Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
The thought of my father dying, of someone hurting him because of me… I would never forgive myself.
“I need to see him. I can tell him to stop. Tell him everything is okay.”
Calder nods. “That might help. He’s more likely to listen to you anyway, but it might be better to wait till the bruise on your face heals.”
“Oh yeah.” I let go of his arm and frown. I had forgotten about the bruise. If my father sees me now, that will only raise more alarms.
An ache forms in my chest at the loss of contact, and I don’t understand why. Yes, I’m attracted to Calder, but I shouldn’t crave his touch, his warmth, his presence.
“There’s more,” he whispers. “Emma Porter’s getting involved. She’s started making moves. Hired an investigator. Sawyer thinks she’s trying to build a criminal case against us.”
My heart thunders inside my chest. “I don’t understand. In what way?”
“She wants to try to prove I forced you into this. That you didn’t choose to marry me because you love me.”
“What are you going to do?”
He shrugs. “Nothing right now. We’re going to continue watching her, and you and I will continue playing our parts, making everyone believe we’re happily married and happily in love.” His jaw tightens. “And if that doesn’t work, then we make the problem disappear.”
Make the problem disappear?
It’s not a threat. It’s a promise. Acceptance or death. Anyone who asks questions, tries to fight back, ends up in a shallow grave. I can’t accept that. I won’t. Except you will, a tiny voice says in the back of my mind.
“I’ve done my part, and I will continue to try to make others believe us, but I refuse to be responsible for someone else’s death. I won’t carry that weight, Calder. I can’t.”
Calder looks at me, sadness filling his eyes. “I know, and I would never expect you to do that. If I have to be the monster, if I have to do something that makes you hate me for the rest of my life, to ensure you’re safe and protected, then I will gladly do that. But we aren’t at that point yet, so for now, we’re going to continue doing what we’re doing. If problems persist, we will see what happens.”
Knots twist in my stomach, and I don’t know what to say. Don’t know if I should scream and cry or feel grateful that he’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect me. I’m caught between good and bad, between lust and hate, between right and wrong. And with every day that passes, with every lie that slips from my lips, a little bit more of the girl I used to be disappears, and something tells me that by the time this is all over, the person I used to be will cease to exist.
Saint
When I wake up the following morning, the knot in my stomach is still there. I force myself to go through the motions. I’m desperate to find my way back to some type of normal, even if I know it will never be my kind of normal.
I take my coffee and sit out on the front porch, watching as the sun rises. It’s beautiful, and sometimes you need something to remind you of the beauty in life. The moment is ruined when Calder pulls up in his truck. He woke me earlier, while it was still dark, to let me know he needed to go out and move some cattle.
That was three hours ago. Shutting the truck off, he steps out of the truck, closes the door, and slowly walks up the front steps. I watch him, trying not to stare, but he is technically my husband, so I can do that.
He’s dressed in blue jeans and a red flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. It’s less noticeable, the pain in his ribs, but I can tell he’s favoring one side over the other. I shouldn’t feel sorry for him, but I do. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. This attraction I have toward him is all stupid, and it only keeps growing despite how bad I tell myself he is for me.
I force myself to look away because I shouldn’t be thinking about his hands and how good they feel on my skin, or the heat of his lips when they press against mine. I shouldn’t see him as anything other than a monster, yet somehow, that’s the last thing I picture when I look at him. At least right now.
“Good morning,” he greets, climbing the steps with a small smile on his lips.
“Morning,” I murmur and take a sip of coffee. “Did you collect all the cattle?”
“Sure did. There’s never a day off for ranchers. Not even on Sundays.”
The reminder that it’s Sunday and I should be at church, spending time with my father and helping him hits me hard.