Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“My family.”
Jesse nods, pleased.
There’s a sense of calm as we all devour the food, and not one of us leaves a scrap on our plates apart from bones stripped of every morsel. Maverick picks up his plate and licks it exaggeratedly, eying me the whole time.
“For God’s sake, man.” Clint’s expression is disgusted. He exchanges a glance with Jesse as Maverick drops the plate unfazed.
“Is there more? My stomach still has space.”
Immediately, my nerves return. There’s nothing left; we’ve cleared the lot. Did I eat too much? No one said anything about my portion size, but now I’m worried that maybe I did. I tense up.
The oven timer pings, and I get to my feet to turn it off. Thank God. I remove the tin from the oven and place it on a rack to cool, then sit back down at the table.
“I made a cake for dessert. It’ll need a minute. Does anyone want coffee?”
A phone rings, and Jesse reaches to answer. “Damn it!” His sudden brusqueness startles me.
Jesse rises to his feet. “Maverick, stop thinking about your belly, we’ve got to go now. The wolves are back.”
All three rise without acknowledging me, my question hanging in the air.
“It’s all right, Clint. Stay here with Taylor. We'll be fine.”
Both men are in their boots and out the door within seconds, and I’m left alone with Clint. He gazes at me across the table.
“You mentioned cake.” His gaze is steady, his expression impassive. My stomach flips and flutters as I get to my feet again and fight back the tremble in my fingers, reaching for a clean knife.
Clint closes his eyes as he savors the warm, sweet cake. Where my father ate like a hungry wolf, Clint takes his time to eat with manners. His appreciative noises are somehow polite rather than crass, and my relief makes me sink into the chair. As soon as he’s finished, he lets his spoon rise and fall between his fingers, staring at the counter. “I wouldn’t say no to another slice! Or that coffee.”
I’m immediately back on my feet.
“Not now, later. I’ve got to get back over to the shelter.”
“The shelter?”
Without Maverick’s humor to fill the room or Jesse’s need to take charge, I suddenly feel stripped bare and vulnerable, exposed as a newcomer with no idea what my husband is talking about.
“We keep a few stalls round the back of one of the main stables. It’s a place where I care for some of the wild animals who I find in a bad way in or around our land. It happens a lot. More than I’d like.”
Clint rises to his feet. I trail my eyes over his huge, muscular form and feel an unusual tightening in my core. Reaching for his clear plate, I run it under the warm tap and stack it on the side.
“I won’t be long,” he adds. “Why don’t you run yourself a bath? You could leave the others some cake. I’ve no idea how long they’ll be.”
Panic pulses at my temples about being alone in this big, old, unfamiliar house.
“Can I come with you?” The words are out before I have the chance to think. Clint eyes me wearily, clearly keen to leave as soon as possible and likely to be free of my company.
He eyes the door, his escape route, then turns to me and shrugs. “Grab your coat, and don’t get under my feet.”
The only warm thing I have is the cardigan I left on the bed upstairs.
When I return to the kitchen, the back door is open, and Clint waits on the wraparound porch. In the light of the moon, his eyes are like amber, warm, yet hiding layers of intensity that make me curious. He has a dimple on his chin, just like the rugged cowboys in TV shows. I linger on the thought of his hungry hands and mouth touching my body again, of me planting kisses on his stubbly face. My fear of the newness of this place mingles with the stirring in my flesh.
He turns and I follow, my shorter legs unable to keep up with his pace. His long stride is full of purpose, and I wonder what kind of a man takes care of sick or injured animals for nothing in return.
“What will the others do to the wolves?”
“Depends on what they find. Maybe they’ll just drive the exposed cattle to closer pastures protected within the electric perimeter. Or maybe they’ll get a gun to their heads. Hard to say.”
I swallow hard.
When we arrive at the shelter, Clint lights a series of lamps, casting a warm glow that allows me to focus on the scene in front of me. The scent of warm hay and clean freshness blends with a general animal musk. Rustling and moaning come from the furthest stall, and Clint immediately approaches, his voice gentle and steady.