue mission, wrapped up in one tiny little present with a big fat bow on top.
“Lawson’s friend Fletcher is a cop. He told us what we needed to know, gave us the information we needed, and how to proceed. Does it involve roughing up that dickbag? Sure. It also includes you being safe without having to worry about him ever hurting you again.” I should have known Lane wouldn’t let this rest. I also should have seen it coming a mile away. He didn’t ask if the detective on the case called me back either, which they didn’t. I buried my head in the sand and pretended like it never happened. Lane is not the type of man to let things rest when it comes to someone he loves.
“Fine. I’m still kicking your ass when you get home, though. We could have talked about this first.” Even as I say the words, my gut and heart are telling me, Yeah, right, Lane Johnson does things his way when it comes to you.
“I’m all yours, baby.” He’s pure golden retriever with a side of Chihuahua when someone hurts his woman or pisses him off. It’s kind of hard to be mad at a man with his energy.
“That’s the problem, Lane. I want you home, safe, and your arms wrapped around me. Promise me you won’t get hurt, or worse, land on his radar and spend time behind bars.” My heart beats rapidly at the thought of Lane being arrested. The Shermans are untouchable, it's plain as day when I can’t even get a return call or email to see how the investigation is going.
“I don’t look good in orange, Birdie. Plus, conjugal visits aren’t up there on my to-do list.” Lane being Lane, I can’t help but laugh.
“You better not. I love you, Lane. Come home safe and sound, please.” Russell is standing off to the side with Catherine. She’s shaking her head, and I’m sure she’s as upset as I am.
“I love you, Birdie. Always. This won’t take long. Law and I have this handled. Things go smoothly, I’ll be home late tomorrow night. We do have to stop by the auction on the way.”
“Alright, I’ll text you when I’m home and in bed.” There’s still a tightness in my chest. This is one of those times I have to let it go and let him do his thing.
“You better, and don’t let Rocky in our bed. I already know you’ve been sneaking him up there when I’m doing morning chores.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. You must be going through a dead zone.” I make the spit and sputtering noise.
“Yeah, yeah. Night, baby,” Lane says.
“Night, Lane.” We hang up, and I’m ready to get back to the house, take a hot shower, and settle in for the night. The wine buzz is all but gone, and in its place is worry.