Seventeen Days Read Free

it would be her doing the finding. Was that a tail wag I just saw? It figures the judgmental bastard Mac is wagging his tail for Mr. Stormy Eyes. The stupid jerk.  
    Finally finding my voice, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, “You know this evil mutt?” Inside, I’m cringing because this delicious man has seen my inner snarky bitch. I guess I need to work on the whole not actually being a bitch thing. My inner snark always sounds so much nicer in my head. 
    While shaking his head, he lets out a laugh that can only be described as one of disbelief. 
    “Savannah warned me you had thorns. But I didn't think you'd actually be this prickly. I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. But I trust Mac here; a dog is one of the best judges of character. If he doesn't like you, odds are I probably won't, either.” 
    Asshole, even if he does have exquisite gray eyes.  
    “Yeah well, you trying being all sunshine and rainbows after being startled nearly to death. I highly doubt you'd be all smiles, bud. I may have heard twigs snapping, but they stopped by the time I managed to open my eyes. You. Scared. Me. And who the frick said Mac doesn't like me? I called him a mutt; it's not like he actually knows what I called him.”
    The nerve of this guy astounds me. Granted, I’m pretty sure Mac does hate me but what right does he have to basically call me a bitch? After scaring me nearly to death! 
    Deciding to ignore him, I get up, gather Mac’s leash, and attempt to leave. Only Mac won't frickin’ budge. Not one damn inch. It seems he likes this guy. Figures. Assholes tend to stick together. Plus, there’s the insignificant issue of me being lost. 
    “Morgan, right?” After staring at him in silence for a few seconds, he adds, “Morgan is your name, right?” 
    As if he doesn’t know who I am. He said my aunt warned him of my attitude. 
    “Yeah, it’s Morgan. And you are?” Bet a hundred dollars his name is as country as his cowboy hat. It’s probably Colt, or Jameson. Which are oddly hot names, now that I think about it.
    “Name’s Harrison, ma’am. I’d say I’m pleased to meet you, but my mama taught me not to lie.”

    She’s a pistol. I’ll give her that. But holy hell she’s attractive. I’ve been trying to come up with a word that’s fitting to describe her beauty, but one has yet to come to me. 
    All her scarlet hair—it’s redder than Savannah’s. Shades of fiery reds and oranges seem to be mingled together, and when the sunlight hits it? Shit. It’s like glimpsing into the flames from a thousand fires. Don’t let me get started on her eyes. Stunning doesn’t begin to cover it. It’s a color I’ve never in all my life had the pleasure of seeing. It’s like God took all the green jewels and threw them together to make her eyes. They’re emerald in one light, jade in another, malachite when the sun shines down on them. And her body? Yeah, we’re better off not going there at the moment. Or ever.
    Her vibrato is all a ruse; one glimpse into her emerald gaze gave her away. Too bad I find it sexy, which isn’t anything I need to be thinking about. I’m far enough over the edge with only thinking of her hair tousled up on my pillow. In other words, I know I’m fucked when it comes to Morgan. Because from seeing her for one second, I know, I fucking know, I’ll get myself all tangled up in her troubles. I’ll end up getting caught in the wake of her tide and the mess left over from the hurricane she’s bound to cause in my heart. It’s those fucking eyes, man. They sing to me. 
    She’s full of secrets, that much is certain. She seems almost … sad. Maybe even a tiny bit lost. Hopefully, she’ll learn who she is here in Alabama. Although, from what I’ve heard of her, it’ll take a lot longer than one summer to straighten her out. 
    Drugs . 
    Typical behavior for an ignored spoiled rotten—for lack of a better word—bitch. All of which landed her