Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
I drop to my knees beside the cowboy, reaching for the hat a few inches away from him. He lost it when he collapsed in front of my car. I’m not even sure what to do with the hat. I can’t put it back on his head so I set it beside me and flap my arms, shouting at him, “Excuse me. I need you to be alive.”
I peer at his face, hoping for some sign of movement. It’s then I realize I’m talking to Zac Maple. I suck in a deep breath as his eyelids flutter. Zac Maple is the resident celebrity of Courage County. He’s a country music superstar and is considered a legend in Nashville. He’s known for his hit single, “Rowdy Cowboy”.
Shit, this is even worse than I thought. “Listen, you can’t be dead.”
His eyelids flutter open, and he stares at me. That’s got to be a good thing, right? The fact that he can see me?
“I’m in heaven,” he says in that smoky crooner’s voice that’s gotten him certified gold albums.
I panic at the certainty in his voice. “No, you’re not. You’re fine. You’re Zac freaking Maple. You’re not going to let an itty-bitty car take you out, are you?”
As soon as I say the words, I imagine the headline, “Zac Maple Killed by Klutzy Wannabe Journalist”. They’ll probably put my mugshot on all the social media platforms. I’ll be famous for being the girl who killed a legend.
“You’re an angel,” he says.
I scoff at that, certain he has a concussion. “Listen, I do not have the upper body strength to drag you into the woods and bury you, so I need you to get up.”
“Things are definitely up,” he tells me.
OK, so he doesn’t know what’s going on, but at least, he’s talking. That has to be good. “Yeah, positive mindset. That’s what we need. Okay, so I’m going to help you get to your feet. Do you think you can do that?”
“I’ll do anything for you. You want songs? I can write songs!”
My heart hasn’t stopped pounding, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve injured him. I had no idea his beard was so thick and bushy up close or that his eyes were this brown. A girl could drown in that beautiful gaze.
The humidity in the late afternoon air is making my shirt stick to my back, and my hair frizz. I’m sweaty and tired from trying to tug him upright. “No songs needed. Stand up.”
He manages to get to his feet. He doesn’t look too badly injured. Maybe I didn’t do any permanent damage.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” I ask, trying to decide what to do with him. I could call the sheriff, but he’s likely on the mountain with everyone else.
“Not anymore. It healed.” He reaches for the waistband of his pants and tugs them down a little, revealing a flash of black briefs and a purple bruise that’s bigger than my hand on the side of his hip. It might even be bigger than both my hands.
I gasp in shock, horrified that he’s hurt. I didn’t think I hit him that hard. He’s injured and in pain. This is all my fault.
He sways on his feet. The moment he does, I put his arm around my shoulders.
“Lean on me,” I tell him, the pit in my stomach growing bigger. Plastered this close to him, I can’t help but notice how good he smells. This is exactly what a cowboy should smell like—spice and leather and the end of a long summer day. But he douses my enjoyment the moment he slurs, “You’re my future wife.”
“Let’s get you in the car, and we can talk about that in a minute.”
He leans close, staring intently at me for so long that I forget to breathe, despite the fact that he’s clearly not in his right mind. ”I’m going to marry you.”
I snort at his words. He definitely has a head injury. ”I can’t wait. I’ll be the one in white.”
I manage to help him into the car, watching as he settles into the passenger seat. It’s almost comical to see his big frame in my tiny car.
Since he’s not making a move to do anything else, I reach for his seatbelt and fasten it. I try to be as gentle as I can so I don’t bump him. I can’t believe I bruised him. I feel like a monster.
“See, my brother was right,” he says. “You have to find the right girl.”
I join him in the car, thankful that I left Rusty in park instead of turning off the ignition. That’s another one of Rusty’s charming quirks. Sometimes, she doesn’t like to start.
Zac closes his eyes, and I try to remember if it’s safe to sleep after a head injury. “Stay with me. Keep talking. Tell me more about our upcoming wedding.”