Page 23 of The Reading

I rolled us over until she was underneath me again. “Why not?” I asked. “I mean, Madam Brousseau sounds like she knows what she’s talking about.”

“She’s a psychic palm reader from Las Vegas,” she reminded me. “It’s just a coincidence.”

“Bullshit,” I argued.

“Well, one night together is not enough to determine if you’re my soulmate or not-”

“It’s plenty of time together,” I countered. “This is also the best St. Patrick’s Day ever.”

Sloane eyed me. “For the record, I’m going to be sorely disappointed if you turn out to be a mistake.”

“Well, if I am, then that’s cause for a refund, I’d imagine,” I smirked.

Sloane let out an exaggerated sigh. “The reading was on the house.”

A Basket Full of Something

It was coincidence.

It had to be.

I mean, while Madam Brousseau seemed nice enough, there was no way that her predictions were real. I mean, if they were, then what was she doing working out of that little rundown building? Why didn’t she have her own mega-church network or something?

Granted, I had bigger problems at the moment, though I’d hardly call them problems. They were more likefirst-worldproblems, nothing to get too excited about.

Unlike my sister, I didn’t live in town. I lived on the outskirts of town because I needed the peace and quiet that town couldn’t provide. Where my twin sister, Sloane, was a corporate attorney, I was a romance novelist, so the countryside worked better for me. We were also identical twins with only one difference. My left eye was missing some pigment, and that was the only way that you could tell Sloane and I apart. Well, that and our personalities. Sloane was a woman in a man’s world, so she was a tough cookie. Me, not so much. Oh, I could be tough when I needed to be, but I wasn’t on high alert all the time like Sloane tended to be.

Now, while my property wasn’t huge, it was big enough that yardwork was my nemesis. Still, I was fortunate enough to have a great neighbor that often took care of the hard labor for me. I was neighbors with Lucas Bellinger, and he owned a horse ranch. It wasn’t a huge production, but it was said that the man sold the finest horses around, and he made a pretty penny doing so.

He was also gorgeous, kind, built like he belonged on a cowboy calendar, and someone that I considered a friend. While I had plenty of female friends, I didn’t have that many male friends, but Lucas was one of them if I were counting.

The man also allowed St. Mary’s to use his ranch for their annual Easteregg hunt each year. St. Mary’s was a church dedicated to orphans and foster care, and Lucas was always offering up his time and property for their causes. Sunday was Easter, so the Easter egg hunt would start tomorrow around noon, always the Saturday before. Lucas not only allowed the church to use his property, but he also let the kids ride some of his horses if they wanted to. Lucas had a great ranch crew, and summer was like eye-candy for horny females everywhere.

Still, all that aside, Madam Brousseau’s prediction, Easter, horses, or hot cowboys were not my issues at the moment.

No.

My current predicament involved Lawrence, the one and only other animal on Lucas’ ranch.

“I’m sorry, Kit,” Lucas said again. “I thought I put the package out of his reach.”

Lawrence was Lucas’ only goat. A couple of years ago, he’d been accidentally delivered with two horses, and Lucas hadn’t had the heart to turn him away. Lawrence had ended up making himself at home, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to find his way onto my property. Lawrence and I were friends though, so I didn’t mind.

I had just finished up with a recent book, and the author copy prints had been delivered to Lucas’ address by mistake. Being the good neighbor that he was, he had brought the box over, mindful that Lawrence had a thing for packages. Nevertheless, it looked like Lawrence had outsmarted Lucas once again.

Now, you would think that the ten paperback books that were shredded all to hell would be the issue, but it wasn’t.

Not even close.

My issue was that Lucas had been kind enough to gather up the remains of my books, and he was holding a few pages in his hand that I hoped he hadn’t read.

See, Lucas Bellinger was hot as the sun.

I meanhot.

The man had dark blonde hair and green eyes, for Christ’s sake. I mean…well, at any rate, my current hero in my latest release might have dark blonde hair, green eyes, a body like a Spartan warrior, and a ranch that had a goat named Lawson.

The papers in Lucas’ hands might also contain a scene where the hero ravished his neighbor in a way that I’d never, ever, ever even thought of Lucas doing to me.

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