Page 3 of That One Night (The Heartbreak Brothers Next Generation #4)

Chapter

Three

“All I’m saying is that you look so pretty in a skirt,” Emery’s mom said, folding another dish towel and smoothing it out like it had personally offended her. “Cutoffs just look… messy.”

Emery took a breath. She’d forgotten how traditional her mother could be. Apparently, cut-off denim shorts and a black tank top were a step too far for a proper young woman in Hartson’s Creek.

“I mean, you used to love wearing dresses,” her mom added, without looking up.

“I also used to think crimping my hair was a good idea.” Emery kept her voice light, trying to remember that her mom was grieving. This wasn’t really about shorts. Or even appearances. This was about control. Something her mother hadn’t had for a while now.

The house still felt heavy without her dad. The chair he always sat in was empty. The space he used to fill so loudly and easily felt like a vacuum. Her mom had spent her whole life being a wife, a partner, a helpmate. And now she was a widow with a farm she didn’t know how to run.

Thank god Jed Walker, her dad’s longtime farm manager, had stayed on past retirement to help keep things afloat until the property could be sold.

Emery’s gaze flicked to the engagement ring still glittering on her finger like it had every right to be there.

God, what a mess her life was.

“It’s ninety degrees outside,” she told her mom. “It’s too hot for anything but shorts.”

Her mom sighed. “Maybe the air conditioning needs upgrading. It’s been sluggish since April.”

And there it was. The other elephant in the room.

There was no money for upgrades.

“You’re selling the place,” Emery reminded her gently. “There’s no point getting a new system installed now.”

“But it’ll sell faster if everything’s new,” her mom said. “Maybe you could ask Trenton what he thinks?”

That name again. Her jaw tensed.

Of course her mom would bring him up. He was the golden boy. The wealthy one. The safe bet. And of course her mom would default to him when it came to anything practical.

“We’ve got it under control,” Emery said, forcing a smile. “Let’s just get everything organized so we can put it on the market.”

She was sitting at the polished dining table, surrounded by stacks of paperwork her father had left behind. Or at least some of it. A lot was missing. And none of it was in order. But she had to make sense of it if she wanted the sale to go through without hiccups.

Her mom paused her endless glass-polishing, brow furrowing as she watched Emery.

“Is everything okay with you and Trenton?” she asked. “You haven’t said much about him since you’ve been back.”

Emery fought the instinct to flinch. She’d been home for less than twenty-four hours. But of course, in this house, silence meant something was wrong.

“Everything’s fine,” she lied smoothly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I just don’t know if it’s smart for you to be here without him. Don’t you miss him? He can’t be thrilled you’re spending the whole summer away.”

Emery stood and reached for her mother’s hands, threading their fingers together. “He’s okay with it,” she said softly. “He’s been swamped at work. You know how he is. And we both agreed me coming home was the right thing.”

Her mom’s face softened. “He’s such a good man,” she murmured. “Such a catch.” Then her voice brightened. “Imagine. A Reed marrying a Montclair.”

Emery looked down at the ring on her left hand again. It felt heavier by the second.

But she was doing this for her mom. Alice Reed had cried twice already since Emery arrived. Once when she found her dad’s worn boots by the door, and again when she couldn’t find the deed to the back fields.

Her mom needed stability. Hope. And not more heartbreak.

But still, she couldn’t help the growing sense of tightness. As though the walls of this old farmhouse were slowly closing in. The air in here was too still. Too full of memories.

Unlike Emery, her mom had never left this town. She hadn’t gone to college, hadn’t lived anywhere but Hartson’s Creek. She’d been raised on a farm and married a farmer. Her whole world was this land, this house, these routines.

Knowing about Emery’s break up?

It could break her.

And Emery had already broken enough things lately.

“You know what?” she said, releasing her mom’s hands and stepping back. “I’m going to take a walk. The realtor asked for some initial photos. I’ll take a few while the light’s still good.”

