Page 43 of Fairground (Whitewood Creek Farm #3)

Four months later…

“He’s been weird lately,” Regan says.

I stretch my legs out in front of me before sliding down onto the hard wood floor of Molly and Colt’s living room, staring up at the high, exposed wooden beams on their ceiling and feeling the slight buzz of the two tequila shots that I just took with Regan settle deeper into my blood stream.

“What kind of weird?” I ask.

“Like, I don’t know… picking up extra shifts, volunteering to be on call at the last minute, stuff like that.

He’ll even tell Rhett to have him on call for emergencies when we already have plans to hang out and Rhett could easily assign someone else.

It’s just getting kind of ridiculous. I feel like the relationship isn’t a priority to him anymore.

” Regan huffs and crosses her arms. “The other night, I drove all the way out to Meadowbrook where he lives—at his request, mind you—and ten minutes into dinner, his phone rings with an ‘emergency plumbing issue, ’ and off he goes. Meanwhile, I’m sitting there, eating alone in his house feeling like a total idiot. ”

“Okay, that’s definitely odd. Maybe he’s struggling financially and needs the extra hours?”

Regan shakes her auburn hair, her curls bouncing as she frowns. “Nope, not it. His grandma just passed away, and he went out of his way to tell me she left him a ‘ very large sum of money. ’ His words, not mine.”

“Hmm… I see.”

Molly joins us on the floor, setting down a bowl of almonds.

Ever since she found out that she's pregnant with her and Colt's child, she's been on this weird nut craze. Said that they are supposed to be good for the baby’s brain or something.

She nudges them toward me, but I shake my head. Almonds and tequila don't mix.

Regan grabs a handful, tossing them into her mouth as if it’s the only way to keep from spiraling further.

Who would’ve thought I’d go from moving to this town without a single friend to my name, to now having a tight little girl gang?

Molly, Lydia, Regan, and me have started these girls’ night as a new tradition.

“Maybe he’s going to propose?” Molly suggests, popping another almond into her mouth. “You know, some guys get all weird and cagey when they’re planning something like that. Maybe he's nervous.”

Regan groans, slapping her hands over her eyes like Molly just said the worst thing imaginable. “No, please don’t say that.”

“If you’re reacting like that and he hasn’t even proposed yet, I’m going to go ahead and guess you don’t want to marry Declan,” I point out.

Declan's Regan's boyfriend of about six months now and though they were dating casually before then, it's only in that time that they'd become more serious about seeing only each other.

Regan drops her hands with a long sigh. “Look, it’s been fun.

And yeah, he asked me to be exclusive a few months ago, which I agreed to, but…

I don’t see myself marrying him. I turn thirty this year, and I still feel like I’m looking for that.

.. something , with him. Like there's a spark or something missing.

Maybe I'm asking for too much and should just settle. Maybe I should break up with him before it even gets to that point. I don't feel like a priority for him. I don’t feel like there’s any real passion or future between us. I don't know what to do.”

“Honestly, he’s kind of a wet blanket, don’t you think?” I say with a shrug.

Molly nudges my shoulder with hers, rolling her eyes. “Rae, don’t be rude.”

“I’m not trying to be rude,” I counter. “But, like, why’d you keep him from us for so long anyway? If he’s so great, why were you hiding him?”

Regan’s cheeks flush as she rubs her hands together nervously. “Because I knew this is exactly how you guys would react when you found out I was dating him.”

“Well…” I draw out the word, glancing at Molly and then back to Regan. “You don’t even really like him, so am I wrong?”

Regan lets out a groan, covering her face with her hands again. “I don’t know. Probably not. I should end things.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Well, I do. You don’t like him, he’s being weird, and that’s all the confirmation you need. You know what to do.”

“Oh, like Cash has never been weird before,” Lydia chimes in, making her grand entrance into the living room. She’s wearing one of her signature flowy linen pants, paired with an oversized tank top so loose I can clearly see her bra.

For the town’s reverend’s daughter, she sure as hell doesn’t dress like one.

I laugh and shake my head. “Okay, fair, but Cash has always been clear about how he feels about me. Yeah, I’ll admit he’s done some weird stuff before, but…” I shrug, grinning.

“Exactly,” Lydia says, throwing her hands up dramatically. "Men can just be strange sometimes."

"Hold on, not all men," Molly counters and we all roll our eyes because yes, Colt Marshall has never wavered on his undying love and support for Molly.

Best friends since they were kids, a decade spent apart and a divorce for Molly, none of that stopped Colt from going after her once she moved back to town.

Regan looks between us, her lips twitching like she’s fighting off a laugh. “You guys are impossible. I get it. I don’t really like Declan. The relationship has run its course, and I should probably end things now that I see I’m not a priority to him.”

“You love us.” Molly winks, popping another almond into her mouth.

Regan groans again, but the smile finally breaks through. “I do. I just need some time to think about how I’m going to end things. He’s really a nice guy.”

