Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I suck in a scandalized breath, while Freya lets forth a stream of ferret chatter so intense, there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s telling him just where he can stick his threat, his cell phone, and his bad attitude.
“Here, let me take the coffee and the bag,” Wes says, gathering the supplies with one hand as he guides Freya into my arms with the other. “She needs her mom.”
“Of course, she does,” I say, cuddling Freya close and stroking her sweet little head, the one that I never want to imagine being smashed under a boot ever again. “I’m so sorry, baby. I should have held tighter to your leash. I know, I know,” I add, lowering my voice to an even softer, more soothing murmur as I turn back toward the parking lot. “He was a dick. You’re right.” She clucks and whips her tail back and forth. “Yes. And probably on steroids. That’s what I thought, too.”
Wes snorts in soft laughter. “Me, too. I think his bicep was bigger than my head.”
I shudder and stick out my tongue. “I know. So gross.”
He arches a brow. “Not a fan of big, bulging muscles?”
“No, I like normal muscles. The kind that only strain a t-shirt a little bit.” I fight the urge to glance down at his arms and lose. When he catches me, and his grin widens, I add, “Yes, like yours. They’re nice. I can admit that your muscles are my favorite kind of muscles.”
“Your favorite kind of muscles,” he echoes thoughtfully. “That’s nice to hear. Now I’m really glad I came running in just my undershirt when I heard you scream.”
“You’ve been doing a lot of that lately,” I say. “Hopefully tomorrow will be a less scream-y day.”
“I’ve been thinking about tomorrow,” he says. “About tomorrow and the next day, the whole week, in fact.”
I frown, continuing to stroke Freya as she recovers from the excitement. “Okay.”
“And I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t take these lemons and make lemonade.”
I arch a brow. “You mean enjoy the park? Hike and make s’mores, stuff like that?”
“Well, yes, but…more than that.” He runs a hand over his wild hair. “How about we clean up in the camper, and I’ll take you out to eat? We can have a nice dinner and discuss our options.”
I nod, intrigued. “All right. I bought sandwiches at the café, but they’ll keep in the fridge until tomorrow. And Freya should be fine in the crate for a while after her walk. I wouldn’t want to leave her loose in the camper while we eat, not after all the excitement with Mr. Roid Rage. She can get up to destructive mischief when she feels nervous.”
“Me, too, Freya,” Wes says, reaching out to run gentle fingers over her head. To my surprise, she leans into his touch, welcoming the show of affection.
Come to think of it, she didn’t tear him limb from limb when he tackled her, either. After only a day, Wes has won over my savage little beastie.
You’d better watch out or he’ll do the same with you, the inner voice warns. You should probably skip that dinner. If he gets you somewhere with candlelight, you’re done for, woman.
But I don’t tell Wes I’ve changed my mind about dinner. I simply slip into the tiny bathroom, wash up at the sink, and change into my dark brown sundress. I add a black cardigan as a nod to the chilly spring night and sweep on blush, lipstick, and mascara.
I want to look pretty for him.
That probably isn’t a good sign either, but the way his eyes light up when I emerge from the bathroom feels good.
Way too good…
Chapter 13
WESLEY
Finding a nice restaurant close to the highway, with a parking lot big enough to accommodate a twenty-foot camper is a challenge, but my Secrets of the Wandering Wild app does me a solid.
By the time Tessa emerges from the bathroom, I have reservations at a mom-and-pop Italian place just a short jaunt down the road and only a mile from a campground with plenty of sites available.
“Sounds great,” Tessa says, her gaze skimming up and down my frame, taking in my fresh jeans and a black button-down shirt. “You look nice.”
“So do you,” I say, taking the fact that she put on makeup as a good sign. She’s beautiful with or without it, but the extra effort, when there’s no one she knows around to see her, except me, feels significant. “Just give me a few minutes to shave and we can hit the road.”
“Or you could…not shave,” she says, with a breezy shrug. “I mean, if we don’t have time.” She shrugs again, her gaze lifting to the ceiling. “I don’t mind a little scruff.”
I arch a brow. “You don’t mind it?”
Her lips turn down at the edges as she shrugs again. “Nah, a little scruff never hurt anyone. And it makes you look a little bit like Bruce Willis from his action star days, when he’d get all sweaty and scruffy…”