Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“With water? Oatmeal? Sometimes, if I go out for breakfast, I’ll splurge on an orange juice. I will do an iced coffee every once in a while, but that’s because they’re sweet, and I have a sugar addiction, as evidenced by my hips.”
I narrow my eyes on her, not finding that funny at all. “What the fuck is wrong with your hips, kitten?”
She blinks and bites that lip again. “Uh, maybe I’m still tired. Or nervous. Probably nervous. I’ll just go home and get out of your way.”
“Why are you nervous, Dani?”
She blows out a breath and then looks at me like, really?
“You don’t ever need to be nervous with me. It’s just me.”
She chuckles at that and turns to go, but then stops and unzips the hoodie and starts to take it off. “Sorry, I got cold and borrowed this.”
“Take it with you.” Her eyes whip up to mine as I sip my coffee. “It’s chilly out this morning. Just take it.”
I love seeing it on her. It’s sexy as fuck, knowing that something of mine is wrapped around her.
“Okay,” she murmurs, pulling the front up to her nose. “Thanks. I’ll wash it and bring it back.”
I don’t give a shit about getting it back, so I don’t reply to that. “Thank you for staying with Birdie. I’ll return the favor.”
“You don’t owe me anything. She’s the sweetest little thing, and I was happy to help.” She rubs her hands down her face. “And I don’t mind sleeping on the floor. I actually like it.”
“Why?”
Her gaze finds mine again. “Why do I like the floor?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, no reason. I’d better go—”
I cross the room in three strides and tip her chin up to look at me. “Why do you prefer the floor, Dani?”
Her lips part, and her gorgeous eyes jerk down to my lips.
“I slept on the floor most of my childhood.” The admission is a whisper. “We couldn’t all fit in Holden’s bed with him.”
The reminder of what Dani and her siblings went through as children is an arrow straight to my heart, and I pull her in for a hug, gently rocking her back and forth. I know all too well that their father terrorized all five of them, having witnessed the aftermath too often. I also know, thanks to a conversation I had with Holden earlier this year, that their father killed their mother when Dani was roughly four years old. Holden was the one who raised his sisters, and it would make sense that when things were extra horrible, they’d seek comfort in their big brother’s bed at night.
“I’m okay,” she says against my chest as she pats my back. “I really am, Bridge. I’m doing a lot better, especially now that he’s gone.”
“You’re not okay,” I murmur as I rub my lips over the top of her hair, enjoying this moment with her. “You’re fucking incredible.”
I grin down at her as she pulls out of my arms.
“I really do have to go,” she says, but she doesn’t pull away when I hold her hand in mine, and I take that as a damn good sign. “School starts in just a couple of days, and I have a lot to do.”
“I understand. I have to get Birdie ready, too. Go get ready for the swarm of rug rats.”
She chuckles and pulls away, walking toward the door. “Have a good weekend, Bridger.”
“You, too, Dani.”
The last few days have flown by. I’ve managed to get Birdie all ready for school, finishing up with a trip to the grocery store so we could get all kinds of things for her lunches. We spent Sunday at my family’s ranch, riding horses and hanging out with most of my siblings. My brother Beckett runs the ranch now, and he’s slowly adding on a guest ranch, having just finished building beautiful cabins on the property. He’ll continue his dairy operations, but we have a big property, and he’d like to start capitalizing on the tourists that come to Bitterroot Valley by the thousands every year.
Beck’s a damn smart man.
He’s also busy with a litter of puppies that Birdie couldn’t get enough of—she begged and pleaded for us to take one home—but I had to explain that not only aren’t the puppies old enough to leave their mama, but we’re not home enough to train a dog.
She didn’t like that answer.
But now it’s the first day of school, and Birdie’s forgotten about the little black-and-white puppy and is currently agonizing over which dress to wear.
“I thought you wanted to wear the blue one?” I frown down at the top of her head as I make my way through a French braid. My sister, Billie, finally gave me enough lessons for me to muddle my way through it by myself.
Mostly.
My fingers are too big and clumsy for Birdie’s soft, fine hair, but she insists that she wants braids for her first day, so damn it, she’ll have the fucking braids.