Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 126(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 84(@300wpm)
I get him strapped into the chair, pausing to change his diaper and make sure the harness isn’t chafing him. When I open the door, Raphael, my black Labrador retriever, is the first outside. He scampers after a squirrel with Michelangelo, my beagle, close on his heels.
I watch the four of them roughhouse together for a few minutes before I get them breakfast and check my blood sugar using the app on my phone. I have a continuous monitor on my stomach that’s constantly reading my blood sugar. It’s a lot easier than pricking my fingers multiple times a day.
When I see my sugar level in range, I grab breakfast and pack a bag of snacks. I’ll be on my feet, which can make it hard to guess how much insulin I’ll need. Type 1 diabetes is a bitch to manage on the best of days.
My phone dings with a text from Emma May as I’m heading out the door. It’s a reminder to bring snacks with me. She’s my mom. Well, the closest thing I’ve ever had to one. She took Ford in when he was a teenager then she started searching for me. Eventually, she found Nate, too. She jokes that she loved Ford so much that she wanted the complete set of triplet brothers.
I send her a quick text message in return, letting her know that I’m on my way.
Donatello nudges my leg as if asking if he can go along.
“Not today, boys,” I tell my crew. “But we’ll do something fun together later.”
I need to burn off their energy, since the coming snowstorm will strand us inside for a few days. But first, the important thing is getting Emma May’s store boarded up.
The engine on my truck sputters when I start it, and I make a mental note to call Nate when he’s back. He’s great at fixing machinery.
But right now, he’s at the airport in Asheville. He’s picking up a stranded single mom and delivering her to her new job in Montana. He sounded different on the phone, like maybe he won’t be back for a while.
It doesn’t matter if he’s gone through Christmas. His farmhands at the ranch will keep his animals fed and well taken care of. Plus, they’ll stay on top of the farm chores. It’s a good thing as I suspect I’m likely to get snowed in by the end of the night.
I drive down the winding mountain roads of Courage County, my heart filling with gratitude at the beauty around me. I love these proud pine trees that offer shade in the summer and shed their needles to carpet the lush forest floor in the autumn. I love the squirrels that scamper along the woods, planting seeds that once forgotten will become new trees that take root.
The electric car that passes my aging truck on the mountain has me shaking my head. The vehicle lacks snow tires, and it’s definitely not the type that you see driven around here. Probably some lost tourist.
I catch a glimpse of blonde hair out my window, but I can’t see more than that. Whoever it is, I hope they brought enough supplies to hunker down in a cabin for a little while. Now that they’re here, they aren’t going to be leaving for a few days.
The drive to Emma May’s shop takes me over an hour, but I don’t mind the peaceful drive. Inside, her place is cozy and warm though most of the shelves are bare.
She finishes ringing up her last customer. When she catches my eye, she gives me a big grin and waves me over.
“How’s the book going?” she asks me. It’s always the first question out of her mouth.
She knows I write books, but I’ve never told her my pen name. It’s not that I think Emma May would be ashamed of what I write. No, this sixty-year-old woman would be my biggest champion.
It would only be a matter of hours until the entire town knew who I am. Once word gets out, I won’t be able to put the genie back in that bottle.
“It’s going pretty good,” I answer and to distract her, I say, “I visited Nate last night. He’s good. He’s actually out of town now.”
At Emma’s request, I stopped in and visited Nate. She hadn’t heard from him for a few days, and she was getting worried. We all worry about him around Christmas, ever since what happened three years ago.
She nods, her bifocals sliding down her nose. “He sent me a text message. I hope he can get out in this weather.”
“They haven’t started grounding flights yet. But we do need to get a move on. I brought plenty of plywood to get these windows boarded up.”
“And the big drill?” she asks, excitement gleaming on her face.