Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
The soft, muffled crying was the only response I got.
“Do you want me to call the sheriff or the paramedics?” I asked. I didn’t particularly want to call the sheriff because I’d already had a brief run-in with the cocky man only a few minutes earlier when I’d entered town for the first time. He hadn’t done anything overtly threatening when he’d literally pulled me and my horse over with his police car as I’d arrived in the small town of Eden. The older man had puffed out his chest and made a show of putting his hat on, followed by placing his hand on his holstered gun. The whole thing had been so humorous that I’d nearly laughed out loud when I thought about what I’d do if he expected to see my license, registration, and insurance. Luckily, he’d merely interrogated me as to what I was doing in his town, eyeing me and my patient horse up and down with distaste before warning me to stay out of trouble as he’d strutted back to his vehicle.
“No,” the person squeaked. “I’m fine,” they choked out between coughs. I couldn’t tell by the voice whether the individual was a man or woman, but the strange tension in my chest grew stronger and an overwhelming need to put my hands on them took over. Before I even realized it, I was doing just that.
I got a muffled response to my touch, but it at least got them moving. They scrambled away from me until their back hit the brick wall behind them. I would have expected to be able to identify the person’s gender as some of the dust fell away, but all I could make out was dark hair, a flash of bright purple, and something that looked a lot like the shag carpeting that had covered the common areas of the place I’d once called home. Beneath the layer of dust, I could tell the shag wasn’t really shag at all, but the long fibers were similar. Only this particular person was wearing the once white material around their shoulders like some kind of mantle.
“I’m fine,” the stranger repeated. “You can go now,” he or she added.
Their voice had a lighter pitch to it, so I still couldn’t make out their gender, but every time the individual shifted their weight, more dust fell away, revealing an array of colors and textures. Glittery gold pants. Shimmering white pearls that seemed to be everywhere, and to top it off, high-soled platform boots with purple tassels hanging from where the heel met the sole.
Okay, so definitely a woman.
A strangely dressed woman for a small town like Eden.
Or for anywhere, as far as I was concerned. The closest image I could conjure up that matched even one element of the bizarre outfit was the tassels because they looked like the ones the ladies who did barrel racing in rodeos often wore.
The lady let out a shriek when my horse’s lips came into contact with her hair.
“He’s just checking’ to make sure you’re alright,” I said before I reached for one of the reins from the stallion’s bridle and gave it a soft tug. He immediately lifted his head and backed up a couple of steps. I took advantage of the horse’s proximity and quickly stood so I could grab my canteen and a towel from my saddlebag. The towel wasn’t exactly the cleanest since I used it to wipe dust and sweat from my brow, but it would have to do.
By the time I turned back around, I was surprised to see that the cowering woman was now on her feet. She was trying to shake out her weird fur shoulder thing. That mere movement told me she wasn’t seriously hurt. It should have taken away some of the weird tension in my chest, but instead, butterflies began dancing in my stomach.
What the hell, Flynn?
I quashed the silent, self-directed question and focused on getting some of the water from my canteen onto the towel. My hands were trembling.
“Uh, here,” I said as I stepped back toward the woman, stupidly holding out the canteen and towel at the same time. When her tear-stained, makeup-smeared eyes turned to meet mine, I wasn’t expecting the punch to the gut—the metaphorical kind, not a literal one—that nearly had me staggering backwards.
I didn’t see the smeared mascara or eyeliner.
The stain of tears didn’t hold my attention.
As far as I was concerned, every speck of dust was gone.
The only thing I saw was the striking green eyes looking back at me. They were the color of the long, tall, endless waves of new grass hidden away in the few untouched mountain valleys that I’d probably been one of very few people to ever see. I’d always felt like I’d stumbled upon the most precious of secrets when I’d let my eyes roam across that grass. I’d never touched it, though; I’d never robbed it of its strength and beauty, but I’d always wondered what it would feel like as I ran my fingers through it.