Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
So I want to be brave for him today.
Which is why I’m in the barn, up in our makeshift bedroom where I’ve spent every single night since I got here. Well, except the very first one, when he left me alone in his room because he misguidedly thought I should stay away from him. I’m glad I didn’t. Because I never would’ve known this kind of love existed.
His thudding footsteps on the creaking stairs alert me that he’s here. He’s walking up and my heart starts racing. The moment he reaches the landing, his eyes lock with mine, and I lose my breath.
He’s in his usual attire, a soft-looking dark T-shirt, a pair of washed-out jeans, and muddy boots, along with his brown Stetson. He usually also has leather chaps on when he’s working with the horses, which he probably was. Given that he’s been trying to break that bronc Axton was riding the first day we came in. He’s made some progress with it, but the horse is still skittish and gets spooked easily. Anyway, my husband removes his chaps before coming to me. He also washes his mud-streaked hands and arms.
I asked him about that one day, and he said, “Can’t put my filthy cowboy hands on your flower-soft skin now, can I?”
I swear I almost blurted it out then. That I love him, and he can put his hands on me any way he likes. Bloody, dirty, filthy. I’ll take whatever he’ll give me.
“You okay?” he asks, walking toward where I’m standing by the window, a frown creasing his brow.
I fist my dress and nod. “Yes.”
He comes all the way over to me and frames my face with his hands. “Is it your period?”
I have to chuckle at this. “This is the first time you’ve used that term.”
“What term?”
I grab his shirt at the sides. “Period. You usually just say ‘on the rag’ or something equally cowboy-ish.” Then, “Actually, ever since we got here, you sound more like a cowboy than you ever did back when we were in the woods.”
It’s true. His drawl is more pronounced, and his words have a lazy pitch that wasn’t there when I initially met him. Probably because this is his home, his place in the world.
His frown stays in place, telling me he doesn’t find any of this amusing. “So is that it? You in pain?”
I shake my head, my heart clenching at his concern. “No. It’s all over now. As of this afternoon.”
The pads of his rough fingers dig into my cheek. “So then, what is it? Ax said he dropped you off here sometime before lunch.”
After our little foray into Marsden’s office and what I found in his safe, I told Axton to bring me to the barn. He didn’t ask me what I read in that file, even though he was standing right there. He didn’t even take a peek while I was reading it. I guess he really was serious when he said I was entering sacred territory. That he would steal money from the safe but not touch anything else. These three brothers are something else, aren’t they?
“They’re different,” I say.
“What?”
“Your names,” I explain. “Marsden, Arsenal, Axton.”
His frown keeps deepening, and I don’t blame him for that. I’m not making much sense to him. I’m not making much sense to myself either. All I know is that I want to find out everything about him. Every little thing. I want to get so close to him that nothing can ever tear us apart. Not even his thirst for revenge. Or his love for another woman.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” he growls.
“Was it your mom?” I ask instead. “Who named you all?”
He opens his mouth but closes it a second later. He searches my eyes, and I’m too overwhelmed right now to hide anything I’m feeling. I don’t know what he sees in them—restlessness, heartbreak, panic, love—but whatever it is, it makes him pull me even closer, his palms splaying open on my cheeks, his fingers burying in my hair, his thumbs stroking the sides of my lips. Then with a low, rough voice, he replies, “Yeah. Off these books she used to read. All about cowboys and gunslingers.”
“Your mom used to read books like me?”
“Clearly, I got my type from my ma.”
Fisting his shirt, I swallow. “Your name’s my favorite. Out of all your names. Out of all the names actually.”
“Yeah?”
“It reminds me of fire. You know, like arson. A crime but I don’t care.”
His fingers flex on my face. “Darlin’, you gotta tell me what’s—”
“I know why you lied about it. In the beginning. But I wish you didn’t need to.”
I wish you didn’t need to do what you’re doing. I wish you were free.
“Baby, what’s—”
“I love my name too,” I say, cutting him off. “But I don’t know where my mom got it from. She never told me.”