Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Nadia started it by asking Ledger, “So you’re a Witcher fan?”
But it was Riggs who answered. “He likes anything with lots of sword fights and gore.”
“This is not my preferred viewing fodder,” she admitted to Ledger.
“Why am I not surprised?” his boy quipped.
She grinned at him, took a huge bite of brat, then Riggs felt something he’d never felt before when he watched her eyes roll back into her head.
Mouth still full of brat, she asked, “What miracle is this?”
“Slow skillet cooking in ale,” he told her.
She munched in between exclaiming, “Oh my God. So good.” She swallowed and declared, “Better even than Brenda’s taco meat, and that was crazy good. But she refused to tell me her secret.”
“She cooks that shit slow too, reducing it in extra water and extra seasoning from a packet,” Riggs told her the secret. “Normally, it’d take about ten minutes to brown some meat and add the seasoning. Brenda simmers hers for around forty-five.”
“That’s it?” Nadia asked.
Riggs shrugged.
“I’m trying that,” she declared before another big bite.
“Ask us over when you do,” Ledger put in, then took his own bite.
“Will do,” she muttered then stated, “Beer theme tonight, brats in ale, stout chocolate cake.”
Fuck.
He forgot to offer her a drink.
“You want a beer?” Riggs offered. “Also got some wine if you want me to open a bottle.”
“You don’t drink wine with brats, Riggs,” she chided.
You did not, and he dug it that she knew that.
He smiled at her and hauled his ass to the fridge.
He got her one, him a fresh one, popped the caps and brought them back.
“You walked around the lake today?” Ledger asked her.
“Yes,” she answered, sucking back some beer.
“In the rain?” Ledger pushed.
“I have a new slicker I wanted to try out. It’s pink,” she told him.
“Why am I not surprised about that either?” Ledger asked, grinning at her.
“I’m a girl,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Ledge mumbled this to his plate.
Riggs regarded his son closely.
Well, shit.
Was his boy crushing?
He tried to remember when he realized girls were girls and what he felt about that.
And yeah.
It was around that age.
“I learned last night, rain on a roof lulls you to sleep, even if you’re wide awake when it starts,” she announced, taking Riggs out of his thoughts. “And I learned today that, when it’s cold and you take a hike, you don’t stop until you’re out of the cold. So…look at me. I’m becoming a nature girl.”
Not even close.
And he wanted her comfortable in her surroundings, but he still hoped that shit never fully took.
“Good for you, honey,” Riggs murmured while smiling at her.
She smiled back, again it was untroubled and cheery, and again he was transfixed by it.
She put her brat down to fork into her macaroni salad when he heard her phone vibrate.
She pulled it out, looked at it, frowned, then shoved it back while he could still hear it vibrating, meaning it wasn’t a text, but a call.
“You can deal with it, whatever it is. We don’t stand on ceremony at the Riggs house,” he told her.
“It’s a friend from home. I’ll call her tomorrow.”
Her phone went again, and the blithe look went out of her face as a worried one set in.
“Take it, Nadia,” he urged gently.
“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, slid off her seat and pulled her phone out.
She moved down into the living room as she took the call.
“Hey, Maribeth. I’m at my neighbor’s for dinner so I’ll have to—” She stopped, bent her head, listened, then said, “Listen, I know. I found out—”
She was interrupted again.
She listened some more, then said, “Maribeth, slow down and let me say something.” A pause and then, “I know. Sure, I just found out, but—”
Another interruption and then she looked their way, gave the one-minute finger and walked out the front door.
Riggs and his son exchanged a glance, then Riggs took another bite, chewed it, swallowed it, decided that was enough time to give her, so he put down his own brat and followed her.
He was through the storm door, eyes on her standing on his front deck, when she turned and slammed right into him.
“Gah! Sorry!” she cried, as he wrapped his fingers around her upper arms to steady her.
It was then he noted she was off her phone.
“Everything okay?”
“That was my friend, Maribeth,” she explained. “We’ve been besties since middle school. And she wasn’t buying my fake, having the time of my life in the Pacific Northwest communications. So she looked into things and learned about Ray Andrews and Richard Sandusky.”
“Ah,” he murmured, thinking that would do it for any friend, best or not.
Having no reason to keep his hands on her anymore, he let her go and took a step away.
“So she’s a little freaked, and I’ve been semi-kinda ghosting her, which made her more freaked.”