Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“I... I didn’t expect...”
I take her hand, rub circles into her palm. “What is it? What do you want to say to me?”
She shakes her head. “My nerves are skittering under my bloody flesh.” She rubs at her arms. “God, how did I let this happen?”
“Let what happen?” I ask.
She rises, still holding the sheet around her. She paces away from the bed and then back.
“I think I’m falling in love with you, all right? I bloody love you, River Barrett. I love a rancher. And I know you’ll never leave Montana, and I don’t care. If I’m lucky enough to have you return my feelings, I’ll give everything up and go live with you on your ranch.”
My jaw drops.
Her words...
I feel a lot for this woman—this woman who I hardly looked at the first night. This woman who I took to my bed on a whim after my date with Misty had me angry and aching for escape.
But this gorgeous Brit...
We seem to work together.
And I’m feeling something I’ve never felt. Never expected to feel.
I open my mouth to tell her all this—
“No,” she says. “Don’t say anything. Not until I tell you why I’m truly here.”
EPISODE 149
MISSING PERSON
Sebastian
After tossing and turning most of the night, I finally get up. The carafe of bourbon is still open on the bar—a reminder of how I tried to ease my racing thoughts and cold sweat with booze.
It didn’t work. I’m exhausted and nauseated. Things are so screwed up.
I shower quickly, slide on a pair of swim trunks and a muscle shirt, and head downstairs to get a cup of coffee.
Though the kitchen is empty, to my surprise—thank God—the coffeepot is full. I pour myself a large mug, ready to head outside onto the deck, when I change my mind. I go back to my suite.
My satellite phone sits next to my bed on the night table. Worry consumes me. It’s time to check in with Shelley.
Twenty Years Earlier...
I sneak into my house, my backpack full of Larson’s cash. My mother, of course, is passed out in her bed. I crack the door and watch her until I see her chest rise. Satisfied that she hasn’t killed herself with alcohol poisoning, I walk into my small bedroom, close the door, and lock it. Not that I think Mom will try to walk in on me. She’s out cold, and if she was awake and sober, she could easily break into my room with a small screwdriver.
No chance of that, though.
I take the backpack off my shoulder and toss it on the bed. It’s not that heavy, maybe ten pounds or so. I unzip it and empty out the stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
I inhale.
The scent of crisp money. Kind of fresh and clean, with a lace of chemicals.
I’ve never smelled anything better.
I quickly count the stacks.
Forty-seven.
Forty-fucking-seven.
I remove the paper band from one and count the bills. It takes a minute. There are a hundred.
A hundred hundreds.
“Oh. My. God,” I say out loud.
I’m pretty good at math, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out there’s four hundred and seventy thousand dollars on my bed.
Damn! That’s nearly half a million dollars!
Among the five of us—well, four of us since Riv didn’t carry any cash in his backpack—we could be looking at a cool two mil!
Who would have thought Old Man Larson was holding that kind of money on his property? Damn. Is it even his?
When Brett saw him bury it, we just assumed it belonged to him. But if he had this kind of loot, would he be living alone in that house that needs all kinds of repairs?
Fuck.
Maybe we stole from someone else. Maybe Larson was holding it for someone.
Or maybe he’s just a damned skinflint who doesn’t deserve this good fortune.
If Jake, Brett, and Alex all have about the same amount in their backpacks, that’s a hell of lot split five ways. We can’t spend it, though. Not until we’re eighteen and gone from here. It’d be too obvious.
But hell, I can wait. Not like I have a choice if we don’t want to get caught.
Hot diggity damn.
We’re lying low today. We won’t get together and compare notes until tomorrow. In the meantime, I have to hide this treasure. I shove it back into the pack and then put it on the top shelf of my closet, behind my hiking boots. Mom never comes in here anyway.
I walk out of my room and into the kitchen, searching for something to eat. I grab a couple brown-sugar-cinnamon Pop Tarts and a can of Coke out of the fridge. Breakfast of champions.
I pop the can open and take a long drink, letting the fizz coat my throat. I’m knee-deep in daydreams about the new electric guitar I’m going to buy for my eighteenth birthday when I jerk at a soft knock on my front door.