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)
But she needs me. I know she does. I feel it.
I'd trust Jesse with my life, but I don't know that I'd trust him with Taylor's heart.
Swiping my hands over my face, I slide out of bed, hesitating, then resolving to go next door.
The door to Taylor's room is unlocked, and when I swing it open, I find her sleeping curled on her side with her arms crossed at the wrists, tucked under her chin like a child.
Her expression is soft in sleep, not tight with worry about whether she's doing things right, not anxious about the way she looks or the clothes she's wearing.
I touch her hand gently until she inhales deeply, and her eyes flicker open.
“Can I sleep here?” I ask.
“Err…sure.” She sits up in a rush, all the awareness that she carries over her true self back on like a mask.
“It's okay,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”
“You don't want to—”
“I just want to sleep.”
She bites her lip, eying my bare chest and then my boxers, searching. I'm hard, but I'm not going to do anything about it. She wriggles back under the covers, and I round the bed, sliding in behind her. She's so warm and soft, and tucking her against my body feels so damned good. Her body is tense at the start, the unfamiliarity between us fusing her spine. I push my fingers through hers, gripping her hand inside mine. “You feel good,” I tell her.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Taylor's hair tickles my nose, and I inhale her sweet rose scent.
“Sleep now,” I tell her.
And a haze like narcotics slides over me, wiping my mind clean.
“Time to get up.” Jesse's voice booms through the house, his hand banging on the door to another room. I glance next to me and find the bed empty. The sound of dishes clattering travels up from the kitchen. Taylor must have gone downstairs to make breakfast. She should have woken me.
I throw back the covers and head into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face.
By this evening, we need to have the fences fixed. The bunkhouse needs resetting before the new cohort arrives. God knows what sort of state it's in and what might need repairing over there. If Taylor's housekeeping skills are as good as her baking, then the bunkhouse will be more like a guesthouse by the time she has put her touches on it.
That phone call Jesse overheard has left us all concerned. We need to know what she has going on outside this ranch so we can deal with any potential fallout. Jesse wants me to dig for information, but conversation isn't my strength.
Curiosity gets the better of me as I eye the drawers in Taylor's room. She's my wife, and I know almost nothing about her, apart from how good it feels to have her in my arms or to move between her legs. Searching through her things is an invasion of privacy, but I'm hoping it'll help me better work out what questions to ask if I have some background information.
The noise of clattering in the kitchen assures me that I won't be busted looking through her things. Despite my misgivings, I lower myself back down on the edge of her bed, smoothing over the place where she lay. Opening the drawer as noiselessly as I can, I scan the meager contents: a battered cellphone, switched on but password protected, an empty notebook and pen, a colorful romance novel. Predictable. But the edge of something sandwiched between the pages catches my eye. I take out the book and remove a photograph that has been placed there to keep it safe or to keep it hidden. I squash a flash of guilt as it pulses through me. It's not that I don't trust her, but I want to know more about who she is and why she’s here.
The scene in the picture is one of a happy, loving family. Taylor's much younger in this photo, but her beautiful eyes are the same, and so is the sense of awkwardness that stiffens her posture. I'm guessing she's with her momma, her sister, and grandmother. The family resemblance is too strong for them to be unrelated. But there's no father in the photograph. Maybe he took the picture.
Where are they all now? Why do I even care? Something catches in my chest as I breathe in. There are too many secrets between us all. I'm not sure how long they can stay hidden, and if they come out, will Taylor want to stay here?
Taking care to put everything back in its original place, I make my way out of her room to head back to my own so I can get the day started.
In the kitchen, Taylor's wearing one of her old, oversized shirts. A blast of cinnamon rises out on a warm cloud of steam, making my stomach rumble and my mouth water. She sees me and smiles shyly.