Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Animals like me,” he rumbles.
“They do?” I ask.
He nods and gives me a look I can’t interpret.
“Maybe they sense something in me…you know?”
“Uh…maybe.” What they’re sensing I don’t know. But wait, maybe I do. There’s no denying that my big brother exudes a kind of animal magnetism. I certainly feel it when I’m around him—it’s like there’s something primal inside him. I know that sounds dramatic, but it’s true. Probably it’s his pale eyes—I can’t decide if they’re gray or blue.
Meanwhile, he’s still petting my cat.
“You know, guys in prison would love to have a pet like this,” he murmurs, straightening up. Miss Sassy continues the love fest—winding her way around and between his legs, purring up a storm. “I even knew a few who tried keeping bugs or mice as pets in their cells—just anything at all that they could love.”
His words bring a lump to my throat and it’s brought home to me, all over again, how terribly lonely he must have been all those years on the inside. I’ve read a few books and articles about helping ex-cons re-acclimate to the outside world and that’s one of the things they all mentioned—the emotional isolation of prison.
“That’s so sad,” I whisper. Impulsively, I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him.
He doesn’t seem to know what to do at first…but then he slowly puts his arms around me and gives me a careful squeeze, as though I might break.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I say, looking up at him—I have a long way to look because he’s so tall. “I’m a hugger and it seemed to me that you could use a hug just now.”
The uncertain look on his face fades and he gives me a smile—it’s little more than one corner of his mouth crooking up, but it counts as far as I’m concerned.
“Well, thank you, baby. That’s sweet of you.”
I like the sweet nickname. In his letters to me, he always called me “baby sis” which is nice too. I give him a squeeze and reluctantly let go. I’m wondering again what cologne he wears—whatever it is, it’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled. It’s kind of woodsy and wild with a dark, dangerous spice as the under-note.
“Okay, well…let me give you the tour of the house,” I tell him. I take his hand and tug. “Come on—this way.”
7
CONNOR
Bemused, I allow Sunny to lead me around the old Victorian mansion. The house has good bones but I see several places where the wood is getting rotten and areas where it’s been chipped or broken.
I could fix that, I think and catch myself wondering if Sunny has access to any tools. Then I remind myself I’m only here for a quick house tour and then I’ll be on my way again. After all, I have to get back to Branson like I promised sometime, right?
Sunny takes me all over the house—well, the downstairs, anyway. The upstairs is shut off because, as she explains, it costs too much to heat and cool it. And since she’s the only one living here and she has her bedroom on the bottom floor, why should she pay money to heat or cool empty rooms?
She shows me an old-fashioned kitchen with a gas stove and a pea-green refrigerator.
“The same one our Nan bought when she first moved in here when Momma was just a little girl,” she said proudly, patting the ancient but still humming appliance. Then she puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry—do you remember Momma or Nan at all? You were so young when your dad took you away…”
“No, afraid not,” I say, truthfully enough, shaking my head.
Sunny gets a sad look in her pretty amber eyes.
“Momma never got over losing you, you know,” she tells me. “She used to cry for you sometimes—I remember wondering why she was so sad when I was little.”
I’m not sure what to say to this. It’s a sad story but not an unusual one in the Were world. When two people split, the male Were almost always keeps any sons while his mate gets the daughters.
“What about your father?” I ask, to change the subject.
“Oh, he died before Momma did.” She sounds sad. “I lost all of them in the space of three years—first Nan, then Daddy, then Momma. That’s why I was so thrilled when you finally wrote me back. It made me feel so good to have family in my life again.”
I feel kind of bad, continuing to deceive her like this. But it’s clear she needs a big brother and I’m happy I can fill the role.
“I was glad too,” I tell her truthfully. “You know, your letters got me through some really dark times. Whenever I read one, it felt like a ray of sunshine was coming right into my cell.”