Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Which is why I’ve agreed to cooperate with them.
I didn’t know I was this valuable, but if they need me to get a piece of my family’s land, then so be it. It’s not as if I have any attachment to it. It could all burn to the ground for all I care. I also don’t care about my father and hold no loyalty to him apart from what he forces out of me. In fact, this is the perfect way to mess with him without even having to lift a finger. Let the decades-old enemies kill each other while I sit back and watch.
So there. All mysteries solved; all questions answered. So why do I think something is missing? That there’s something they’re not telling me? No, not them, him specifically.
A knock at the door jolts me out of my thoughts and I look up from where I’m sitting at the end of the bed as it opens. In walks Haven Grayson. The first thing you notice about her is how beautiful she is. Stunningly, so. With her raven-colored hair, all shiny and long—longer than even mine, and mine goes down to the crack of my butt—and her dark eyes and dusky skin, she’s one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever come across. Her almond-shaped eyes, wide forehead, and coloring may be the result of some Native American blood in her. Whatever her heritage, as I said, she is beautiful, and she looks like she belongs here in her feminine plaid shirt, washed-out jeans, and cowboy boots. A quintessential cowgirl. She also happens to be the mistress of the house, given that she’s Marsden’s wife. A very odd and unexpected pairing. Only because Marsden has to be at least forty, if not older, and Haven looks like she’s close to my and Reverie’s age, maybe a few years older.
Standing at the door, she says, “Hey.”
I spring up to my feet. “Hey.”
She regards me carefully. “You finding everything okay?”
Another thing about her: She’s kind. And friendly. I’ve only been here half a day, and so far, she’s shown no signs of hostility toward me even though I’m a Turner, the real Turner girl. If anything, she seems sympathetic to my and my best friend’s situation. After I arrived here and found Reverie in the house—unharmed, thank fucking God—Haven showed us to a room where we could have some privacy, which was where I finally learned the truth. She even brought us food at lunchtime without our having to ask. And once that was done, she showed me to this room where I’ll be staying until they let me go. Yes, she’s supposed to keep an eye on both Reverie and me, something we were made aware of, but so far, she’s been nice about it. Doesn’t mean I trust her, though. She’s a Grayson.
“Everything’s fine,” I reply.
She accepts my answer with a nod. “I brought you some clothes.”
I glance at the stack of clothes in her arms before pointing to the borrowed dress she brought me earlier that I’m wearing. A simple blue sundress with spaghetti straps and a knee-length hem. “I already have clothes.”
Haven throws me a little smile. “You’re going to need more if you’re staying here for a while.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Does that mean I have a choice to leave?”
She shakes her head. “Not really, no.”
“Didn’t think so.”
She watches me a beat. Then, “I’m really sorry about that.”
Despite her kind behavior so far, I can’t help but ask, “Why are you so nice to me?”
If she’s taken aback by my question, she doesn’t show it. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”
“Because I’m a Turner.”
“So?”
“And you’re a Grayson.”
“I know.”
“This isn’t normal,” I say, gesturing between us. “Us being cordial with each other. We’ve got beef.”
Her lips twitch. “We’ve got more than beef. I think they call it a war.”
By “they,” I know she means the people of this town. The Grayson–Turner rivalry is pretty famous in Black Rock. Actually, it’s pretty famous in the whole state of Montana. Tales of our family feud have been horrifying and entertaining people for generations. Everyone who’s anyone knows if they ever started a joke with “A Turner and a Grayson walk into a bar,” there would be no happy ending to it.
“Well, there you have it then,” I murmur.
“But what they won’t say is that it’s a stupid war,” she says. “And it’s between stupid men who can’t break the toxic and violent cycle their ancestors started. I don’t have any particular interest in owning more land, do you?”
I shake my head slowly. “No.”
“And there you have it.” She shrugs. “There doesn’t need to be any beef or war between us.”
“That easy, huh.”
“That easy.”
I still stand there with my spine straight and my mind racing when Haven breaks the silence and continues, “Look, I don’t blame you for not trusting me or any of us. What’s happened this past week, it… wasn’t right. I don’t support it, and I don’t care if you’re a Turner or I’m a Grayson. I don’t care that we’re supposed to be enemies or whatever they want us to be. We don’t have to be best friends or share our deepest, darkest secrets. We don’t even have to talk to each other, but as long as you’re here, in my home, I consider it my duty to make your stay, forced or otherwise, as pleasant as I can. Which includes”—she raises her arms with the clothes—“giving you more clothes. Plus, there’s a little get-together happening in a couple of hours, and you’re definitely going to need something to wear to that.”