Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“Funny.” I chuckled. “He calls you PC.”
“PC?”
“Perfect child.”
“Well, I’m not anymore,” Matt said, and I didn’t miss his suggestive tone.
I imagined him waggling his eyebrows.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but you weren’t perfect before we did it.”
“Duh. Yes, I know, Sarah.”
“Listen, I’m going to bed early. Okay?”
“Hope you feel better soon. Love you.”
“Thanks, bye.” I hung up the phone and flopped back down onto my bed to stare at the ceiling. I said “thank you” as a reply to his “I love you.” Was that bad of me? Or was I the mature one who stuck to our plans? I didn’t have the focus to figure it out because I was too busy thinking about Isaac coveting me.
CHAPTER TEN
THE ROMANTICS, “TALKING IN YOUR SLEEP”
The following week, Matt and his mom went to Michigan for a campus tour and to watch a baseball game while Wesley and Isaac manned the ranch, and I handled the farm stand. I arrived early Monday morning for inventory, per Violet’s request.
As I made my way toward the house to get the key to the shed and the cash, I saw Isaac by the barn swinging a rope. I veered in his direction while he practiced on a stationary calf dummy. It was the first interaction I’d had with him since he made the coveting comment.
“Seems kind of lazy that you’re roping something that’s not moving,” I said.
He grinned without glancing at me. “Sunday Morning, it seems like you think this is easier than it is.”
I stepped onto the bottom fence plank and rested my arms on the top one. “Why do you rope? Does your daddy not pay you enough?”
“Because I enjoy it.” He threw the rope and snagged it on the horn of the dummy calf. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Don’t you?”
He eyed me. “My mom left me in charge of keeping watch over you, so technically, I’m your boss this week. That means you do what I say.”
“Then look at me and tell me what to do,” I said before biting my lower lip.
“With that attitude, you’re going to send your dad to his grave early. You and your sisters.”
“I take offense on behalf of myself and my sisters. We’re angels.”
“Get to work before I find something else for you to do.”
“I’m off at four. I want to play your guitar again.”
“No.”
I ignored his response. “Is it in the barn?”
The idea that Isaac liked me—coveted me—made me feel exhilarated.
Mature.
Irresistible.
Desired.
Basically, sin, sin, sin.
But also a little braver.
I should have kept my distance, especially with Matt out of town, but I was curious—to a fault.
“What if I let you touch something of mine?” As soon as I said the words, my heart raced with fear like I’d jumped out of a plane and didn’t know if my parachute worked.
“You’re in over your head, little girl.”
I frowned because I wasn’t a little girl.
Not a schoolgirl.
Not a minor.
Not a virgin.
“Why do you say that?”
He dropped the rope and scuffed his boots through the dirt toward me. “Do you love my little brother?”
I nodded. It was the truth. But just because I loved him, it didn’t mean I wanted to marry him.
“Then why would you say that?” Isaac asked, leaning against the post and inspecting his fingernails.
“Because I want to play your guitar.”
“At what cost?” he asked, keeping his head bowed.
“I don’t know yet because you haven’t made me an offer.”
He trapped his lower lip between his teeth and shook his head. “It’s in my closet. I have to pick up sheep from the Brady’s later. Don’t mess with anything else,” he said, walking away.
“What do I have to do in return?” I called.
“I’ll figure something out.”
As soon as I closed the farm stand, I ran down the lane to return the key and cash and get Isaac’s guitar. Lightning lit up the cloudy sky in the distance, so I didn’t waste any time hanging up the key, discarding my dirty boots, and tiptoeing up the stairs, even though Isaac was gone. Wesley was most likely still in the machine shed working on equipment like he did most nights until dinner or later.
Heading into Isaac’s room, I paused to hold still when I heard something. It came from their parents’ bedroom.
For a second, I considered skipping the guitar and bolting out of the house. But I had already established my willingness to do just about anything to play the guitar, so I jumped over the threshold into Isaac's room like a dancer making a graceful leap, and I retrieved his acoustic guitar from the closet and took two steps toward the door when I heard a jarring curse in a man’s voice.
“Jesus Christ,” he said and then seethed.
I gulped.
“Slow down …” It was Wesley’s strained voice.
I couldn’t tell if he was angry or injured. The tone held a mix of both. Hugging the guitar, I crept down the hallway. Before taking the last step, I stopped and craned my neck to peek into the room past the partially ajar door. As soon as my eyes focused, I reared my whole body in the opposite direction and covered my mouth to muffle my gasp. The floor squeaked, and I cringed, using both arms to hug the guitar again.