Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Reaching the porch of the main house at the top of the hill, Stone can’t help but pause and turn around, just as he does every time he steps up onto this porch, that overwhelming need to take in the view grasping him in a chokehold.
“Fuck me,” he breathes, taking in this incredible property he’s built with Ray and watching the horses in the distance, frolicking in their paddock. “I don’t know how, but we did something right.”
A smile pulls at the corners of my lips, and I find myself nodding. “We sure as hell did,” I murmur as he turns to look at me, brushing his lips over mine in the sweetest kiss, lingering there for way too long, knowing Barbara’s going to have his ass for keeping her waiting.
Then, as if on cue, the front door whips open, and an angry-faced Barbara stares back at us. “It’s 6:02. What could possibly be keeping you?”
“Sorry, Barb. Got distracted.”
“By the view?” she asks, hopeful, gazing past us to the same horses we were only just looking at.
“No,” he says with a knowing smirk. “I was balls deep inside my wife.”
My jaw drops, and I suck in a loud gasp, my cheeks burning with embarrassment, though I don’t know why it bothers me. It’s not as though constant teasing isn’t a staple in this crazy little family we’ve claimed.
I kick my legs, forcing Stone to release his hold so I can slide down his back and drop to the ground, and the moment I have my balance, I step around him and swat his wide chest. “You’re such a rotten liar,” I tease. “The only thing he was balls deep in was the hole he dug himself after forgetting to close the cottage door and welcoming George, the seven-hundred-pound prized pig, right into our living room. Do you have any idea what I had to do to get that big bastard out? Not to mention, he stinks. I had to leave the window open all day to air it out. Pretty sure he sharted on the rug.”
Barbara chuckles before stepping out of the doorway and waving us in. “Hurry up and come inside,” she says. “You’re letting the mosquitoes in.”
Rolling my eyes, I hurry inside. There are no mosquitoes this time of year. They like to hang out in spring, and when they do, it’s a nightmare. I’ve never seen so many mosquitoes in my life, but for whatever reason, Barbara seems to think they’re hiding out by her front door, just waiting for a chance to sneak in.
Walking deeper into the home, we’re immediately hit by the smell of Barbara’s famous fried pork chops, and my mouth starts to water. There are a lot of meals she loves to make us sweat over, but not her chops. They’re like a wet dream in my mouth.
“Yuuuuum,” I groan, following the smell toward the dining room. “Tell me you did it with mashed potatoes.”
“Of course,” Barb chuffs. “I know what you like.”
“You’re the best—”
“The fuck is that?” Stone grunts, cutting off the boasting session I was about to drop headfirst into. I glance back at him, my brows furrowed as I follow his gaze to the living room, wondering what the hell has got him sounding so uneasy. That’s when I see Ray in the living room, hovering by an array of moving boxes.
Everything stops, and I feel my world start to crumble. “What—”
“Come on,” Barbara says, waving us through to the dining room. “Let’s sit down to eat. We have some things we’d like to talk to you both about.”
Stone moves in close to my back, his hand on my waist as we follow Barb into the dining room, taking our usual seats and finding the table overflowing with food.
“Whoa,” I say, taking it all in as Ray comes to sit down, a tightness in his eyes that has more than caught Stone’s attention. “What’s all this? Is there a special occasion I’ve missed?”
My brain scrambles through the list of dates I keep stored in there, but nothing is ringing any bells. “Alright,” Stone says. “Cut to the chase before Riley gives herself an aneurysm. What’s going on?”
Ray glances at Barbara, and they share a moment that almost seems too private to be sitting in on, but as quickly as it came, it goes, and Barb finally speaks up. “We’re getting on in age,” she tells us, her tone suggesting that little snippet of information might come as a complete surprise. “I’ll be seventy-three next month. I’m no longer a spring chicken, and getting around has been getting . . . difficult. I’m struggling with the stairs. My arthritis just isn’t handling it anymore.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t understand,” I say, trying to put the pieces together as Stone reaches beneath the table and gently squeezes my thigh. “Are you selling the property?”