Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Goat wrangling is fine for a few weeks, but it’s not something I want to do for the rest of my life. Neither is living in Dallas, even if it is a charming small-town break from my bad luck city.
“Are you off the phone?”
I get up and open my bedroom door, peering out. I can’t see Granny, but her voice carries through the house like nobody’s business.
“Now I am,” I call back, raising my voice to reach her.
“Oh, good. Get your crap together and let’s go,” she calls, jiggling her keys loudly on their chain.
“Huh? Go where?”
“Shopping, dear! Don’t tell me you just woke up?”
I smile, shaking my head. She’s already ten steps ahead of me as usual. With a quick stretch, I grab my purse and leave the bedroom, finding her waiting impatiently in the kitchen.
“What now, Gran? I thought we had plenty of food here.”
“I need to get out and stretch my legs. You need a new outfit for the rodeo. Imagine that,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Rodeo?” I echo.
“Yep.” She opens the door to the garage. “The big one’s coming to the county fairgrounds this weekend. You’ll love it.”
Will I? I rub my eyes, seriously wondering if this is some fragmented dream.
Nope. Just typical stir-crazy Granny.
“Hey, wait.” I follow her into the garage and shut the door. “I never said I’m going to the rodeo.”
“What? You mean to tell me Quinn didn’t ask you last night?”
Oh my God.
My face wants to melt right off under her appalled gaze, and I swipe a hand over it.
“No. Don’t even think he’s going himself,” I say with a shrug. “He’s a busy guy.”
“Oh, hush, no one’s too busy to miss the biggest shindig all summer.” She hands me a bike helmet. “He will. Just you wait and see. And you’ll be ready to make that boy see stars.”
“I’ll say no is what I think you mean.”
Helmet on, she laughs at my hilarious not-joke while opening the garage.
“What’s so funny?” I put on my helmet, angrily adjusting it. “We’re friends, Gran. Nothing more, and last I checked, we’re not joined at the hip either. We both have lives.”
“Such a shame. You ask me, you could use less complainin’ and more kissin’ with the Faulkner boy. Now close the door behind us, dear.”
Holy hell.
I pretend I didn’t hear that as I follow her order. She pushes the bike out of the garage before I shut the door and climbs on, waiting. Once the door shuts, I get on behind her.
“So, I heard from Dad,” I say, desperate to change the subject. “My parents want me home soon. It’s the summer show, the big one where our group showcases new techniques for all our big donors, apparently.”
“And you told them no like a sensible young lady. Wonderful, Tory, I’m proud of you for that.”
I snicker into my hand.
“Jeez, Gran, were you listening through my door?”
I’m not even offended.
It’s Granny.
“Oh, these old ears just hear whatever they want to sometimes. And I didn’t want to interrupt, just in case you were yakking with someone important.” Flashing a wicked grin at me over her shoulder, she says, “Okay, now, ready? On three!”
With a sigh, I put my feet on the pedals.
That’s how we get the bike going.
On her count of three, we both start pedaling. It’s taken practice for us to get the timing just right, but we’re quite the experts now.
As soon as the bike lurches forward, we zoom down the driveway together, the wheels completely stable beneath us.
“Rodeo or not, I don’t need new clothes,” I tell her firmly as we bike up the street.
“Yes, you do, you little whiner. You’ve had enough fun wearing my old outfits because your Chicago wardrobe didn’t come with anything fit for Dallas.” Head down, she pedals onward, pumping her tanned legs, the spitting image of a bicycle pro. “I’m thinking a white shirt...with fringes and rhinestones. It’d suit you good,” she says, huffing for oxygen between words.
“Fringes and rhinestones? Seriously, who do I look like? I’m not a country western singer.”
“Ah, what might have been,” Gran clucks. “You’d have made a fine one if your lovely mother was just as obsessed with country music as she is with ballet.”
I smile because she has a point.
And before I know it, we’re at the classiest little fashion boutique in town. I end up finding a white shirt with silver pearl snaps, white fringe, and yes, freaking rhinestones.
Since I’m stuck now, I also buy a pair of my own dress boots, rather than wearing Granny’s pink-stitched ones. A pair of black jeans gets added to the bill to round out the ensemble.
I’m ashamed to admit I love the clothes more than I should.
Even the gaudy rodeo shirt Granny almost staples to my skin.
After we get home, I head out with Owl to check on the goats we’d delivered this morning, starting with a quick supervised job at the rental properties to clear out the weeds.