Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“You sure you’re all right?” he asks. “Can’t help noticing a little bit of a limp.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just an old injury.” I don’t care to let him know old means just a few months in this case.
“Dance, right?” he asks, his tone oddly neutral.
I look up at him. “You remember...?”
“Well, I’ve seen Granny Coffey more than a few times since moving back here. The old gal’s proud of you, Tory. You’re damn near all she talks about some nights at the Purple Bobcat.”
I give him a friendly smile, while making a mental note to ask my grandmother why she hadn’t mentioned running into him. Weird.
She’s talked up nearly everyone else I ever knew in Dallas and filled me in on their whole biography, where they are, what they’re doing.
Most cases are too predictable. They’re settled, working, and raising kids. The older folks are retired. But pretty much everybody’s following the small-town circle of life: grow up, get a job, get hitched, have kids, and go gossip. That last one is super important.
“When did you move back here yourself?” I ask, hoping he has a happier reason for being in Dallas as a grown man.
“Over a year ago. Ridge and I were Army buddies. I came by today to drop off a few old things I found in my barn for his lady. Grace Barnet’s been a one-woman decorating machine since before she married him. Hell, I’m the reason he moved out here and met her,” he says proudly, thumbing his chest. “He was looking to leave Hollywood, and I kept pulling his tail about Dallas being the best escape. Couldn’t believe it when he actually bought a place here not long after I returned. I wound up helping him with a little personal mess and decided to stay longer. My grandpa willed me his place when he died, and since I was the only one in the family interested...here I am.”
“So, you’re living there full time then?”
“Yep, just fixing the old farm up, piece by piece. The farm sat empty for several years between Gramps’ health failing and me settling in after his funeral.” He turns his head, holding my gaze, pinning me down with those otherworldly eyes. “This town gets a hold on you, don’t it? I always had a funny feeling I wasn’t quite done here.”
“Maybe so,” I whisper, giving up a smile.
The more he talks, the faster questions bolt through my head, chasing after memories of better times.
Memories with a charming boy who’s turned into a rugged man, and he’s still coming to my rescue after all these years, apparently.
Imagine that.
Being a temporary goat wrangler in Dallas, North Dakota, just got interesting.
2
Just Goat Serious (Faulkner)
The longer I gawk at her like I’ve mentally reverted back to seventeen, the harder it is to believe I just found Tory Redson-Riddle-Coffey swinging off Ridge’s gate.
She, with three names announcing to the world that she was born big-city royalty.
She, with a smile that still cuts like sunlight on days when the sky goes grey.
She, who tormented me with wet dreams every time I’d go home to Tulsa, and years later on hot nights in Kandahar and Bagram base. Every time my mind wandered thousands of miles home to cold beer, cooler breezes, and pretty girls I wish I’d bedded.
None more than the slice of Chicago deep dish sweetness standing in front of me, legs longer than I remember, and a face that says it’s seen some shit even if she’s all bashful smiles and cute lies.
She’s also a girl, a friend, a confidant I grew up respecting like hell.
Therefore, totally off-limits to the kid who was a few years older.
Hey, I had just enough restraint to think with my head instead of my dick sometimes, thank you very much.
Hearing her say son of a biscuit eater left me stunned. I thought I was hallucinating the woman hanging off of Ridge’s gate. Sure, I’d recognized Dean Coffey’s rig with its brand-new Rent-A-Goat logo splashed on the side, but never, not in a million years, thought Tory would be the one driving it.
Delivering goats to this cleanup job around the pond where Ridge wants more acreage cleared. Nothing says married life like the sprawling pumpkin business he’s running with Grace and Nelson, his father-in-law.
Ridge is on an all-organic kick between the pumpkins and his cattle. He’d mentioned hiring Dean’s Rent-A-Goats a couple weeks ago before leaving for another shoot in Hollywood, and Grace said today was the big day while I’d brought in her stuff.
“How long are you in town for?” I ask Tory, keeping our walking pace slow due to the way she’s favoring one leg.
“Just until my knee heals. Gran threatened to drag me here if I didn’t visit while I have the downtime.” She smiles, flicking her hair over one shoulder.