Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
My fingers brush cool stone, slippery with algae. Almost there. The largest one, easily the size of my palm, sits tantalizingly within reach. But next to it—something glints with that florescent yellow. Could it be a Yooperlite? This far from the Upper Peninsula? But maybe, that would be a hundred times more precious than a Petoskey and I want to give that to him. A gift for Daddy.
I’m balancing on the balls of my feet within the oversized boots. I shift on the mud.
In less than a blink, I’m face first in the freezing water. The shock has me sucking for air but instead, I draw a full gulp of water, choking and coughing as the rubber boots fill instantly with icy water, turning to anchors dragging me deeper as the current catches my legs. My knee scrapes hard against a submerged rock, skin tearing as I scramble for the disappearing bank.
"Jack!" I gurgle, flailing as water rushes over my chest. Me and this river are not going to be exchanging gifts this Christmas, I can tell you that. I remind myself of my golden rule: showers, baths, hot tubs and water are all good, but rushing rivers are not my type of water.
“Jack!” I shout again, gulping air between being dunked in the freezing river, then, “Daddy! Fire!”
In seconds, strong hands scoop me under my arms, hauling me up and out like I weigh nothing. Jack's face is right there as I spit and gasp, his features like stone.
Not panicked. Not angry. Something worse—disappointed.
"What part of don’t go beyond that tree did you not understand?" His voice is low, controlled, but vibrating like a wire pulled too tight.
"I saw Petoskey stones," I stammer, teeth already chattering from the cold water, the boots lost in the river leaving me in sodden white socks, mud squeezing through my toes. "I was just—"
"Putting yourself in danger," he cuts me off, voice dropping to a dangerous register.
He doesn't wait for my response. In one fluid movement, he hauls me up and tosses me over his shoulder, driving the little air I managed to inhale out again. Blood rushes to my head as my wet hair dangles, water streaming down my face.
"Jack!" I squeak, hands finding purchase on the broad plane of his back. "My knee—"
"Is exactly why you're not walking," he growls, bending to collect our gear with his free hand, not even slightly unbalanced by my weight. His palm lands on my ass, holding me in place with a possessive grip that has heat swirling again in my center and those telling little muscle spasms start up again.
I can feel it in the tension of his shoulders beneath my hands, each step in the measured cadence of his strides making me more wary of what’s going to happen when we get back to the cabin.
"I can walk," I insist, even as pain throbs in my ankle.
"That mouth of yours is not helping you. I’d shut it if I were you."
The silence stretches between us, filled only by his measured breathing and the steady rhythm of the crunch, crunch, crunch of his boots on the path.
"Doing what you are told isn’t optional, little girl. When I tell you something that concerns your safety, you don’t ignore me."
My immediate instinct is to say something snarky, to remind him I'm an adult who makes her own decisions. But this is the second time he’s pulled me from that river, so I make the quick decision that right now, snarkiness is not the go to.
"I just wanted to get you a rock," I say quietly. "To say thank you."
I note the sigh that he exhales. "I appreciate that, baby. But not at the cost of your safety." He shifts me on his shoulder, giving my ass a quick tap, tap, tap. "I won’t ever apologize for protecting you, even from yourself. You disobeyed, there are consequences for that."
The word "consequences" sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with my wet clothes.
"What kind of consequences?" I ask, forcing volume into my voice, so I don’t sound like a scared little girl who just disappointed her father. Her hero.
Her daddy.
"You'll find out when I’m ready for you to find out."
My heart pounds against my ribs, fear and anticipation tangling into a knot beneath my sternum. Being carried like this, I feel simultaneously helpless and completely safe—a contradiction I'm still learning to navigate.
The cabin appears, sunlight glinting off its windows. Up the steps we go, tension forcing my teeth to grind together as Jack shoulders the door open, carrying me straight to the bathroom. He sets me on the counter with unexpected gentleness, turning immediately to twist the knobs on the chrome tub, more water rushing out of the tap, filling the vessel with warm soapy water.