“In this heat?” Her mom frowned. “You’ll burn up.”

Maybe she would. But right now, she needed to breathe.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” she promised, grabbing her phone and slipping in her earbuds before her mom could protest.

Outside, the sun hit her like a wall. She squinted toward the nearest field, where Jed was talking with a few of the farmhands. From the way they were herding cattle, it looked like they were rotating pastures.

Jed spotted her and tipped his cap, the sun glinting off his white hair. She smiled and waved back, grateful for his presence.

The Reed farm was just fifty acres now, much smaller than it used to be. Her father had sold off parcels of land over the years whenever money got tight. Most of it now belonged to the Hartsons next door.

But there was still enough land to get lost in.

She followed the dirt path that wound around the cornfield, the green stalks already waist high. In a few months, they’d be golden and ripe for harvest.

She veered toward the small copse of trees at the edge of the property that used to be her childhood escape.

When she was little, she used to sneak back here whenever her parents were upset with her.

Her mom never liked walking through the woods, and her dad was always too busy with the farm to track her down.

The moment she stepped beneath the canopy, the air turned cooler. Calmer. The sound of bugs and birds replaced the distant hum of farm life.

And there, just beyond the trees, was the pond.

Its surface glinted in the sun, water still and glassy. Fed by a tributary of the Hartson Creek, it had always been her favorite place on the property.

And today, it looked almost… magical.

A breath of wind stirred the surface. Somewhere, a dragonfly zipped across the edge.

And then, unbidden, Maisie’s list floated into her head. That wrinkled piece of paper, still folded in the pocket of her overnight bag.

The first item.

1. Go skinny dipping.

She stared at the pond, heart thudding like it had something to prove.

She couldn’t. Could she?

For a second she just stood there, thinking about how stupid that list was. Maisie had messaged her yesterday to say she’d arrived safely in London. She’d sent a photograph of herself, sitting in an English pub next to the sparkling River Thames.

I want you to tick one item off your list this week. Or there’ll be trouble. ;)

Damn, she missed her, even if she could be a pain sometimes. It was only a matter of time before Maisie called her to see if she’d done as she asked.

She glanced around the woods. Jed and the farmhands were busy rotating cattle on the other side of the property. Nobody ever came back here. Not anymore.

She could do this. Just a quick dip. A rebel move. A silent “screw you” to the box she’d spent the last decade squeezing herself into.

Before she could think too hard, she tugged off her sneakers and socks, neatly tucking them aside. Her shorts and tank top followed. Then, standing in just her underwear, she hesitated.

Maybe this was enough. Technically, she could lie and say she did it?—

No. If she was doing this, she was doing it right.

With a determined breath, she unhooked her bra, then shimmied out of her panties, folding them on top of the pile.

The water sparkled invitingly in the late afternoon sun. “Just do it,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Because a good girl wouldn’t.

And right now she was trying hard not to be one.

She walked forward, letting the cool water lap at her feet, then her calves and her thighs, until she pushed off and dove beneath the surface. A rush of silence enveloped her, the water soothing against her heated skin as she surfaced, blinking into the dappled light.

She floated for a moment, breath steadying. The ache in her chest loosened.

Was this what peace felt like?

For the first time in months, maybe years, she felt like herself.

At least until a loud bleat shattered the stillness.

“Maa.”

She jerked upright, scanning the opposite bank.

Another bleat. Deeper this time.

And then she saw him. A goat, casually weaving his way through the edge of the woods.

“Oh no.” she squinted. Definitely a billy. Probably feral. He had a smug look about him.

“Hey, cutie,” she called softly, swimming closer to the edge.

The goat blinked at her, unimpressed. Then turned... and headed straight for her clothes.

“No,” she groaned. “No, no, don’t you dare!”

She swam hard toward shore, but it was too late. The goat was already rooting through the pile. With astonishing speed, he snagged her panties and tank top in his mouth – and to her horror, her bra too – and took off like a four-legged bandit.

