Page 12 of The Back Forty (Whitewood Creek Farm #5)

“So, what’s the plan this year, boss?” my younger brother Cash asks, coming up behind me in the parking lot where we’re prepping for the welcome parade float lineup.

Every year, the week before the North Carolina State Fair, our town throws a massive parade.

It winds down Main Street and officially kicks off autumn, celebrating the small businesses that keep this place alive.

And every year, the Marshalls have a float in it—highlighting our sustainable egg farm, which has been in the family for generations.

Last year, I got stuck driving the truck hitched to the infamous pumpkin mayor float aka the one carrying Cash and Rae looking like two oversexed versions of Cinderella.

They disappeared halfway through the route into the belly of the float, and I had to keep smiling and waving from the cab like I didn’t know my brother was hooking up with his girlfriend behind me…

just a few feet away from half the town.

But this year, we’ve added more to the mix.

One more float for Regan’s booming wedding business at the Mayberry Manor and Colt's distillery, which just expanded into summer seltzers that Dani and I have been promoting the past five months straight. So, it’s more than just eggs now—it’s a small empire we're responsible for, and I’m the one calling the shots on how it all gets represented in the public eye.

“Giant egg,” I say, eyes still on the tablet that's permanently glued to my side. “Maybe we’ll stuff you inside it, have you pop out mid-parade like a newborn chick.”

Cash snorts. “When the hell did you get a sense of humor?”

I glance at him. “I’ve always had one.”

He raises a brow. “Yeah, no. Colt’s the quiet grump. Troy's the politically correct one and you’re the tight-ass, dead pan sales exec. No time for jokes. Too busy catching a flight for an interview.”

I roll my eyes and swipe to the next design mockup.

“We’re doing a big whiskey bottle for the distillery float.

Regan’s been working on it with the logo.

She sketched out the general shape, but I need you to help finish constructing it.

Why don't you reuse the materials from last year's pumpkin float?”

He scratches the back of the neck and smirks. "Yeah, that float isn't reusable. It's currently parked in our back yard."

"I'm not even going to ask."

He chuckles and salutes, then jogs off like he’s still seventeen instead of pushing thirty-six.

I follow him across the lot. Regan’s not here to help today, she’s prepping for a wedding over at Mayberry Manor and getting the nursery ready.

Baby Walker number one is due this winter and she's excited to become a mom. So, the float construction falls to me, Cash, and Colt this year. Thankfully, Dani said she’d swing by later after having breakfast with her sisters.

We get to work, passing tools back and forth, cracking a few jokes while I paint wide strokes of pale, eggshell white on one float and deep amber on the next.

I’m halfway through mentally ticking off the never-ending to-do list when I remember that this was supposed to be my vacation.

A rare two-week break from travel for both me and Dani.

I talked her into taking it with me. Sort of.

Though I’m driven—and I always have been—Dani makes me look like I’ve been coasting.

She’s the most focused, relentless person I’ve ever worked with.

Type A, bullet-list addicted, ten steps ahead even when I think I’m leading.

It’s probably why instead of relaxing by the lake or catching up on the kind of domestic things we keep putting off, we’re here.

Working. Prepping floats and trying to make our businesses shine.

Basically, it's what I've dedicated my whole adult life to.

“Hey, guys!” Dani’s voice cuts through the midday heat.

I wipe at my forehead and turn to wave and whoa, fuck me.

She’s crossing the lot, holding two brown paper bags in one hand, a water bottle tucked under her arm, wearing tiny cut-off shorts and a cropped pink tank top.

Her dark brown hair is twisted into a messy bun, a few tendrils falling loose around her face, and her legs are bare and tan, long and strong from the morning runs that I know she never skips.

I’ve seen her in a hundred different outfits over the past year that we've worked together.

Pajamas on hotel work trips when she knocks on my door asking to borrow toothpaste.

Pencil skirts and sharp blazers when we pitch to new accounts.

Yoga pants and sweatshirts on overnight flights when we crash in airport lounges.

She's always been an attractive woman; I've just never allowed myself to take notice. But this? This laid-back, clocked out, sunshine-soaked version of her? That’s new.

