Page 38 of Fairground (Whitewood Creek Farm #3)

I’m only halfway across the parking lot when I hear a voice that sends an automatic shiver down my spine.

On the very short list of people that I would not want to run into after being bent over and fucked in the back of a gigantic pumpkin float—hair a wreck, my dress just barely smoothed down to hide the evidence of what just happened—my parents would take the top spot.

And the bottom. And every spot in between because I've been happily avoiding them for the last seven years of my life and my life’s been better because of that.

“Mom… Dad…” I greet, stepping toward them hesitantly. Their faces light up with those bright, utterly fake smiles they wear when they’re pretending to be polite but are absolutely judging someone. And that person is me right now.

“Rae! Dear!” my mom chirps, moving to pull me into a hug that’s as warm as a damp washcloth.

It’s not even a hug, really—just a few stiff pats on the back while her body remains board-straight.

I wonder for a fleeting second if this is how other people felt when they hugged me before I moved to this small town and learned to hug like I mean it.

The thought stings, an uncomfortable mix of sadness and embarrassment for every person I knew before I moved here who never got to see this softer, happier side of me.

“Hi, honey,” my dad says from behind her, hands tucked casually into his khakis. He makes no effort to hug me or greet me. Never been a big hugger, that one.

“W-what are you guys doing here?” I ask, my tone edging toward panic as I cast a quick what the actual fuck? look toward Laken who's lingering behind them. Felix and Daniel are inconspicuously nowhere in sight. Lucky kids. Somehow, they got out of this awkward encounter.

My sister mirrors the expression right back at me, her wide eyes the only reassurance in this ambush that clearly, we’ve both been blindsided by them showing up in town.

“We were on our way down to Miami for a cruise,” my mom announces, her tone as light and breezy as if this were perfectly normal.

Because of course they were on their way to another cruise. That’s what they do now that they’re retired instead of spending time with their grandkids or daughters.

“And we figured we’d stop in to see Daniel and Felix first,” she adds, referencing their grandsons as if they have any sort of solid relationship with them.

No, this has nothing to do with Daniel and Felix and everything to do with checking in on me to see if I'm embarrassing them or doing something that they can use as fodder for their pride and the next time they meet with their friends in high society.

Laken, ever the composed older sibling, keeps her smile in place as she tilts her head slightly. “A call might have been nice first, Mom.” Her voice is calm, diplomatic. The kind of tone that keeps boats from rocking.

Me? I’m not nearly as composed. If I’d known they were coming, I would’ve gone into full-on hiding mode—locked myself in my bedroom with the blinds drawn and my phone on airplane mode or maybe gone to the Marshall's farm and hidden amongst the chicks with Cash.

Covered my body in their soft, yellow little fur as a disguise and reemerged as Big Bird.

My mom’s eyes narrow as they flick toward the float that’s parked behind me. “What were you doing riding in the mayor’s float, Rae?”

Ah, there it is—the burning question that I’m sure they’ve been whispering to themselves since they saw me during the parade, quietly judging the quaint small-town ridiculousness of it all.

You know, now that I think about it, maybe they didn't see me in the parade since I was hiding in the belly of the pumpkin, getting fucked raw by Mr. Whitewood Creek's big dick.

“I’m running for mayor of Whitewood Creek,” I say, bracing myself for their response.

That gets a reaction. My dad’s brows shoot up in pure shock while my mom tries to mask a surprised laugh as a cough, failing spectacularly. Despite all attempts not to be impacted by them, my cheeks flood with heat.

“Oh, honey,” she says, her tone dripping with concern that’s more condescension than care. “What happened to your job with the mayor in Charlotte? Did you…” she lowers her voice into a whisper, “get fired from it?”

I grit my teeth, biting back a retort. No, I didn’t get fired. I was let go because the mayor decided to move onto other things. Not that my mom really cares about those details. In her eyes, losing a job for any reason is a failure.

“She decided to withdraw from the campaign,” I explain, keeping my voice even. “So, all her staff was cut from payroll. I got laid off.” I emphasize the end for their sake though I know I don't care what they think. Not really.

“Oh, honey…” My mom tilts her head, her eyes softening in that way that makes my stomach churn.

I know that look. It’s the that’s basically the same as getting fired look, and it’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to snap.

I was good at that job—hell, great at it—and I refuse to let her or anyone else rewrite that narrative.

“You do realize,” she continues, her tone now taking on an almost pitying quality, “that being mayor in a town like this is more of a figurehead position? It won’t look good on your resume when you decide to reintegrate with life back in Charlotte.”

No shit, Mom. Thanks for pointing that out. And reintegrate? She’s acting like I moved to a commune outside of society.

But I flash her a tight, forced smile anyway, refusing to give her the satisfaction of rattling me with her passive aggressive words. “You’d be surprised, actually. Small-town mayors have a lot of responsibility and influence.”

Like cleaning up cum stains from the pavement and building gigantic pumpkins in the shape of my ass.

Before she can fire back with another thinly veiled dig at my latest profession, I catch sight of Cash striding toward us, his brows drawn together in confusion when he sees who I’m talking to. Perfect.

“In fact,” I say quickly, lunging for his arm, “here’s my competition for the mayor position now.”

