Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
I chuckled at that mental picture and told him, “We’re definitely climbing a tree while you’re here. In fact, I’ll try to give you as big a taste of country life as possible, but you’ll have to come back this summer for the full experience.”
“What can we do then that we can’t do now?”
“All kinds of things, like skinny dipping in the creek. It’s not quite warm enough yet. Also, I’ll make you the best corn on the cob you’ve ever had in your life, picked right before cooking it. And I’ll ruin you for tomatoes forever by giving you heirloom varieties that have been vine-ripened. The ones you buy at the market can’t hold a candle to them. I’ll also pick you mini sunflowers by the armful, and I’ll show you the ones I grow that are taller than either of us. You’ll have to come back in the fall to harvest and roast the sunflower seeds, which are one of my favorite snacks. The flower heads are as big as hubcaps, I kid you not.”
“That all sounds wonderful,” he said. “It’s a shame about the skinny dipping, though.”
“On the plus side, this is a great time of year to sunbathe naked, before it gets too hot out. I believe we had a conversation at some point about all the privacy out here on the ranch, and the freedom that comes with that.”
His grin was back. “I think I was talking about having sex outdoors, but we can definitely sunbathe, too.”
I helped him bring all of his things into the living room, and he looked around and exclaimed, “This is so nice! I love your artwork, and I can’t wait to curl up on that big couch with you and watch movies. It looks really cozy.”
Why had I been worried? This week was going to be amazing.
9
Hal
My first morning on the ranch, I woke up in a warm, comfortable bed with sunlight streaming through a gap in the plaid curtains. When I rolled over and rested a hand on the body beside me, I found it was covered with fur.
I raised a lid and discovered a basset hound stretched out where Ryder should be. “Good morning, Frank,” I muttered. “How’d you manage to get up here with those stubby little legs of yours?” The dog—whose full name, inexplicably, was Sir Francis Bacon—replied by smacking his tail against the quilt.
I gave him a pat before sitting up and looking around. There was a note on the nightstand, which said: Good morning, baby. I wanted to let you sleep in while I went to do my chores. There’s coffee and blueberry muffins in the kitchen, please help yourself (the muffins are inside the microwave to keep Sally from swiping them off the counter). I’ll be back before lunch, but if you want to come find me, I’ll either be in the stables or the paddock behind them. P.S. Tank had to head back into town bright and early this morning, so you have the house to yourself. Careful about running around naked, though. One of my dogs tends to lunge at any exposed dangly bits.
I murmured, “Good to know.” Then I tumbled out of bed and said good morning to three more dogs on my way to the bathroom. The only time I’d ever lived with a dog was when Embry adopted a little terrier from the animal shelter. Feeling outnumbered was another thing entirely.
All four dogs seemed fascinated by me, because I was something new in their world. They’d probably be just as interested in a new tennis ball. When they all tried to follow me into the bathroom, I had to turn around and pretend I wasn’t going in there after all. After they followed me back into the bedroom, I faked to the left, rushed back to the bathroom, and shut the door behind me. One of them started whining. That made me feel guilty, but all five of us would be a tight fit in this small space. Besides, I really didn’t want an audience while I used the toilet.
I’d showered the night before, so I was able to hurry through a quick version of my morning routine. Then I got dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt and went in search of Ryder.
All of the dogs followed me out the front door, with Cujo, the feisty black and tan chihuahua, right on my heels. He was so little that I was afraid I’d step on him, so I scooped him up and carried him. He didn’t like that at all, so he showed me his teeth while a growl rumbled in his throat. Ryder had assured me the night before that Cujo wasn’t actually a biter and just liked to act tough. I hoped he was right.