And dangerous.

I look away fast. It’s completely inappropriate for me to stare. She’s my employee. My new VP. My… coworker who occasionally makes my brain short-circuit when she reads my mind and does that cute little nose scrunch when she hates my idea but doesn't want to say it and it comes out anyways.

She’s the best hire I’ve ever made. Wicked smart, adaptable, doesn’t flinch under pressure.

And yeah, the night we met at Whitewood Creek Bar, before I knew who she was, there was a spark.

She laid into me about my outdated marketing strategy, fast-talking like she had something to prove.

And I remember thinking—for one brief second—about what else that mouth might be good at.

Images of it wrapped around my cock, another meaningless hook-up before I took off on a flight away from my family, away from my home.

Something to take the edge off the aching loneliness that I always feel.

But that was before I knew her. Before I respected her.

And since then? I’ve slept with other women. She would’ve just been another one, back then. But now I know her, and I know better. Thank fuck we didn't cross that line before we knew because she’s a woman I wouldn’t have been able to forget.

“I brought lunch,” she says with a grin, nudging my hip playfully before setting the bags down. "And a bottle of water just for you since I noticed you left yours on the counter at home."

Uh, that was super thoughtful.

“Hell yeah,” Cash says, wiping sweat from his brow and lunging for a sandwich like a man starved. Colt joins him, dropping his tools and diving in, baked beans, mac and cheese, pulled pork from that little BBQ on the main road where we've always eaten.

“And hey guys,” Dani adds, “this is my big sister, Catalina.”

The woman behind her steps forward, a touch more reserved with brows that pinch slightly as she looks us over.

People always stare at us when we're together. Three muscular guys over six-foot three. Colt with his shaved head and tattoos, Cash with his flirty smile, dark hair and quit wit and then me. We draw attention wherever we go and the way that Catalina’s looking at us now is no different.

She looks like Dani, same deep brown eyes and high cheekbones, but there’s something sharper in her smile. A little more edge, a little more steel. And her eyes aren't that same round, soft, doe shape that Dani's have framed with thick black lashes.

She holds out a hand. “Hi. Lawson, right? I’ve heard a lot about my sister’s ruthless boss.”

I smile. “Hopefully not all bad.” I take Catalina’s hand in a firm shake, but my eyes stay trained on Dani—who doesn’t even bother hiding her smug little smile knowing she's been talking shit.

Of course, she told her sister I was a pain in the ass.

Frankly, I was at the beginning, so I know I deserve this.

I like that about her. She doesn’t sugarcoat.

Doesn’t coddle. Doesn’t kiss ass or hold back, even when she probably should.

There’ve been times I’ve shown her a new pitch, and she’s told me straight up she hates it and has no idea what I was thinking creating such a mess.

That’s rare. Especially around here. A lot of women, once they clock the Marshall last name or take in the cowboy boots, single dad, and calloused hands, start pretending I’m something I’m not.

They get this glazed look in their eyes and act like I'm more than I am.

Say all the right things, pitch their voices sweet, try to flatter their way ahead into my bed.

I hate that shit which is why I haven't seriously dated since Beckham's mom.

For a minute, when I first hired Dani, I was half-worried she’d be the same. Smart, ambitious, fresh out of a job she hated in Silicon Valley and maybe thinking the way up was through someone like me. But she hasn’t once played that game.

She calls me out when I’m being a snappy dick to her.

Tells me when I’m snoring like a freight train on red eyes.

Reorders my schedule and picks up flights when Beckham as sporting events I don't want to miss. Doesn’t flinch at the Marshall name, and definitely doesn’t pretend I’m some charming local hero just because I know how to fix a tractor and wear a button-down.

And thank fuck for that—because if she did, I probably wouldn't trust her as much as I do.

“You girls coming to help?” I ask lazily, letting go of Catalina’s hand and sliding my hands into my pockets.

“We were,” Dani says, brushing a piece of windblown hair off her cheek. “But I’ve got interviews.”

My brow lifts. “Already?”