Cash barely has time to react as I loop my arm through his and pull him into the tension filled moment.

His puzzled expression shifts to amusement as he glances down at me, clearly picking up on something being off about this interaction.

If anyone can make this nightmare remotely bearable, it’s Cash. Or at least, I hope it is.

“Hello,” Cash says, extending a hand to my father first, his face still painted with confusion, likely wondering who I just dragged him into meeting. “I’m Cash Marshall.”

“Evan Black,” my dad replies, gripping his hand firmly. “Rae’s father.”

Recognition flickers across Cash’s face as he shifts to shake my mother’s hand next. I’m silently pleading with my eyes— please don’t say anything crazy, please, or actually, maybe do. Honestly, at this point, I just want this entire interaction to be over.

“I see,” Cash says simply, his tone measured.

I can’t help but wonder if he’s putting two and two together, realizing these are the people who emotionally wrecked me to the point that I sometimes don’t know how to function like a normal adult and have a list of insecurities so long it would rival a grocery receipt.

“Ah,” my mom says, her voice lighter now and filled with something that sounds a hell of a lot like flirting and admiration, “that’s why your name sounds familiar. You’re a Marshall from the family who owns the Whitewood Creek Distillery .”

Cash nods with an easy, practiced smile. “That I am. And the egg farm.”

That’s when I see it—the subtle twitch of my mom’s nose, wrinkling in disdain. Oh no.

“Chickens?” she asks, like he’s just announced he spends his free time rolling in mud like a pig.

And frankly, he probably does do that too though I haven't witnessed it.

A naked Cash rolling in mud sounds like a good time to me.

At this point in my stay here, I'd probably join him and somehow, we’d end up naked, fucking.

Cash nods again, and this time his grin stretches wider, like he’s discovered her Achilles’ heel. “Yep. GMO-free, organic, free-range hens. They’re my thing. I’m the lead for the egg farm.”

“The lead?”

“Manage all of them myself,” he says, his pride unmistakable. “Big facility just a few miles from here. It’s our pride and joy. The heart of the Marshall family. The distillery came later once the farm was thriving under my control.”

“I… see…” my mom says, her tone faltering slightly, which is nothing short of miraculous. I watch her struggle to come up with something neutral to say and know she’s going to fail. “And… what are your long-term plans?”

Cash doesn’t miss a beat. He throws his head back and laughs—a deep, genuine belly laugh that echoes across the parking lot though it doesn't disturb anyone outside of our group because everyone in this town is used to Cash and his uninhibited joy.

My dad blinks in shock while my mom’s mouth parts slightly, caught off guard by him laughing at her question.

Meanwhile, I'm just admiring the man who I've fallen for. He's so... happy. Not the least bit offended at all by their rude questions and thinly veiled accusations. He’s proud of who he is and doesn’t falter on that for anyone.

“Oh, I’ve got it all figured out,” Cash says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Plan on working there till the day I die. Hell, I think I’ll even die on the farm if the hens will have me. Wouldn’t it be kind of poetic if they just pecked me down to dust? Real full-circle moment, don’t you think, Rae?”

My dad clears his throat, looking like someone just slapped him while I fight back a smile. “That’s, um… a bit… crude.”

Cash just grins, his gaze still locked on mine, completely unbothered. “Crude, maybe. But I can’t think of a better way to go—well, except one.” His eyes stay on mine before he gives me a wink.

Oh my God.

My entire body stiffens because the one exception he’s referring to? The one he’s whispered to me more than once while tangled in my sheets? Death by me . Or, more specifically, death by being smothered between my thighs while he licks me.

Death by my pussy.

I glance at my parents, praying they don’t pick up on the absolutely filthy subtext radiating off him like a neon sign because there’s nothing discreet about the way Cash is looking at me. But judging by their blank, confused stares, I’m safe.

For now.

“Well,” Cash says, tipping his head at me with a wink that’s downright sinful, “pleasure meeting you all. Rae, I'll see you later tonight.” And with that, he strides off, leaving me to drown in the awkward tension he just gleefully stirred up.

“That guy is your competition?” my mom whispers, way too loudly for someone trying to act scandalized.

Laken bites her lip, trying and failing to hold back a laugh.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as I watch him disappear into the crowd. “Yeah. He is.” Absolutely ridiculous.

“Well,” my mom says, her voice laced with condescension, “I think we all know who’s winning, even if it’s just a pointless title.”

I roll my eyes so hard I swear I see the back of my skull. She notices immediately and lets out a clucking noise.

“You really should stop doing that,” she scolds, resting a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll get eye bags and need a face lift before the age of forty.”

My jaw tightens, and for a split second, I consider shrugging her hand off and telling her to back off for good. But she doesn’t give me the chance.

“We’re taking Laken and the boys out to lunch,” she announces, as though I have no choice in the matter. “Join us.”

It’s not a question. And though I’d rather stick my head in the nearest port-a-potty that Rhett's installing than sit through a meal with them, I know arguing will only prolong the agony.

“Sure,” I mutter, already plotting my escape. “Just give me a few minutes. I’ll meet you there.”

Because first, I’m going to find Cash.