Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Colt reappears behind me, hands sliding around my waist. “I’ll have that eagle sculpture done for you next week.” Jack nods.
“Awesome, brother. Thanks for fitting us in, I know you’re Mr. Big Shot now making those things for all the fancy pants ranches out in Montana or Telluride or wherever the fuck you’re shipping them.”
“Welcome, asshole.” Colt shakes his head as Jack flips him off, disappearing with Delany. His little chainsaw carving as become quite the little business. He got featured on the cover of Montana Monthly after someone bought one of his carved Grizzly bears that he had up for sale in town at one of the fairs.
Turns out, the guy that bought it was some big shot western and folk-art collector. After that, the orders started rolling in and Colt quadruples his prices. I love when he comes in covered in sawdust with that gleam in his eyes, dragging me outside to show me his newest creation.
“I’ve got one surprise left,” he murmurs. “And no, it doesn’t involve matching pajamas or bedtime stories.”
I smirk. “Is it wine and silence?”
“Better.”
“Better than wine and silence? That’s a bold claim, Boone.”
He grins. “Trust me?”
I lean back against him and sigh. “Always.”
We wave goodbye to the kids and the rest of the Boone circus, who are still wrangling diaper bags, snack wrappers, and a toddler who may or may not have taken her pants off. Colt laces his fingers through mine and leads me to his truck. Not the official sheriff’s vehicle, thank God, but his personal pickup. It still smells like pine trees and motor oil and him.
“So,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat and giving him the side-eye. “You planning to murder me in the woods, or...?”
“You’ll see.” His grin is maddening.
He takes us out of town, onto those winding mountain roads I’ve grown to love, the kind that wrap around the ridges like ribbon and smell like earth and freedom. I assume we’re heading toward the cabin—our cabin—but instead he veers off down a gravel road I’ve never seen before.
“Colt...”
“Patience, baby girl.” He says it like he knows that’s the exact opposite of what I have.
After twenty minutes of silence and increasing suspicion, punctuated by one very suspicious deer that stared at us like it knew what was coming, he pulls off to the side of the road. There’s nothing around us but trees, silence, and that soft hum that comes with being deep in the middle of nowhere.
I glance around, eyebrows raised. “Are we... broken down? Or is this a deliverance situation?”
Colt doesn’t answer. Instead, he gets out, rounds the truck, and opens my door with exaggerated formality. I squint at him, and that’s when I see it. He’s put on his sheriff’s hat, and something in his expression has shifted. Gone is the playful dad-husband look, replaced by something darker. Intent. Amused. Slightly dangerous in that take-me-to-church-and-confession kind of way.
“Ma’am,” he says, voice gone full Sheriff Boone. “I’m gonna need you to step out of the vehicle.”
Oh, we’re doing this.
My pulse jumps a little, but my mouth curves into a smirk. “Officer, is there a problem?”
“That depends.” He steps closer, that hat shadowing his eyes. “You been drinking tonight?”
“No, sir.” My voice drops an octave without me meaning to.
“Then why were you weaving all over the road?”
I raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t weaving. Maybe you need your eyes checked.”
“My eyes are fine.” He takes another step, close enough now that my back hits the side of the truck. “And so are you. Were you trying to get pulled over?”
“No, officer. I swear. Maybe I was a little distracted,” I whisper. And I’m definitely not breathing steadily anymore.
“Distracted?” His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb dragging slow and hot across my bottom lip.
“Yes, I have this ache. I can’t seem to make it go away.” I rub my lips together on a coy smile.
“You’re trouble.” He pinches my chin. “Show me how sorry you are for giving me trouble.”
“Whatever do you mean, officer?” I flutter my hands around my neck, batting my lashes.
“You know what the fuck I mean. You wanna play? Let’s play. Take off my fucking pants and apologize.”
His voice is gravel as he grabs my wrist, pushing my hands down to his pants. I work the button, then the zipper, and the denim drops in a heap, revealing boxer briefs stretched taut over an erection that makes my knees buckle.
He hooks a thumb under the straps of my dress, dragging them down my shoulders, then shoving the fabric to my belly, exposing my braless tits.
But, he’s not done, he grabs the fabric with both hands at my hips and jerks it down, leaving me standing in the wide-open air in nothing but a white little thong with little embroidered cherries all over.
His gaze rakes up and down my body, and lands on my lips.