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)
“You are,” he says, twisting his arms together shyly.
“Third counts.”
Cricket says, “Third counts when you’re riding a bull. Good lord, if you ever have this kid—” She waves her hands like she’s washing the windows. “Nope. Don’t even want to think about it. Not going to happen.”
Reaching around Jacob, I lean to rub her back. “You okay over there?”
“No bull riding, okay?” Her voice is firm despite the kindness in her eyes.
I look at Jacob. “No bull riding. You heard your mom.”
“Aw, man.” He stomps his boot with fisted hands, but only once. I’m thinking his interests lie more in the buckle and prize than his ambitions for the sport. It’s not one I’m going to push. It’s fucking dangerous. I was stupid for doing it.
She seems satisfied, and says, “Carry on.”
Resting my back against the post, I angle his way. “You know what else we have in common, Jacob?” He’s looking at me with such anticipation that I hope I don’t disappoint him. “Our eye color is the same. Hold out your hand like this.” I hold my hand out palm down next to his. “Our hands. Look at that.”
He says, “Whoa. The same.”
I hear the soft giggle from Cricket but try hard to restrain mine. It’s tough with this kid being as cute as he is. “Do you know why that is?” He shakes his head, staring right into my eyes as he waits for the answer. “It’s because we’re related.”
“We are?” He shoots his gaze to his mom.
“Hey,” I say, tapping his shoulder to bring his attention back to me. “Do you know how you met my dad at the ranch?” He nods vigorously, so much so it’s tempting to catch it before he rattles his brain. “I’m his son. He’s my dad, my parent. You have your mom, who is your parent. But you also have me, your dad.” The ending clogs in my throat and doesn’t come out as strong as I hoped, but I clear it to set them free. “I’m your dad, Jacob. Your father.”
He looks at Cricket again. She smiles, lifting the hat that’s barely hanging onto his head and brushing his hair back from his sweaty hairline before lowering it again. “I’m your mom. Griffin is your dad, buddy. Isn’t that great news?”
When his face whips back to me, his eyes study mine. He blinks a few times, and then says, “I want to paint.”
Cricket’s and my eyes meet under laughter. She doesn’t say a thing, though. He’s waiting for me to respond, so I nod toward the distance where we were doing the art. “Go paint, Champ.”
He hops down the steps, holding his hat, and then dashes off. He doesn’t get very far, though, before he turns around and comes running back. “I’m glad to have you as my daddy.” This time, he runs straight into my arms, into my life forever, and right into my heart.
CHAPTER 34
Cricket
One week later . . .
I lift on my tiptoes to scan the higher shelf, but even with my glasses on, I can’t see far enough. The text on the spines is too small, and the gold lettering has faded from age and wear and tear.
I go to the far corner of the library and drag the ladder on the track over to the section I believe is where the Dover family records have always been kept. I used to flip through some of the pages of these old records when I was a teenager and bored out of my mind.
Scanning the other books as I climb, I stop when I reach the fourth set of shelves a few feet below the twenty-foot-high ceiling. I’m not afraid of heights, but I’m not used to being up here in the heels I mistakenly chose to wear to work today.
“Duck. Duck. Duck. Duck. Duck.” I drag my finger along the wood instead of the books to help preserve it. “Goose.” Bingo. I remove books 1878–1928 and 1929–1979 from the shelf and carefully climb back down the ladder.
“What are you doing in here, Buggy?” My dad’s voice is gruff with the irritation he’s harbored inside most of his life. It used to startle me. I always thought I was in trouble. I finally realized that’s just who he is. He’s always been impossible to please, and his demeanor reflects it.
Strange for a man who was given everything from money to an empire that had already been built for him to lead. He has cars, a yacht, four vacation homes, and a wife who will do anything to keep the Dover name in good light and company at the table.
“Research.” I set the books on the large wooden table in the center of the room and smile. “Hello, Father. How are you?” Apparently, etiquette is reserved for business dealings and friends, not his grown children. Correction, not me. I know he loves catching up with William.