Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
"Are you okay?" she asks me.
No. Hell no. I am not okay. Not even remotely fucking close to it. She slept in a stall with an animal she was afraid of because she had nowhere else to go.
I've gotta get right with Jesus before falling for this woman sends me to an early grave with my soul still stained and dirty.
I stride to Jon's stall, stopping beside the door. "Come here," I murmur, holding my hand out to her. "Let me properly introduce the two of you."
She hesitates for a minute and then strides forward, slipping her hand into mine. I don't miss the way her fingers tremble slightly.
"Jon Bon Pony, this is Calamity Jane," I say, my tone formal. "Calamity, this is Jon Bon Pony."
"It's nice to meet you, sir," she says with a soft laugh.
Jon shoves his head over the stall, trying to butt it against her. She squeaks and jumps back against me.
"Easy, baby," I murmur. "He won't hurt you. He's a curious bastard, but he's as placid as they come."
"He bit my butt."
I'd like to bite her butt.
"He wanted you to scratch his ears," I say, chuckling. "He's ornery when he isn't getting the attention he thinks he deserves."
She stares at him for a moment and then slowly lifts her hand toward him. Jon butts up against it, and she jerks it back before screwing up her courage to pet him.
"Hee-haw!" Horace screeches from the stall next door, jealous that he isn't getting attention.
"Don't pet Horace," I warn her, reaching into his stall to scratch his ears. "He's a bastard. He chased Wade across the field a few weeks ago, trying to mount him."
"He did not!" she gasps.
"Oh, he did." I grin. "You ain't seen a cowboy run until you've seen one running from a horny donkey."
"Is that what a donkey show is?"
I choke on my tongue. "A what now?"
"A donkey show," she repeats, her expression earnest, like this is a totally normal question to ask. "I heard my foster brothers talking about it, but when I asked what it was, they wouldn't tell me. They just said I wasn't old enough to know. I assume that means it's probably dirty."
This wild woman is going to kill me. I know she is. And God is probably up there right now, laughing his ass off because I deserve every second of it.
Dear Baby Jesus, I'm sorry for everything I've ever done wrong in my life. I mean it this time. I'm really sorry.
"How old were you?"
"Sixteen."
"You definitely weren't old enough," I mutter. "You still aren't."
"I'm twenty-two!" she protests.
"And I'm thirty, Calamity. I'm not even old enough to know what the fuck a donkey show is," I growl. "No one is." She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. We are not talking about this. Ever, as a matter of fact. "You were in foster care?"
"Yeah," she whispers, stroking Jon's nose. "While my dad was in prison and then again after he died."
"How long?"
"Five or six years, in total." She sighs. "A nice couple took me in after he died. They had two boys, my foster brothers. I was with them until they moved out of state when I was seventeen. They tried to get permission from the court to take me with them, but the court wouldn't agree, so I got placed in a group home until I aged out."
"Are you still in touch with them?"
"Yeah." She smiles at me. "They still check up on me. They wanted me to move to California with them when I turned eighteen, but I'd just started college, so I didn't go." Her brows furrow. "Maybe I'll actually finish one day."
"You're in school?"
"I was," she whispers, a shadow passing through her expression. "I couldn't afford tuition for this semester, so I had to take a break again."
Fuck my life.
"We'll get you reenrolled."
Her eyes widen. "I can't afford that."
"I can, Calamity."
"It's not your job to pay for me," she protests. "I'm already taking too much from you. I'm staying here for free, not helping out." Her shoulders slump. "You can't pay for me to go to school, too."
"Hey." I tip her head back, forcing her to look at me. "We'll find you a job to do around here, but there is no scorecard, Morgan. There is no set amount you need to contribute in order to belong here. Whatever you decide to do here, it'll be because you enjoy it, because it gives you purpose, not because you feel like you're doing it to pay anyone back. And helping ensure you have your degree helps us all. Ranches don't run themselves. They take education and work."
"Do you think…?"
"What?"
"Do you think maybe I can help in the office?" she asks, hesitant. "I'm studying business."
"You're working on a business degree?"
She nods. "Business administration. I've made the Dean's List every semester."