King's Treasure (Oil Kings Book 3) by Marie Johnston (spanish books to read txt) 📕

pictures of my home, my family, or . . . me. Us. Unease combed through me. Why would he? We weren’t a real couple trying to capture memories.

“The older ones are in the cloud.”

“Get your laptop. Let’s see them.” It had worked last time to bring us together, get us talking. Last time, he’d offered, but today he wasn’t going for his camera or his laptop. “Unless you don’t want to show me.”

Hurt snaked through me. That’s what was wrong between us. We’d been so passionate that first night—before we’d taken our clothing off. We’d talked about our plans, our dreams. But reality was different. Reality was hard. Besides the night I’d met him, he hadn’t taken a picture in my presence. Likewise, I hadn’t done more toward my chosen career than toss a can in a recycling bin.

“I don’t mind showing you,” he said. Then he rolled out of bed and padded to his camera, like I’d imagined his reluctance. With his back to me, I ate up the sight of his carved back tapering into his boxer briefs.

This was where the marriage would be hard. He was what had attracted me in the first place. Him, doing his thing. If we had married based purely on our blazing chemistry, then it would have been easier to survive this year as a couple.

It was about being with you longer.

Was that part true?

He lifted his laptop out of his bag and I spun before I could get caught staring. “I’ll be right back.”

I scurried to the bathroom. I doubted my mind would get any clearer in there, but I needed to clean up anyway.

When I returned, he was dressed in his jeans and his untucked blue plaid flannel, looking so out of place in my young lady elegant room, but the truth was, I felt out of place here too.

Xander scratched the back of his neck, his laptop open as he held it in one hand. “I’ve gotta use the bathroom. Do you want to go to the library or something when I get back?”

I wanted to stay holed up in my room with him and keep the rest of the world away while we figured some shit out. “We can do it here.”

After he left, I threw on a Georgetown sweater Pearl had gotten me for laughs and a pair of maroon leggings. I was pulling on fluffy socks made from recycled jeans when Xander entered. He pushed the door shut and joined me on the bed, sitting on the other side. I leaned over as he clicked through his pictures.

Flashes of people flew by. He didn’t say much about each one, just gave me a rundown of the location and when he’d taken it. In several photos, one woman in particular kept reappearing.

“Girlfriend?”

He stopped, his jaw ticking as he studied the picture. My throat grew thick. For fuck’s sake, did he still have a girlfriend? One in each country? These were questions I should’ve asked before we married.

God, I was naïve. I didn’t know this guy.

Finally, he sighed. “She and I dated, but it wasn’t serious and it ended before I left.”

“There’s a lot of photos of her.”

“She liked to pose and her parents loved the pictures.” He leaned across the bed closer to me and flipped through the rest. The woman was stunning. Burnt-umber skin, long dark hair, glittering dark eyes, and a round face that managed a level of innocence and sexuality that shouldn’t mix.

“She’s beautiful,” I murmured, more disheartened with each snapshot. “Why the Philippines?”

“I stayed for several months doing a story on the parallels of rural farming there and here in the States.” He glanced at me and, seeing my blankness, explained, “Many farmers in both places have heavy debt and struggle to feed their families while growing food for the nation.”

“Did you write the article?”

“Not yet.”

“Is it the writing stopping you?” I stretched across the bed, which brought me closer to his fresh linen smell. Other than minty toothpaste and my shampoo, he didn’t use products. A simple man but a complex individual. I had to get to know the individual.

“Yeah. I like action. Sitting at a computer and punching out the details is something I’d do on a long flight, not when I could work or take pictures.” He flipped through frame after frame. There was a man bent over a crop I didn’t recognize, dressed in basketball shorts and a T-shirt. Another with a red and white tractor of some sort. Was it similar to anything Xander had used as a rancher? Photos flew by of people swarming a field, then more of fields submerged in water. Rice. That was the only crop I could identify.

One thing was clear in each picture. He had talent. Maybe it was raw. What did I know about photography? But he had passion and that gave him an edge many photographers didn’t have. He could focus on what was most important in the photo without making it the focus. In each of the farming pictures, it was obvious how hard they worked, that the odds were stacked against them, and that they loved the land.

He kept going back until he hit green plains disrupted by buttes and a river.

“Where’s that?”

“Home.”

I peered closer. Cattle dotted the pastures and the green was offset by the twinkling blue of the river. Fluffy white clouds dotted the sky. The image was a burst of color that was pleasing and relaxing. A meditation on the screen. The clarity was stunning, as if I could walk from my room right into the scene and stay there. “It’s gorgeous.”

“This was when I was home a little less than a year ago to work cattle. My favorite time is the spring.”

“Do you go back often?”

“Sometimes Dawson calls and asks for help working cattle in the fall. If I can afford to fly home, I’ll do it.” He smirks at me. “Then I can use his Wi-Fi to upload all my pictures and clear up some space.”

“Do