“Get your mouth off my panties!” she shouted, scrambling out of the pond, slick water trailing down her bare skin.

He paused, looked at her as if considering her request... then bolted.

“Oh, you bad, bad goat!”

She lunged for him, grabbing at her bra, but he yanked it out of reach and darted past her, her clothing flapping like a banner of humiliation between his teeth.

Left with only her shorts, she yanked them on and took off in pursuit, one arm desperately covering her chest. Her bare feet slapped the earth as she chased him along the edge of the trees.

This was not how skinny-dipping was supposed to go.

And then, because things weren’t already mortifying enough, she heard it.

The unmistakable roar of an engine.

She froze as a dirt bike came tearing down the trail beyond the trees, kicking up a cloud of dust. Her eyes widened in horror as the rider veered toward them, and the goat darted in the opposite direction, toward the road.

“Stop, damn you!” she shouted at the billy.

But of course he didn’t. And she couldn’t chase him that way. Not without being seen. And judging by the way the rider slowed,shehad already been spotted.

The bike coasted to a stop, engine still idling, dust curling around the tires. And there she was, topless and soaked. Somewhere between dignity and disaster.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” the rider called with a low voice as he swung his leg off the bike.

“Don’t come closer!” she yelled, gripping her chest like her life depended on it.

He didn’t listen.

Of course he didn’t.

The man walked toward her with easy confidence, his dark blond hair buzzed close to his scalp, his T-shirt clinging to muscles that didn’t belong in a town like this. His eyes raked over her, amusement pulling at his lips.

She winced, feeling completely exposed. “You don’t have to stare at me like that.”

He didn’t even blink. “It’s kinda hard not to when a half-naked woman’s running across my field.”

Her stomach dropped. “Your field?” When did her dad sell that?

Before she could ask him, his eyes lit with recognition. “Wait… I know you. Emery Reed?”

She blinked, realizing exactly who this mountain of a man in front of her was. “Hendrix Hartson?”

Well. Her humiliation was now complete.

He’d been two grades above her in high school, all trouble and smirks and not enough time in class. A blur in her peripheral vision back then. The type she avoided. Too wild. Too everything.

And now he was standing in front of her, hotter than any memory, his lips twitching as he looked her over.

“Can you please stop staring at my chest?” she asked him.

He arched a brow. “To be fair, it’s pretty hard not to right now.”

His eyes caught hers, and for a moment she couldn’t look away. His gaze was steady, appraising. Like he was trying to figure out what was happening here.

And before she could say another word, he grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it off.

Holy. Hell.

Tan skin. Sculpted abs. Shoulders that looked like they could carry half the farm.

Her mouth went dry.

He held the shirt out to her. “Take it. I won’t look.”

She grabbed it gratefully, the cotton warm from his skin, and turned away. Pulling it on, she couldn’t help blushing at the way it brushed against her bare skin, or ignore the shiver that followed.

“I’ll get this back to you,” she mumbled, pointing toward the old cottage across the lane. “I assume you own the cottage over there?” She could vaguely remember her mom telling her somebody had moved in.

He nodded. “I do.”

She swallowed hard. “Thanks for not laughing at me. Too much.”

He shrugged, his eyes dancing. “Give it time. I’m just working up to it.”

They stared at each other for a beat too long. Something flickered between them, something hot and inconvenient. But before she could think on it anymore, he turned to mount his bike. “I should go. Frank has a taste for Victoria’s Secret, apparently.”

“Frank?” she repeated.

“The goat. I inherited him with the place. He’s a jerk.”

She laughed, despite herself. “You’re telling me.”

He kicked the bike into gear, the engine snarling beneath him. “See you around, Emery.”

She watched him ride away, shirtless, dust trailing behind him like a damn movie scene.

Her pulse was still racing. Her body still buzzing.

And her stupid list was burning a hole in her mind.

Taking a deep breath, Emery tugged at the t-shirt he’d given her and turned to walk home.

That was definitely an interesting way to tick off number one.