Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Chance was scary as fuck. For once, I’m glad his anger was aimed at someone else.
“You didn’t exactly welcome us into your life with open arms,” I remind him.
“I—”
“Brother, it’s okay. Especially after that.” I clap him on the shoulder while I man the steering wheel with the other hand.
I’m driving us back to the Lovering office because I need to fly today’s routes while Mom and Miles work on finding a new pilot.
“You’re the one who punched a guy back there. I only threatened,” Chance says. “Though I have to admit I’d have liked to remove the teeth from that smug little mouth of his.”
“Your threat was enough,” I say. “Thanks. As for before, when we first showed up at the ranch. I know you had your reasons for hating me.”
“Us,” Miles adds.
“I get it,” I continue. “And you’ve more than made up for it today. One look at you and that Sea-Air fucker nearly pissed himself.”
“I’m pretty sure he actually did,” Miles says from the back.
“Yeah, well…” Chance looks straight ahead out the front windshield. “I owe you. For that night at the Dusty Rose. I shouldn’t have hit you.”
“Damn right you shouldn’t have. I’d never disrespect a woman. Especially Carly. But we’re good.”
“I don’t like people taking advantage,” he replies.
I’m seeing Chance much differently now. He protected Carly, and today he protected my mom and me, our business. Where does this protective streak come from? From his—our—father? I doubt it. Chance has a story, but already I know he’ll only tell it in his own time. Maybe he’ll share it over the next year.
“I respect that you care so much about Carly,” I say, “but I’d never do that to any woman. And Carly… She’s something special for sure.”
My mind fills with visions of Carly in that hidden spring. Of her in my arms. Bare except for her panties. Her breasts filling my palms. Her tongue tangling with mine. Of the night in my bed. Of me taking her roughly against my bedroom wall.
I shift in my seat at the sudden tightness of my jeans.
“So what about the two of you, then?” Chance asks. “What are you going to do?”
“What do you mean?” Everything between Carly and me plays in my mind like a movie. How she looks to me with those trusting green eyes. How she closes them when I’m deep inside her, pushing her into another orgasm. How her fragility isn’t really fragility at all, but a fierce determination to heal, to grow, to empower herself.
What about the two of us?
I’m damned near in love with her because while it feels good to be back here in Seattle, I miss Carly something fucking fierce. All I want to do is get back to her. Get back in her.
Damn.
“The mayor hates us, Austin,” Chance says. “You saw him. What if he finds out the government is trying to freeze our funds?” He sighs. “His anger’s been aimed at only me since our father died. Now that you two are on the scene, he’s happily spread his dislike to you two. Except, Jesus, Austin. Falling for his daughter? Fuck, it’s a wonder you’re not behind bars on some trumped up charge or dead. Carly’s—”
“A grown woman,” I finish for him. “An intelligent twenty-seven-year-old woman who’s trying to take back her life, and she’s succeeding. If I can be a part of that, I want to be.”
“You sure she’s ready?” he says.
“That’s her decision, and—”
My cell rings and I answer it by accepting the call on the car’s display since I have it synced.
“Mom, you’ll be happy to hear—”
“Honey”—she cuts me off, her voice tinged with anxiety—“I’m headed to the hospital.”
“What?” I slam on the brakes and pull to the side of the road.
The car behind me honks, angry by my quick action, but I ignore it.
Chance offers me a concerned look but stays silent.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was lightheaded. Blood pressure, I think. I fell in the bathroom.”
Fuck. Her master bath is small which means lots of hard edges to strike.
“How are you hurt?” I clench the wheel, wishing I could take this burden from her.
“They’re worried I broke my hip. I’m with nice paramedics and they’re taking care of me.”
Shit. She was alone and had to call 9-1-1. And a broken hip? That will be a huge setback in so many ways. She seems calm enough, but she may already be on pain meds—and if she is, that means it’s bad. Possible surgery, rehab. Her house is one floor but not the best for a wheelchair. She’ll need help. That means me or money for an aide.
“Which hospital?” I ask, not jumping too far ahead.
“St. Anne’s.”
“We’ll meet you there.”
Before I can even end the call, I get another. Carly’s name replaces Mom’s on the display.
“All right, sweetheart,” Mom says, hanging up.