Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Like Quin.
He'd resisted for years from what I understood, not wanting to have to answer to anyone, maybe. But, more likely, not liking the idea of everyone knowing about his skeletons - in both the literal and the figurative way.
But he'd finally caved.
And now Quin had what he wanted.
And a fuckuva lot more.
"Trying to keep him from messing with someone is like trying to stop a toddler from getting into trouble," Finn said, shaking his head. "The shorter answer would be What hasn't he done? He and Nia... they're oil and water."
I hadn't met Nia.
The one time I'd been to Navesink Bank since she joined up, she'd been at home. I had no idea what she was like. But from the stories, she was a force to be reckoned with, sure of herself, opinionated, and smart enough to make anyone who dared argue with her feel like a moron for attempting to do so.
I could see the two not mixing.
"Hey Ranger?" Meadow called, coming around the corner of the kitchen, her hair darker when wet, clad in another of my shirts, having not seen the pile of things for her near the fireplace.
And I wasn't going to remind her.
"Yeah?"
"You know that thing in the animal pen? That thing they climb all over. It's silver," she specified since the pen was full of makeshift climbing equipment for the goats for enrichment.
"The stock tank."
"Yeah, that. Is that completely necessary? Can I borrow it?"
"Borrow it for what?" I asked, pouring the water into the press.
"For Gadget. I don't know why it hasn't occurred to me before. It would make a safe little pen when I need my hands free. And it will contain messes better. And be easier to clean up."
More accommodating for Finn.
There was the goddamn warm feeling again.
A small part of me wanted to tamp it down, chill it out, but the larger part just couldn't get enough.
"Good idea. I can haul..."
"I got it," she cut me off, shrugging, as she reached for a pair of my work gloves that looked comically large on her small hands.
"I like her."
"You don't even know her," I shot back, feeling a strange, uncomfortable sensation rise up. Something I was almost ready to label as jealousy. But that was simply ridiculous.
"You think she's gonna be he..."
"Oh, you bastard!" Meadow's voice carried from outside, making a low chuckle move through me, my lips curving upward as I turned toward Finn.
"Red," I told him, leaning back against the counter. "The two of them aren't fans of each other."
"You better run," she called, voice getting closer, a dragging sound accompanying her. "I mean, being here has cured me over ever being able to eat chicken again, but I swear I am half ready to cull and pluck him myself," she grumbled as she came in the door. "It's been a long time since I've had chicken noodle soup!" she called out the door before closing it behind her.
"He won this round, huh?" I asked, seeing the little trail of blood down her ankle.
"He won't be strutting around all proud of himself if he's boiling in veggie broth."
It was all bluster.
She wasn't lying about not wanting to eat chicken again. After having spent some time with the hens, seeing how sweet and curious they could be, she told me over dinner that the idea of eating chicken again turned her stomach.
"So, Finn, did you bring it?" she asked, pulling the tank into the corner near the fireplace.
"Did I bring what?" he asked, brows furrowed. Worried. He was worried. That he might not have brought the right thing. Finn had a quirk - the origins of it none of us knew - where he had this overwhelming need to please women, often giving little unexpected gifts. Like when he worked on a case for Quin's woman back before she was his, redecorating her room for her after he cleaned the scene. Little shit like that. Just to make them happy. I suspected Meadow would find something in the pile of things he got for her that no one had asked him to get. It was just how he was. So the idea of forgetting something that would please her filled him with dread.
"Spaghetti," I clarified. "She's been dying for spaghetti. Don't worry, he brought you enough to feed you every week for the next year," I told her, thinking of the rearranging I'd needed to do in the pantry to make room for it - and the few jars of sauce he'd brought even though I'd told him we could make our own.
"Guess what we're having for dinner tonight? Whether the two of you like it or not," she added, turning with her hands on her hips, waiting for an argument, ready to shoot it down.
"There's no protein in it," I told her, just curious at what she might say.