Read Online Wicked Fall by Sawyer Bennett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sawyer Bennett
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friends. It’s the natural way in which they talk with each other; it’s in the way in which they laugh together. Hell, I can even see it when they just sit there in silence with each other as they watch all the happenings going on around them.
I thought their friendship might make me a little bitter, seeing as how my brother used to be Woolf’s closest friend, but I found myself actually filled with a peaceful happiness for Woolf that he found someone in whom he could trust and bond like he had with Richard.
I busy myself at one of the many long tables covered with red checkered cloths and laden with food, starting to place some tinfoil over the bowls of side dishes as the first wave of people have gone through. While Woolf is having this party catered, I feel compelled to do actual work since he’s paying me. But so far, he’s not given me much to do so I’m trying to act busy.
I sneak another peek over at the picnic table, and both Woolf and Bridger are looking at me, their heads inclined toward each other. It’s clear they’re talking about me and a warm flush creeps up my neck. Never taking his eyes off me, Bridger murmurs something to Woolf and the look in Woolf’s eyes becomes focused with intensity. His eyes seem to be glittering across the way at me, and his jaw sets in a hard line. He even bites down roughly into his lower lip while Bridger continues to talk quietly to him, all while they are both staring at me.
I hastily avert my gaze, not able to handle the way Woolf is… eating me up? And what in the hell could Bridger have said to make him look at me like that? It’s like he was encouraging him… saying something to incite Woolf. I grab some napkins and start wiping up spills around the serving bowls, my pulse skipping madly for some reason.
The band Woolf hired starts tuning their instruments, causing my gaze to slide over there. I can see down past them to the branding paddock; the ranch hands are working on a few more calves, but most everything is done for the day. Everyone has plates of food and beers in their hands. People are laughing in celebration for a good, hard day’s work and a traditionally important rite of passage for the animals. I can remember coming to the Double J brandings all the time growing up. I’d watch Woolf, Tenn, and Richard help wrestle the calves to the ground, and I wanted to help too but my mother wouldn’t let me. It didn’t befit a young lady.
Or so she said.
The party afterward was always so much fun. Chasing fireflies when the sun set, listing to music and eating homemade ice cream until I was sick. Not much has changed, although I don’t intend to overindulge on the ice cream, but I do intend to enjoy the fireworks that will start up probably within the next hour.
I sneak one more peek over at the picnic tables, curious if Woolf and Bridger are still watching me. I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m actually disappointed they’re both gone. I scan my eyes around, but I don’t see either of them.
Sighing, I decide to go ahead and get a plate of food and a beer. My entire day of non-working has actually been quite tiring, and I’d like to get off my feet for a bit. Some barbeque, a little bit of pie, a little fireworks, then I’m heading home for a nice hot bath and maybe a good book.
As the fireworks start, I loop my purse over my shoulder and make my way toward the makeshift parking area. I drove my father’s truck, because even though he’s the governor, everyone in Wyoming has a truck and it just felt good to drive it. It made me feel like I was truly back home, and fuck the little BMW convertible Will had bought me to drive around in back in Connecticut. Those days were over.
I want to make a quick getaway as soon as the show is over, but I can’t resist watching the sparkling lights, so I pull the tailgate down on my truck and hop my ass onto it. Just as I shrug the strap of my purse off my arm, the first rocket goes
I thought their friendship might make me a little bitter, seeing as how my brother used to be Woolf’s closest friend, but I found myself actually filled with a peaceful happiness for Woolf that he found someone in whom he could trust and bond like he had with Richard.
I busy myself at one of the many long tables covered with red checkered cloths and laden with food, starting to place some tinfoil over the bowls of side dishes as the first wave of people have gone through. While Woolf is having this party catered, I feel compelled to do actual work since he’s paying me. But so far, he’s not given me much to do so I’m trying to act busy.
I sneak another peek over at the picnic table, and both Woolf and Bridger are looking at me, their heads inclined toward each other. It’s clear they’re talking about me and a warm flush creeps up my neck. Never taking his eyes off me, Bridger murmurs something to Woolf and the look in Woolf’s eyes becomes focused with intensity. His eyes seem to be glittering across the way at me, and his jaw sets in a hard line. He even bites down roughly into his lower lip while Bridger continues to talk quietly to him, all while they are both staring at me.
I hastily avert my gaze, not able to handle the way Woolf is… eating me up? And what in the hell could Bridger have said to make him look at me like that? It’s like he was encouraging him… saying something to incite Woolf. I grab some napkins and start wiping up spills around the serving bowls, my pulse skipping madly for some reason.
The band Woolf hired starts tuning their instruments, causing my gaze to slide over there. I can see down past them to the branding paddock; the ranch hands are working on a few more calves, but most everything is done for the day. Everyone has plates of food and beers in their hands. People are laughing in celebration for a good, hard day’s work and a traditionally important rite of passage for the animals. I can remember coming to the Double J brandings all the time growing up. I’d watch Woolf, Tenn, and Richard help wrestle the calves to the ground, and I wanted to help too but my mother wouldn’t let me. It didn’t befit a young lady.
Or so she said.
The party afterward was always so much fun. Chasing fireflies when the sun set, listing to music and eating homemade ice cream until I was sick. Not much has changed, although I don’t intend to overindulge on the ice cream, but I do intend to enjoy the fireworks that will start up probably within the next hour.
I sneak one more peek over at the picnic tables, curious if Woolf and Bridger are still watching me. I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m actually disappointed they’re both gone. I scan my eyes around, but I don’t see either of them.
Sighing, I decide to go ahead and get a plate of food and a beer. My entire day of non-working has actually been quite tiring, and I’d like to get off my feet for a bit. Some barbeque, a little bit of pie, a little fireworks, then I’m heading home for a nice hot bath and maybe a good book.
As the fireworks start, I loop my purse over my shoulder and make my way toward the makeshift parking area. I drove my father’s truck, because even though he’s the governor, everyone in Wyoming has a truck and it just felt good to drive it. It made me feel like I was truly back home, and fuck the little BMW convertible Will had bought me to drive around in back in Connecticut. Those days were over.
I want to make a quick getaway as soon as the show is over, but I can’t resist watching the sparkling lights, so I pull the tailgate down on my truck and hop my ass onto it. Just as I shrug the strap of my purse off my arm, the first rocket goes
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