Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
This time, they obediently follow me back to the house—or maybe they’re walking me.
All I know is, I’m moving faster than I want to.
Upstairs, I towel them off and lock the dogs in their sunroom while the rain turns into a proper Pacific storm.
“Relax. You guys can nap until your next bathroom break.” I lock the glass doors behind me and head upstairs to wash the dirt and dog hair off.
After the world’s longest shower, I’m in a better mood, but now I’m freaking starving and light-headed.
On my way to the kitchen, I stop by the sunroom and see a black nose smashed against the glass. Coffee sits in front of me, giving me the saddest deer eyes ever.
Oh, he knows he’s in trouble, but he also knows I’m a terrible softie.
Cream ambles over when she notices me, wagging her tail. Unlike most Dobermans, Gram never cropped their ears or had their tails docked, so they both sport long curly question marks for tails.
“Fine, but you two better behave.” I try to sound stern as I open the door, but I must fail totally.
A second later, I’m being licked to death by two giant tongues.
I throw the dogs some treats from my pocket and pilfer through the casseroles in the fridge. Every person in a thirty-mile radius must’ve dropped one off since Gram died, and I’m still thawing out the backlog.
Nothing shows respect like food, and she was a fixture in Pinnacle Pointe. I go for classic cheesy chicken and rice.
As nice as it is not having to cook—not that I can cook—all of this sympathy food is a constant sad reminder of what I’ve lost.
Honestly, just being here is a reminder.
I wish I’d quit Winthrope sooner and moved in with Gram while she was still alive. Maybe if I’d been here to take care of her, she’d still be around.
But she was eighty-seven years old. You couldn’t have saved her from old age.
Still, someone should have been here for her until the end.
Trying to shake off the regret, I warm up the casserole and take it to the living room. I don’t want to eat at this huge table by myself.
Lounging on the couch with my leftovers, I stare at a bone-white envelope with my name scrolled neatly across it.
I sigh, fighting not to lose my appetite.
It’s been here since the day I arrived, untouched and neglected.
I’ll have to read it sooner or later, won’t I? Why wait?
After stuffing a few more bites in my mouth, I put my plate on the table, tear the envelope open, and brace for a heart-sting.
The first two words alone are a gut punch.
It’s insane how a silly nickname can mean so much.
My Queen,
Dry your eyes.
Rejoice.
I’m with my William again, and it’s been a long, long fifteen years.
You’re the only person I can trust my home to because you’re the only one who learned to love it the way I did.
Did you know it was untamed land when I bought it?
We were so young. My father didn’t like Will very much.
He’d forbidden me from seeing him, so Will snuck me out of my second-story window one night, drove off, and we were married the next day.
Your grandpa got a job as the maintenance manager at a Seattle hotel. Women didn’t work much back then, but I was so bored at home.
One day, I brought Will lunch when I knew the hotel manager would be there and convinced the man he couldn’t afford not to hire me.
It only lasted about ten months until your Uncle Henry came. But with my money saved up, I bought that piece of land in an adorable little town far away from the city hubbub.
It wasn’t easy. Women didn’t buy land for themselves in those days.
The bonehead who owned it told me he felt bad for offloading it on a “schoolgirl.” He wanted to make sure my husband knew what I was getting myself into. Your grandpa thought it was hilarious he’d try to lecture me and offered to go “take care of it” before I drowned the poor man face-first in a banana cream pie.
Please.
I let him know real quick that I didn’t need my daddy to tell me who to marry and I damn sure didn’t need a man telling me what to spend my money on.
The property sat and sat and sat some more.
It was just virgin land and it would take a Herculean effort to make it shine. So I waited a few weeks and started writing the knucklehead landowner as L. Risa, a busy investor too busy to come to town for a proper look and signing.
He fell for it and I had my land.
You already know the rest.
I turned it into the best bed and breakfast in a hundred miles and raised a family in Pinnacle Pointe in between.