Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
I felt my jaw drop. I stared at her, praying that meant—
“They’re clearing my record!” There were tears in her eyes. “I can work in a hospital again!”
I threw my arms around her and pulled her to my chest. She was quaking in relief, and I squeezed her tight.
“There’s a hospital in Mount Mercy,” she said. “It might be a while before something comes up there, but…”
I nodded quickly and touched my forehead to hers, grinning.
Bethany saw our faces and hurried over with Cal to find out what the good news was. When Olivia told her, Bethany pulled her into a hug. That brought Emily over, Stacey came out from behind the bar and soon Olivia was being hugged from three directions at once, while Rufus put his paws on her shoulders from behind, thinking this was a new game. I saw Gina hurry away clutching her drink, before someone hugged her.
I withdrew a little, giving the women space. I had a feeling Olivia had found a new group of friends. And I was beyond happy that she’d finally be able to do what she loved again. There was only one thing that was niggling at me.
I’d told Olivia I had no regrets about giving up the gold, and that was true. If I had to do it over, I’d choose her and save the village again in a heartbeat. But…
It was weird. All those years in jail, I’d dreamed and planned what I was going to do with the money. Houses. Yachts. Maybe even a private island.
But when I’d asked her to run away with me, those plans had changed. Suddenly, the money had become about making a future for us and sharing all the places I loved with her. It had made all the original plans I’d made seem empty and lonely. That’s the only thing I regretted. That I couldn’t share the gold with her.
The women were deep in discussion now, something about dinner at Stacey and Bradan’s place next week, so Cal and I joined JD and Colton over at the grill.
JD was listening to Colton tell him about the boat he lived on, back in Missouri. “Best thing in the world, being rocked to sleep by the water.” He scowled. “Going to have to sell it: no way to get it here.”
“You could use the money to buy a new truck,” Danny said as he passed. He nodded at Colton’s pickup, parked nearby. It was at least thirty years old, and patches of rust had spread across so much of the bodywork, it looked as if they might join up at any second and the whole thing would just split in two. The driver’s door was orange and the passenger door was green: neither of them looked to be original. The rest of the paint had been bleached bone white by the sun, so it was impossible to tell what color the thing had been originally.
“There ain’t nothing wrong with my truck,” Colton told him firmly. He flipped a steak. “Next time we do this, we’ll build a smoke pit and get some brisket going. And we’ll slow-cook some pulled pork, put it all on sandwiches…”
As Colton mumbled himself off into a meat fantasy, Kian came over in jeans and a t-shirt. I did a double take: it was the first time I’d seen him in anything but a suit.
“Things are getting interesting in Ecuador,” he said. “The government are still claiming they knew nothing about the plot to wipe out the village. They say the whole thing was all down to a couple of corrupt ministers, one army general, and our friend Major Zamora.”
“You believe ‘em?” asked Colton.
“Not really. Neither do their own voters: they’re marching in the streets. Looks like they’re going to kick the bastards out at the next election. And Major Zamora is looking at a military tribunal and serious prison time.”
“What about the oil industry guy, with the glasses?” I asked.
Kian pulled a rolled-up magazine from his back pocket and wagged it at me like a giant finger. “Now that’s even more interesting. He’s Hugo Bainbridge.” And he tossed the magazine to me, narrowly missing the grill’s flames.
I unrolled the magazine. It was a Time from a few months ago, and the cover was a group photo, taken in front of a mansion. A Rare Look Inside the Bainbridges. I looked closer: yep, that was Hugo in the second row.
“They’re the one percent of the one percent,” Kian told us. “Old money.” He pointed. “She’s in pharmaceuticals, he’s in defense, he’s in finance…and our boy Hugo, he’s deep in the oil industry. Between them, they run half the feckin’ world. But even their lawyers aren’t going to be able to keep Hugo out of jail.”
Colton took the magazine and studied the photo, glaring at each face in turn, then passed it back to Kian with a grunt.