Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Now, sitting here on my bed, I’m happy, or at least I feel some version of contentment because this baby means that I’ll no longer be completely alone in the world. Even more, the child’s existence reminds me of the man that I love so much. Tears threaten to spill over once again. Yes, I still love Ranger, or whatever his name is. A small cry erupts from my throat, but then I swallow hard to stifle it.
The alarm clock signals that it’s now seven in the morning, so I pull myself off the bed, lock up my room, and head to the motel’s main kitchen to take over the breakfast shift. At least I didn’t have to do the five am-er.
Once in the kitchen, I greet my colleagues and wash up before getting to work. I’ve always been decent at making breakfast staples, and Mathilda lets me have free rein in the kitchen. Today, I decide, is a French toast kind of morning and start whipping up eggs and cinnamon.
Alone in the large space, I try to avoid thinking about Ranger, but the baby kicks and just as suddenly, the handsome cowboy’s back in my mind. “Got a mind of your own, hmm little bit?” I tease the little kicker. “Just like your daddy.”
While mixing batter, I drift off and begin to think of my lover again. I think about how Ranger smells, and how strongly and closely he would hold me at night. I reflect on how much he did for the farm and how he was my answer from heaven during a desperate time. I let my mind wander to more salacious thoughts, and how Ranger teased me. How he put this baby inside me.
I blush at the thought. Too naughty for this early hour.
I start dipping the bread into the egg mixture. A couple times, I made French toast just like this for Ranger. It was often during lazy Sundays, the one day each week when we made a little more time for ourselves and ignored what farm duties we could. I placed the breakfast and warm syrup in front of him on the table and he kissed me, so sweetly. And then I spilled syrup everywhere, I’d been so caught up in the kiss.
I laugh out loud at the memory. In that moment, I felt so lucky to find this mysterious cowboy who seemed to care so deeply for me.
And wasn’t that all a nice fat lie, Darcy?
I pull myself away from the happy thoughts as I flip the French toast in the pan. “Shit.” In my musings, I let the one side burn. I throw away the bad batch and start again.
Nice little metaphor for your life, isn’t it? I try to shake the bitter thought away, but it sticks, forming into a gloomier one and darkening my already edgy mood.
Sure, Ranger did a lot on the farm and took care of me. But it was all so he could trick me into selling my property.
Or maybe he was going to take it by force somehow, since we’re married.
I shudder at the fact. It’s not that I hate Ranger, but the opposite. I fell in love with my lifelong enemy, like some foolish little girl dreaming that her savior would ride out of the forest and solve all her problems. But in my blindness, now everything I ever cherished is partially his.
Theirs, I think gloomily. The McLaughlins got what they wanted.
The deed to the farm is in my name, but with Ranger as my legal husband and me nowhere to be found, by now I’d bet my last penny that the McLaughlins have already taken over the land.
All because I was a little fool who fell in love with a handsome cowboy. I feel tears start to build up behind my eyes. I do my best to hold them back while I finish making breakfast, but a few errant ones slip down my cheeks. Angrily, I dash them away. I did this to myself, and deserve to suffer the consequences.
As soon as I wrap up my cooking shift, I clean the space and then quietly exit from the side door, so I don’t have to interact with any of the guests or my coworkers. Outside, the sunny day has turned cloudy, and I can’t help but feel that the weather is echoing my unstable mood.
I make my way back to my room, needing a few moments away from the world and my painful thoughts. Finally alone, I let hot tears spill down my face before dropping onto my slightly protruding belly. I cry harder when I look at the little bump that indicates my growing baby.
This little baby won’t ever know its daddy, won’t ever know the joys of being raised on a farm. All it’ll ever know is how sad its mama is.