Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Only the Dovers” echoes, the words rolling around until Cricket’s face comes to mind again. I don’t know why, but she’s gotten under my skin. Was it because she was so smug with Coach around? I assume she really felt like she pulled one over on me by not introducing herself from the get-go. What was that about anyway? It’s almost like she didn’t want me to know who she was. Or should I say, who she really was, since we’ve done way more than just met yesterday.
I remember her looking so fucking sexy lying in that bed with my hat on . . .
“You forget something, cowboy?”
“What’s that, babe?”
“Your hat.”
“You keep it. A little something to remember me by.”
“I don’t need a hat to remember you.”
She had no problem forgetting who I was when I left . . .
“I can’t believe you’re here,” my sister says, dragging me from my thoughts. Christine looks at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. “And you’ve stayed more than twenty-four hours, too. You’ve been here for twenty minutes. Breaking records.” She hands me a fork with a teasing grin. “The jet not fueled?”
“The girl’s got jokes.” I grab my chest, feigning pain. “Aw, that hurts, sis.” I start laughing, but I can’t hold on to it because I do feel bad, which is interesting since I didn’t feel much of anything while traveling. Just like when I was flying from one destination to another, being back comes with its own baggage. Good and bad. “Joking aside, sorry I’ve been gone so long—”
“The ranch. The family. Our lives.” She lightens the guilt with a genuine smile. “It’s been longer than it should have been, big brother.” She leans on the light-colored stone counter of the island and slides a pie between us. “But you’re here now.”
So many memories come flooding back that I can’t help but smile when I see it. “Blackberry pie. Damn, I’ve missed this.” This is way better than the turmoil of earlier.
“Mom’s recipe. Homemade like she used to make.” She digs her fork right in without hesitation and scoops out a bite. My stomach growls just from seeing that filling. “Dig in.”
I take my first bite, savoring the fruit and then the flaky crust. Memories of Mom and me sitting together at the table, eating and laughing while my brother and sister napped, come rushing back. I try to remember her smile and the sound of her laughter instead of her sudden death dragging me down, which is what usually happens. “She always made two pies. One for after dinner when Dad was there to enjoy it—”
“And one for her and us kids to devour as a treat before he even got home.”
“We were really getting away with something back then.” I take another bite. As soon as I swallow, I grin again. “It felt like robbing a bank.” I chuckle.
My sister’s smile reminds me so much of my mom’s that it almost catches me off guard. The family sends me photos, but seeing it in person makes it hard to miss the resemblance. I’m not sure when my pipsqueak of a little sister grew up, but it’s good to see that trait carried on even though the rest is uniquely her own.
“It kind of feels like we’re breaking the law right now.” Digging in again, she holds the bite in front of her, and adds, “I’ve carried on the tradition with the kids.”
“I’m sure they love it as much as we did.” I scoop another bite onto my fork. “You make a good pie, sis.”
“It’s even better because we’re totally ruining our dinners.” We both laugh again like we used to. Christine was never as annoying as Baylor. My brother is great, my best friend if I have one, but we’ve thrown down a time or two. Dad had to separate us more than a few times, and Mom would send us to our bedrooms to think about what we had done.
It was always the same result. We were both fine with what we’d done, even if it was sitting in front of our parents sporting a new shiner. We fought, but we made up fast like nothing had happened. He should be here delving into the pie with us.
“How’s the ranch doing?”
She lowers her fork and grabs a napkin to wipe her mouth. Standing, she asks, “Is this an official meeting or are you asking your sister casually over blackberry pie?”
“I get the quarterly reports. I’m asking you off the record.”
“Tagger has really come into his own, running a lot of it while I was pregnant. I was living in the lap of luxury in my air-conditioned office here in the house. And now that Julie Ann is here, I have her with me.”
“You were doing the books anyway.” I may have made millions in the majors, but my wealth has only grown because she single-handedly created an empire for our family. Even when Baylor and I gave her most of our shares a few years back because she had more than earned them, we still rake in the big bucks from the ten percent we each retained.