Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
I take the juice over to Carrie, and she accepts it, shouting, “Thanks,” to Frasier. He responds, “No problem,” and I meet him back at the door.
“Must’ve been tired. Fell asleep right after we got up here,” I say.
He eyes me up and down and chuckles. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, son.” Carrie laughs from inside the room. “But the night went well. Handled what I could, and the youngsters did the rest.”
“Being old isn’t an excuse for being lazy,” I tease.
She laughs again, and the sound makes my insides melt. Soft, innocent, safe. The exact state I wanted to bring her to when she pitched up here.
Frasier gestures with his head for me to join him outside, and though our conversation started light, my suspicions were correct. He’s about to drop something on me.
I close the door behind me and follow him along the upper deck until we reach the end. He looks back at Carrie’s room to make sure she isn’t listening in before he speaks.
“Sheriff Kimble stopped by around one-thirty,” he says.
“For the punks?” I wouldn’t be surprised with the tree-sized stick Larry Kimble has up his ass.
Frasier shakes his head.
“Said some suspicious-looking guys have been hanging around town and asked if they were with you. Rolled in yesterday, booked three rooms at the Gray Hotel, and carry a . . . how did he put it?” He turns his eyes to the ceiling, trying to recall the sheriff’s exact words. “A dirty kind of stink about them.” He takes another drag and ashes the tip onto the tray. “Are we expecting anyone?”
Fuck.
Rage lights a fire in my belly before I’ve fully processed what he said.
“Not us.” Us being me and Frasier, that is. The other us, Carrie and I, we’re expecting a lot more than people.
Why I thought there’d be more time before they arrived is beyond me. Carrie’s ex-boss is a stalker, a stalker with means. It seems. He has enough money to hire someone to follow her around day and night; it shouldn’t be a leap to believe he’d have followed her here, too.
“Her?” Frasier asks after my long pause.
I nod.
I give him a rundown of what Carrie told me the night before. The important details surrounding the turmoil this prick put her through. He nods and listens, not interrupting me until I’ve finished.
“I don’t expect you to get involved, but I am going to sort this out,” I conclude.
“And let you run away with the girl and all the fun? Over my dead body.” He pats me on the shoulder to show support. “Y’have a plan?”
“Not yet. Working on it.” Not a lie, necessarily, but I haven’t had much time to put thought into it. “I’ll keep you in the loop.”
He nods and starts walking. I follow, slipping back into Carrie’s room while he carries on down the stairs.
She’s out of bed when I arrive. Half naked with a thin blanket draped over her shoulders, the morning sun bathing her in rays of gold, amplifying her angelic qualities to new heights.
“Did you get in trouble for last night?” She winks while she speaks. Teasing? Good, she doesn’t suspect a thing.
“Not quite.” I make my way over and kiss her good morning. “Frasier wanted to give me an update on how things went.”
“That’s why he walked you off?” A brow crinkles above her beautiful eye. Smart. Curious. Cautious. All at once.
“Didn’t want you overhearing that the sheriff came by again.” I made a promise to myself that I’d never lie to Carrie. Not about anything. But like before, she has to ask the right questions.
No part of me wants to say that her ex-boss followed her here. Not before I have a concrete plan to stop him from making her life hell. Until then, I want her to live in this budget paradise, wearing that smile and nothing else, strutting around like she owns the damn place.
That would be my heaven.
“Oh shit.” Her eyes widen at the sheriff’s mention. “Was it about those guys?”
“That was my first thought, but no. Guess he just likes poking his nose in my business to find something that will stick.” Like three hotel rooms’ worth of garbage that needs taking out. She extends a hand to me, and as it moves under the blanket and exposes her naked body beneath, a solution hits me. Not one I’m going to be pleased with when she has a full wardrobe to pull from, but it should steer her mind off this topic. “I was thinking we can head into town today. You need clothes, and I need a break from the bar. We can make a day of it.”
Her face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning.
“That sounds like a fabulous first date,” she says, hurrying to gather yesterday’s clothes off the floor. I do the same.