Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I smiled and walked toward a fence where a white donkey with a splash of brown sat, rubbing his head on a fence post.
“Does he bite?” I looked over at him.
He shook his head.
“No,” he denied. “Donkey doesn’t much like people, though. So don’t get too close.”
“You named your donkey, Donkey?”
He shrugged.
“Once you start having the amount of farm animals that we do, names become irrelevant,” he added as he walked up beside me.
I could feel the heat of him all along my side, and I started to tense in anticipation.
But he did nothing more, only stood next to me for a couple of long moments.
“Are you hungry?” He cleared his throat.
I turned to look at him.
“What do you have to eat?” I asked. “My answer will depend on that.”
He snorted and grabbed my hand.
“What kind of food do you not like?” He asked.
I pursed my lips.
“I don’t like smoked ham, bone in catfish, taco meat with tiny pieces of onion in it, burnt toast, or crunchy peanut butter,” I listed.
“Who does like burnt toast?” He wondered as he led me into the barn.
I giggled.
“My brother,” I informed him. “Burnt food has become one of his major food groups.”
“Why’s that?” He wanted to know as he started up the stairs.
He held onto my hand, though, making sure I didn’t fall to my death down the steep steps.
I snickered.
“I suck at cooking. Literally. I would love to learn how to prepare a proper meal, but I just don’t have the patience for it. I always forget about it, even when I’m standing right there,” I informed him. “Why don’t these stairs have a handrail?”
“Because it’s something I added after the fact, and I was so impatient to move in that I didn’t wait for it to get finished completely,” he answered. “After I moved in a few years ago, the builders refused to finish it, stating that I’d broken their contract. Hence, I never got the molding or paint up either.”
I looked around once we’d reached the top of the stairs and immediately understood what he was talking about.
It was beautiful.
One wall was made completely of glass that overlooked the back of their property. All you could see now was darkness, but I guessed the view would be absolutely beautiful during the day.
The entire area was an open loft type area at the top of the stairs.
Two sliding barn doors were slid all the way open, exposing the apartment to the barn down below.
One side of the room had a kitchen. There was a wall that came off the kitchen that I guessed housed the bathroom.
The other side of the house was his bedroom area, with the washer and dryer butted up against the railing that kept you from falling to your death.
“I’m sure,” I said. “Did you have the barn built specifically for this?” I asked him, my eyes taking in the unfinished parts that he’d told me about.
“Yes and no,” he spoke. “My pop kept all of his equipment outside,” he pointed out the window at an old shack like structure that only had a roof and one side. “He had two tractors stolen and countless saws that he used for work. After the fifth such incident, I decided to build him a barn and a convenient place for the ranch hands to use. Then I decided to use it myself as a more permanent place to stay.”
“You didn’t like living with your dad?” I teased.
He looked at me seriously and said, “You don’t like living with your brother.”
I snorted. “Touché.”
“My dad’s not that bad. He’s just stubborn and pigheaded, and always thinks he knows better than me. He treats me like I’m still fifteen. Forget to pick up after myself one freakin’ time, and he blows a gasket.” He shook his head. “Forgets that I’m the one who does all the work now, and all he does is live there on the income that I bring in.”
I blinked, surprised by the vehemence in his voice.
“Do I sense a sticky subject?” I winced.
He sighed and walked to the small kitchenette area.
“It is and it isn’t,” he amended. “A couple of years ago, my father had a stroke, and he became mostly wheelchair bound.”
“But he can walk,” I guessed.
Apple nodded, pulling out two bottles of water and walking towards me.
Once he reached me, he handed the ice cold bottle to me and grabbed me by the hand, guiding me to the couch.
It was pretty. Not something I would ever expect a man like Apple to have.
“It’s not my couch,” he answered my unasked question.
I snorted and turned my mirth filled eyes up to his as he took a seat next to me.
“What made you think I was wondering that?” I batted my eyelashes at him.
“Is there something wrong with your eye?” He leaned in closer.