Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I need to nip it in the bud, though. I can’t drag Raven Bellamy—or anyone else—into the hell that is my life right now.
“Six thirty then,” Falcon says.
“I’ll be there.”
Driving to Summer Creek, when I was just there two days ago, wasn’t something I’d planned on, but I can’t get it out of my head that someone is watching. Hell, I know my grandfather is watching me. That’s a given. But someone else is as well. Someone’s watching me. Or Falcon and Savannah. Or all of us.
I can feel it.
Who would be that interested in Falcon and Savannah? We’ve already made peace with the McAllisters after I agreed to marry Declan McAllister’s daughter Belinda when she comes of age. Of course, they lost their son, but my father’s rotting in prison for the deed. Miles McAllister was also about to shoot Falcon in the head when my father took things into his own hands, so I’m certainly not mourning his loss.
I’m thankful that he’s dead. Savannah’s happiness means more to me than my own.
If only I’d been thinking about her and Mikey instead of myself when I abandoned them. Savannah was only ten years old when I left.
When I left the family at eighteen, we were still living on Long Island. But as I drive through these Texas roads for the second time in forty-eight hours—again without Fred and Elmo—I realize how beautiful it is here.
The colors of the setting sun streak across the sky, their hues reflected in the mirror-like surface of the creeks dotting the landscape. The marsh-green grasslands stretch out like an unending blanket.
A few lone ranches break up the rustic landscape, nestled among groves of Texan live oak. The air smells clean, fresh and earthy—a far cry from the heavy industrial scent that clung to Long Island.
Lost in my thoughts, I almost miss the turnoff to Falcon’s place. I pull into his driveway, a gravel path leading up to a ranch-style house with big windows overlooking the creek behind it. As I step out of my vehicle, I hear laughter echoing from inside.
Savannah’s voice. And the voice of Raven, a beautiful tone that has somehow become ingrained into my mind.
They’re laughing.
They’re happy because they think I did the impossible.
When in fact I had nothing to do with it. A fact I need to tell them all now.
I walk up the pathway and knock on the door, and their two dogs, Sydney and Sammy, bark, tails wagging.
Savannah opens the door, shooing them away. “Vinnie!” She throws her arms around me.
“Hey, Sav.”
“Falcon’s down in the family room. Go on down and he’ll get you a drink. Raven’s just helping me in the kitchen.”
“Hi, Vinnie!” Raven calls from the large kitchen.
“Hi there,” I say, my voice cracking a bit.
For the love of God. I’m thirty-five years old. Why is my voice cracking when I talk to a woman?
I certainly wasn’t celibate when I was in Europe. A small portion of that time I spent in a Buddhist temple. The rest? I fucked my way around Europe…and did a few other things I’m not proud of.
Savannah walks back to the kitchen, looking over her shoulder at me. “I hope you like lasagna, Vinnie.”
Wow. I really have been gone a long time. How could Savannah not remember that lasagna is my favorite?
We had a housekeeper while we were growing up—I think her name was Serafina—and she made the most amazing lasagna. Nothing I had in Italy was as good.
“Love it,” I reply, and then I make my way through the hallway and down the few stairs into
Falcon and Savannah’s family room.
This family room, where only two days ago, I learned the whole story.
Falcon smiles from behind the bar. “Bourbon?”
“Got anything stronger?”
“Scotch?”
Scotch isn’t exactly stronger than bourbon, but it burns my throat like nothing else. I don’t care if it’s my grandfather’s favorite. It’s what I need at the moment. “Scotch sounds great.”
Falcon pours me a couple fingers, and I down them in one swallow. The smoky, peaty taste claws down my throat like acid.
Perfect.
But Falcon is eyeing me. “You doing okay?”
I wipe a few drops of Scotch off my lips. “I need to talk to you.”
“Do I need another drink?”
I shake my head. “I think you need your wits about you, and so do I. But I’ll take another Scotch, this time with a touch of soda.”
Falcon mixes my drink, his jaw rigid and tense. “Do I need to call the ladies down here?”
“No.” I look back toward the kitchen and lower my voice. “Not that we need to have any secrets from them. I mean, they both know everything anyway. But I don’t want to worry them if there’s no need to.”
Falcon narrows his eyes. “But you’re worried about something.”
“I’m not sure if I need to be worried yet,” I tell him.