Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 551(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
“But I don’t like chicken.”
My turn to laugh. “Sorry, Mrs. W. She’s trying to play you. Junie loves chicken. Hey, Vince.”
“Hey there, Ava. And hey, Miss June. Can I get another high five for how well you did this morning? You were such a big help.” He holds up a hand.
Junie jumps up to slap it. Not gonna lie, this kind of thing makes me feel all warm and mushy inside. This morning, I took Junie out for a trail ride so we could visit the Wallaces’ herd of cows. We ran into Vince when we were done, and he showed Junie how to untack our horse and brush him down. I don’t know who enjoyed the lesson more—her or Vince. His boys are teenagers now, and I can tell he misses having little kids around.
“All right, Junie.” I put my hands on her shoulders and start steering her toward the food. “Let’s eat our chicken, and then you can have some cake.”
We’re just about to grab some plates when I see Sally approaching, hand in hand with Wyatt. I’m always struck by how much he reminds me of Sawyer—something about the shade of his eyes and his confident, steady stride.
Then again, everything seems to remind me of Sawyer, so I’ve never read too much into it.
Seeing me, Sally smiles and waves. My stomach flips, nerves returning with a vengeance.
Stop it. You’re going to be fine.
I wave back and force brightness into my voice. “Hey, y’all! Thank you so much for coming. We’re blown away by the turnout!”
Wyatt grins. I don’t miss the way he keeps Sally close, their arms brushing as they absently swing their joined hands.
“Welcome to Hartsville, where everyone’s nosy as hell but always willing to lend a hand.” He nods at the kegs. “The fact that there’s free beer here doesn’t hurt.”
I smile. “Least we could do.”
“So, Ava,” Sally says, glancing at her fiancé, “Wyatt and I would like you to meet someone.”
Looking at Junie, I pretend to be surprised. “Oh? This sounds fun.”
Junie, ever the optimist, screams with delight. Together we follow Sally and Wyatt into the barn. The singed smell of smoke burns my nostrils, but it’s alleviated somewhat by the clean, fresh scent of new lumber. Several men and women are hard at work repairing some framing on the far wall. A little girl busies herself with a pink plastic hammer in the opposite corner, a safe distance from the construction.
My gaze immediately catches on a tall, broad-shouldered guy smack dab in the middle of the wall. He’s in jeans and a flannel shirt he fills out to perfection, biceps bulging as he lifts a two-by-four—at least I think that’s what you call those long, thin wooden boards? A tool belt is slung around his hips.
Even from behind, you can tell he’s handsome. Especially from behind. The way his butt fills out those broken-in Levi’s—
Wait a second.
Wait. A. Second.
Those jeans—that thick, dark hair—oh, God, now he’s turning, offering me a glimpse of his side. He’s got his sleeves rolled up, revealing a big, bold line of script tattooed on his thickly muscled forearm. Ella.
There’s a faint buzzing in my ears that’s overtaken by the panicked throb of my pulse. My head suddenly feels like it’s being squeezed inside a vise, even as my heart leaps in elation.
Can’t be. No way. No fucking way—
“Sawyer!” Wyatt calls.
Oh my God it’s him.
And that’s his daughter playing with the plastic hammer. Ella isn’t his mom. She’s Sawyer’s daughter.
I’d laugh if I didn’t feel like I was about to vomit. Of course he’s a dad.
The offer to get me wipes, how he was always thinking ahead, anticipating needs. How he made sure I never went hungry or thirsty.
I’ve encountered very few married men who operate that way. But a single dad? Totally makes sense.
The little girl looks our way and immediately lights up, making a mad dash across the barn to hug Wyatt and Sally. “Uncle Wy! It’s Uncle Wy and Auntie Sally!”
June tugs on my hand. “Mommy, can I play with her?” she whispers.
The man—Sawyer—turns to fully face his brother. The dimples in his cheeks pop when he smiles, and I feel a vaguely familiar tingle in my knees.
“Hey, Wyatt,” he says. “Sally, it’s always a pleasure seeing yo …”
The word dies in his mouth when our gazes lock. Even in the dim light of the barn, the blue in his eyes is so piercing that I feel it like a knife through the chest.
“Hey!” It’s the only word I can seem to formulate.
A pink flush works its way up Sawyer’s thick neck. I notice his scruff is scruffier. His mustache isn’t as neatly trimmed as it was back in Austin. There are purple rings around his eyes.
He looks as overwhelmed and bone-tired as I feel.
“It’s … good to see you,” he says with a laugh, raising an arm to tug a hand through his hair. “Been a minute.”