She grins, pleased with herself. “Would you expect anything less? My boss is a tyrant. He wants my new assistant hired and trained before we’re back to work in two weeks. Plus, I'm ready to cash in on my first VP paycheck which by the way, you haven't told me about my new pay yet.”

I huff a laugh. Colt snorts behind me. Cash tosses in, “Your boss sounds like a real asshole. You should file a complaint to HR.”

“He is,” she deadpans. “I'll take it up with Regan in a few minutes. She's helping me with the interviews too,” she adds in, “Actually, I think all the girls are coming.”

That has my brows lifting again. “We’re still hiring based on skill, right?”

She crosses her arms. “Do you really think I’d hire someone who sucks?”

I narrow my eyes, trying not to smile. “Hmm.” I rub my jaw as I look at her—really look at her.

Big brown eyes framed by messy strands of dark hair, olive skin glowing under the cloudless sky.

She meets my gaze with a bright, knowing look, like she’s fully aware I’m scrutinizing her and enjoying every second of it.

Before I can say anything else, she spins on her heel and grabs Catalina’s hand. “But I can’t speak for Rae,” she tosses over her shoulder with a wink. “She’s calling it a casting call for a new boyfriend for Lydia.”

“Dani,” I growl, warning low in my throat because I can't figure out why it pisses me off to think about her and these women that I love drooling over some small town boys. Especially one that she's going to be working closely with.

But she’s already halfway across the parking lot, her laugh trailing behind her. I turn back to the floats, shaking my head and muttering a curse, only to find both my younger brothers staring at me with wide, smug grins.

“What?” I ask, grabbing one of the paper bags and fishing out a sandwich.

Cash raises his brows like I just said something unbelievable. “I think Dani’s sister might be into you.”

“Oh.” I shrug. “Didn’t notice.”

“Too busy staring at your new Vice President?” he shoots back, biting into his sandwich with a smirk.

I freeze mid-chew, eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Colt chuckles under his breath and wisely stays quiet, focusing on the float again.

“I’m just saying,” Cash continues, mouth full of food. “Dani’s amazing at her job. Better than anyone I’ve got employed at the egg farm. If you mess it up, I might need to steal her.”

I glare at him. “I’m not messing anything up. I intend on keeping her. I just promoted her, dammit. There will be no stealing.”

“Maybe you should promote her onto your dick so that you can stop pining after her,” he mutters under his breath.

I whip my head around. “Watch your mouth. Don’t talk about her like that.”

Cash just lifts his hands in mock surrender, grinning like the jackass he is. “Touchy.”

“She’s my employee,” I growl. “I’d never screw that up by crossing a line.”

“Sure, sure,” he says. “Just saying. You’ve been looking a little tortured lately.

We all like her. What’s the harm in having a taste?

She ain't no Rae, but she's pretty and funny, and fuck she's witty and aggravates you.

That's probably the best part. Watching you get all flustered when someone challenges your ideas.”

“The harm?” I scoff, tossing the sandwich wrapper in the trash bin and stepping closer to the float because now my appetite is gone. “The harm is that it’d be a colossal fuckin’ mistake.”

He blinks. “Why? You both respect each other. You get along. You clearly think she’s hot—”

“Don’t.”

He smirks. “You do.”

I grit my teeth. “I have rules.”

“Yeah, well. Rules change.”

“Not this one.”

Because if I ever crossed that line with Dani, it wouldn’t be just one time.

That’s what scares the shit out of me. Having Dani one time wouldn't be enough. And does he really think that I haven’t considered it?

That I haven’t imagined what it’d be like?

That at times I've wondered if we hadn't known each other's names, how she would have sounded moaning when I sunk inside of her inside the bar's restroom?

Hell, I thought about it. Thought about how her lips would look wrapped around me, how she’d sound if I pinned her up against the back of a hotel door when we’re traveling in the middle of nowhere.

But then I found out who she was. What she wanted. What she was made of. And I’ve told myself every day since that I needed to stop thinking about it. And I have.

Sort of.

Because the truth is—I’ve been thinking about it for damn near 365 days and Cash's taunting me is only making it harder to resist.