Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
“It is for me.” I wrapped a hand around her wrist to stop her from skipping around me and gently pried the bundle out of her hand. “What’s in the bag?”
“A whole lot of junk I haven’t seen since I moved in, so it can’t be that important.”
She was only one sheet to the wind, but it was enough. I thought back to dinner. Had she eaten anything before the questions started?
“I thought I’d get the room ready for when Chick gets here. He hates mess. He was the Felix to my Oscar the last time we odd-coupled.”
“What happened tonight, Gus?”
“Nothing new.” Her struggles against my hold were half-hearted, and from one breath to the next, she changed tactics and started nuzzling my neck. “You always smell good, did you know that? Do you want to have a drink with me? I usually only like it in margaritas, but after the first two shots you stop caring.”
Shots explained a lot. “I’m thinking you should have some water instead.”
“Thinking sounds boring.”
The music changed and she escaped my arms, doing an unstable spin that had me reaching for her again. “Remember this one? ‘I think I’m going to Katmandu! That’s really really where I’m going to. If I ever get ooout of here. That’s what I’m gonna do.’”
August was not a singer, but her over-the-top rendition almost had me smiling, despite my concern. She reached for my hand, spinning into my arms unexpectedly. “And now I’m dizzy,” she admitted, looking up into my eyes.
She wasn’t the only one, but my need to take care of her outweighed everything else.
“Okay, dancing queen, let’s go to the kitchen and sit you down before you hurt yourself.”
“Boring,” she repeated, but she kept her hand in mine to follow.
When my gaze snared on an old ocean-blue iPod plugged into a small Bose speaker on the counter, I recognized it. Sam had taken that thing with her everywhere.
“Every life deserves a soundtrack. This is mine.”
“There are so many songs about leaving on there,” August pointed out, still wiggling to the beat as if she couldn’t help herself. “‘Leaving on a Jet Plane.’ ‘The Road is My Middle Name.’ ‘On the Road Again.’ ‘I Was Born Under a Wandering Star.’ ‘Moving Out.’ Gene likes themes for cars. Maybe that should be Jiminy’s.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I said absently, the black urn sitting beside the iPod a presence as I turned the music down. “So, you and Morgan talked.”
“I guess.” August let me go long enough to get two water bottles from the refrigerator and held one out to me with a sloppy wink. “Your water, as requested. Oh, and she told me she doesn’t care. So that obstacle is out of the way.”
“Doesn’t care about what?” I asked slowly.
“The race. The job. Jiminy. Any of it.”
That didn’t sound like the Morgan I knew.
August placed the cool bottle against her temple, letting the condensation drip down her flushed cheek. “She did worry I was taking advantage of you to get a renter and a job. And wonder if I was medicated. And she implied I might regret throwing away an extra working vehicle if Myrtle has another episode that’s too expensive to fix.” Her grin wobbled and my protective instincts had me stepping in her direction. “There was more, but then I told her I’d handle the boat and she gave me Mom.”
Damn it, Morgan.
She didn’t have a malicious bone in her body, and I knew how much she loved her sister, but occasionally her version of being helpful drew unintentional blood.
“Most of that is noise because she’s stressed about going back to work,” I said, “and feeling guilty for not being here to help you after the storm.”
She looked stunned, but I kept talking, rubbing her shoulders and refusing to let her spend any more time worrying about it. “What’s this about getting a boat?”
She sucked in a breath and held out her hands to indicate the size. “A wooden Viking ship. Miniaturized but still seaworthy and flammable.”
I’d always thought that was a joke. Sam had seen it in a movie once and always told us that was how she wanted to go out. Just set her on fire and leave her to the ocean she loved.
“Kingston’s dad is a woodcarver,” I told her cautiously. “He had a shop for forty years and he still works from home on specialty pieces. Just get me the specs and I’ll give him a call.”
“I can’t let you do anything else for me. This is my responsibility,” she emphasized. “Then I have to find a real boat to rent, because Rick was in the Coast Guard and he’ll never let us use his to break the law.”
“You might be surprised about that.” Rick would do anything for Gene and his family.
“I thought I could Google it and at least do the first part myself, you know? How to carve a wooden boat you plan to set on fire?” she joked before rubbing her temple with a wince. “You think Mr. Haywood would take the job?”