Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
My heart is pounding so loudly that I’m certain he can hear it. I shouldn’t want an excuse to back out. There is no logical reason to not want this marriage.
“I don’t like him.”
For some stupid reason, I blink back tears and stare into my soup. What did I expect Striker to say? It’s not like I have a lot of other options and I’m tired. I’m so tired of fearing every new day, of worrying if my brothers are getting enough to eat. Of trying to figure out how to pay the electricity bill and afford horse feed because tips were a little short this week. “Well, he’s nice enough and he offered.”
“Sounds like true love to me.”
“Who are you to judge me?” Not every day a girl gets an offer of marriage to save her family’s legacy. There’s a lot to be thankful for, and I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.
Striker looks up then, the intensity in his gaze stealing away my breath. “Don’t reckon I know much. Just seems like marriage should be more than money.”
“Yeah, well, love doesn’t keep my little brothers from going hungry. Love doesn’t provide horse feed or school supplies or new shoes because their tiny feet are still growing so fast. So yeah, maybe the marriage bed will be cold. Maybe one day I’ll wake up and hate myself. But at least, my brothers will be safe and warm. They’ll have a roof over their heads.” It’s only when I’ve stopped talking that I realize he’s blurry and tears are streaming down my face.
I push away from the table and rush out the front door onto the porch with the boards that are warped and creaky. I shiver in the cold autumn night.
The door opens behind me and Striker is wrapping his coat around my shoulders. Tears are still coming down my cheeks and I hate this. I hate crying in front of anyone, especially him.
Striker holds me in his arms, the thick coat a barrier between us. “I am the port in your storm.”
His words make me cry harder and I realize I haven’t cried in weeks. My life is about survival and there’s no time or place for grief. No space for someone to just hold me as sobs wrack my body.
But tonight there is, and he holds me, offering me his strength. I cry because my parents are gone. I cry because my little brothers don’t understand what that means. I cry because I’m alone and scared. I cry because life wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not for any of us.
When the tears finally subside and I’m left with only soft hiccups, I know I should be embarrassed or ashamed. Still, I’m too tired to care what Striker thinks about me anymore. If he wants to judge me, that’s his business.
“Didn’t know things were that rough,” his voice is deep and gruff.
“It’s not your problem.” I’m no one’s problem. I’m a grown woman who has to figure this one out on her own. Not for the first time since he died, I wish I could call Papa.
It didn’t matter if it was the middle of the day and he was working the fields or the middle of the night and he was sleeping, he answered every one of my calls from college.
When I called him crying because I was homesick, he refused to let me come home. But he stayed on the phone with me for hours. He was my shield. He made me feel that no matter how big and scary the world was, I always had someone I could run and hide behind. Now he’s gone. Now I am the shield for three little boys.
“Maybe I want you to be my problem. You and them three youngins.”
That’s just his guilt talking. For all of his grumpiness, Striker is a good man underneath. I’m not surprised but I can’t go down this road. If I do, my heart will never survive. “It doesn’t work that way. I don’t think anybody can help me now.”
6
STRIKER
All those years of living on nothing and doing what my man in the big city called them index things and other investments means I’m loaded. I could make a call right now and have her debt wiped out within twenty-four hours.
I don’t want her that way. Tristan might be fine with having her bound to him out of some damn sense of duty. But that’s not me. I want more than her gratitude or her vows. I want her body, her heart, her soul. I want all of this fierce curvy woman in front of me and I’m afraid to play dirty to get her.
“Come on inside where it’s warm.” I tug on her and she follows me. She does everything I ask. She’s damn eager to please and it means I’m looking forward to that moment when I can finally get her naked and underneath me.