“Take your time,” I say, grinning at her. “But not too much time. You deserve better than a guy who’s already half out the door.”

“And someone who actually likes hanging out with you and isn't looking for an out. You're a freaking catch, Regan,” Lydia adds, and I nod because Regan with her thick, dark auburn hair and bright blue eyes has the best personality out of all the Marshall's.

With Cash as the exception, of course.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Regan says, laughing now. “I’ll figure it out.”

The conversation shifts as we settle deeper into the living room, and I glance around at these women who’ve somehow become my family.

I feel so much lighter here. Just as I’m about to suggest she take another shot of the tequila we’ve declared our official Wednesday night drink for girls’ night— my first decree as mayor of Whitewood Creek —my phone buzzes on the coffee table. Cash’s name lights up the screen.

Cash: Come here.

I roll my eyes but can’t stop the smile pulling at my lips.

Rae: So freaking bossy. Sorry, it’s girls’ night.

Cash: It wasn’t a suggestion.

Rae: And why, exactly, would I walk away from this glorious bottle of tequila to trek all the way back to your dad's house?

Cash: Because I’m not at the house. I’m at the egg farm. With a whole new batch of baby chicks.

Cash : [Attachment: a photo of Cash covered in tiny, fluffy, yellow chicks as he laughs.]

My jaw drops as I stare at the picture. It’s Cash—shirtless.

Totally, gloriously shirtless. His abs, the ones I’ve licked, traced, and shamelessly worshipped, are on full display for the camera and those strong, tanned arms are cradling an explosion of fuzzy yellow fluffballs. His latest spring batch of chicks.

His head is tilted back, his deep laugh practically radiating out of the image, and his grin—God, that grin—melts me into a puddle right here on Molly’s living room floor.

“Why are you smiling at your phone like a fool?” Lydia’s voice cuts through my shameless ogling.

“The new chicks are in,” I say, holding up the phone for her and the girls to see.

Regan bolts upright like a firework just went off. “Spring is my favorite time of year! Baby animals! Did he say we can go see them now? Please!”

I’m about to say let’s do it! when another buzz interrupts me. A second photo from Cash, and this one’s much more scandalous.

It’s a shot taken from above—his hand, his very exposed hand, gripping… well, the picture cuts off just before it gets to what I want to see, but I know exactly what he’s holding. The chicks are gone now, he’s back in his office, and his smile is replaced by the smirk I know all too well.

Cash: I'm not asking again. Come here and come sit on this.

“Um, I gotta go,” I blurt, scrambling to my feet and grabbing my bag.

“What?” Molly’s voice is full of confusion as she pops another almond into her mouth. “Why? This whole night was your idea! You're the one who said we needed to catch up and gossip.”

“I—uh—can’t explain. Gotta go see the chicks. And Cash.”

Regan wrinkles her nose in disgust as if she knows exactly what I’m headed to go do. “Gross.”

Lydia snickers, shaking her head as she sinks further into the couch. “Chicks and… Cash. Sure, Rae. Totally believable.”

I don’t even bother with a response. I’m already bolting for the door, mentally weighing my options.

It’s a couple of miles to the egg farm, and I’ve had two shots of tequila.

Driving my car is probably a terrible idea, and if I try to run it, I’ll definitely die halfway there.

These thighs may be thick, but not because I'm a runner. Maybe one of the four-wheelers parked near Colt and Molly’s house—

Before I can spiral any further into indecision, headlights cut through the night, and I look up to see him. Cash, riding up in a golf cart like a knight in shining armor—or, more accurately, a devil in worn jeans and a grin that promises trouble.

And just like that, girls’ night is officially over.

“Get over here,” Cash growls, his voice dark and commanding.

“Did you know I was going to be out here?” I ask, though I’m already making my way toward him, heart pounding at the heat behind his gaze.

He shakes his head, his grin spreading slow and deliberate. “Nope. But I was prepared to march into Colt’s house and drag you out myself.”

Before I can respond, I hop onto the golf cart beside him.

Cash doesn’t hesitate—one arm wraps tight around my shoulders, pulling me flush against his side, and then we’re off, tearing down the winding gravel roads that snake through the property.

The wind catches my hair, wild and warm, and a laugh escapes before I can stop it.

He takes the turns like he was born to, smooth and sure, and just like that, I’m right back in that moment—the first time he took me to the creek, and we dry humped like teenagers pretending like that’d be the last time we did.

In just a few minutes, we’re in front of the egg farm, and before I can even blink, he’s scooped me up like I weigh nothing, tossing me over his shoulder in one swift motion.

“Cash!” I yelp, half-laughing, half-breathless as he strides toward the barn. “Why do you insist on carrying me like this?

He pauses just inside to place me on the floor, the earthy smell of hay and faint chirps from the hens off in the distance fill the air.

“Because it makes me feel like a cave man.”

I roll my eyes. “I thought we were here to see the chicks.”

“In a minute,” he says, his voice husky as his grip tightens around me. “Need a taste of you first.”