Made For Loving You (Rescue My Heart Book 3) Kait Nolan (the speed reading book .TXT) 📖

at the academy. You have such a vivid imagination. It seemed like a low-threat option that would be easy to do away with once I didn’t need it anymore. It was never supposed to go this far. But you didn’t do what you were supposed to. You turned to him.”

Reminding him of Ty didn’t seem like a good idea.

“Why? I don’t understand why you’d go to such lengths—creating some kind of false danger—just to get my attention.”

Joel stared at her as if that were the most obvious piece of this whole mess. “I wanted to be your hero.”

“You have a gross misunderstanding about what a hero is.” The words were out before she could think better of them.

His bitter snort echoed off the rafters. “I suppose you’ll say a hero is supposed to be like Ty Brooks. Small town deputy and your old friend.”

Paisley didn’t quite manage to stop the roll of her eyes at his derision. He had no idea who Ty really was. The motion put one of the windows in her periphery. Was that movement or just the trees shifting in the wind?

“Tell me, Paisley, what is it he has that I don’t? Why did you choose him?”

Ignoring the question, she opted to educate. For now, he was listening to her. If she could keep him engaged, it would buy more time, and this was a topic she could talk about for hours. “Heroism is not about physical protection from danger. It’s not about feats of derring do. Those are men’s definitions—and yeah, they’re valid, but they aren’t the only kinds of heroism out there. For most women, they aren’t even the most important. I mean, I like a badass as much as the next gal, but most of us don’t live lives where that’s relevant all the time.”

Warming to her topic, she tried to lean forward, only to be stopped by the cuffs. “For me, heroism is about being what I need. Seeing what needs doing and doing it because you can. Making my life easier in a million tiny ways, like picking up my favorite wine on the way home because you know I had a lousy writing day or walking the dog and making breakfast in bed because I was up too late. Doing the vacuuming because you remember that one time I ran over my toe right after I had surgery and have a little bit of trauma about it. You talk about wanting me to see you. That’s exactly what this is about. Seeing your partner for who they really are as a person. Not as a glorified ideal. Not as a maid or a mother or a plaything. That’s the number one complaint I hear from my readers. That their partners don’t see them. That goes beyond annoyances like leaving the toilet seat up or dirty clothes all over the floor. Women want men who will wade into the trenches of everyday life, not just making sure the doors are locked at night and sleeping on the side of the bed closest to the door in case the boogieman breaks in or whatever other things the patriarchy has deemed acceptable masculine behaviors. They want actual partners.”

Joel was staring at her like she’d grown a second head. That was fine. She wasn’t really talking to him anymore.

“That’s not heroic,” he insisted.

“To the exhausted mom of two, who hasn’t slept in weeks, or the career woman trying to get a promotion and juggle her marriage it is. Really, it’s not your fault for not understanding that. You’re a victim of toxic masculinity. Decades of programming designed to maintain the status quo. And where’s that gotten you? Divorced from a marriage where probably neither of you really saw each other, married to a job I’m not entirely sure you actually like, well down the path of what started out as an effort to think outside the box and has devolved into a problematic hot mess in the middle of freaking nowhere, with the woman you purport to care about tied to a chair.”

He had the grace to wince at that.

“You wanted to know what Ty has that you don’t, why I chose him? History. A long and involved one that finally brought us back together after years apart. I love him. I’ve always loved him, flaws and all. And it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s a former Army Ranger who currently has a gun trained on your head.”

The door burst open.

Paisley threw her weight to the side, tipping the chair as Joel reached for his gun and spun. Shots rang out, and she screamed, watching Joel’s body buck and fall into one of the pews, knocking it askew. Footsteps thundered inside, accompanied by a tawny blur. Snarling and snapping, her precious, peaceable dog sank his teeth into Joel’s ass. The weak, wheezing howl proved her kidnapper was not, in fact, dead.

Moving, swift and efficient, Ty closed the distance, kicking Joel’s gun out of reach. Beyond him, Harrison and Sebastian moved in, their own weapons trained on the writhing man. None of them did anything to deter Duke.

“Aren’t you going to stop him?” Paisley demanded.

Lowering his weapon, Ty set it aside and righted her chair. “I mean, at least one of us deserves to get a piece of him. Duke’s the one who led us to you, so by rights, he gets dibs.”

“You already shot him!”

“Bean bag round. Doesn’t count. Though he’s probably got a few cracked or busted ribs by the sound of that breathing.” Crouching down, he cupped her cheek. “You okay?”

“Shaken up. Little sore. But yeah. He didn’t hurt me.”

Ty’s throat worked, and his lips finally twitched into something resembling a smile. “Only you would manage to distract a kidnapper with a lecture on the patriarchy and toxic masculinity.”

She searched his face, soaking in the sight of him and wondering how much he’d heard. “It wasn’t just for his benefit.”

Dropping his gaze, he pulled out a tactical knife