Page 28 of The Back Forty (Whitewood Creek Farm #5)

After a long, scalding shower and an embarrassingly excessive stretch of time spent hiding in Lawson’s guest bedroom where I seriously considered faking a fever or spontaneously developing a rare, contagious rash that would allow me to skip out on working the state fair with the girls like I'd committed to, I finally heard the front door close.

His old truck coughed to life, the tires crunched against the dirt road as he peeled off toward the fairgrounds to help his brothers before they came knocking like a pack of overly muscular, meddling bloodhounds.

Only then did I feel safe enough to tiptoe out of my makeshift fortress of shame and dignity to get ready for the day.

I pulled on my tightest pair of Levi’s, the ones with the perfect amount of give in the thighs and just tailored enough in the back to make my ass look amazing.

Topped it off with a plain white V-neck that I tucked in and my favorite cowgirl boots—the ones Isla and I bought from that little mom-and-pop shop off Main Street the week I moved here.

They were broken in just right. Worn, a little dusty, and full of memories from another life. Just like me.

My long brown hair got the royal treatment, a blowout with soft waves, two tiny braids framing my face like armor. Then came the pep talk in the mirror.

“ You can do this,” I’d told my reflection, pointing at myself in the mirror like an idiot.

“ You committed to helping your girlfriends run the Marshall booth, and you are not—repeat, not—going to hide out in this house like a sex-shamed gremlin because your sister showed up, lobbed some truth bombs in your direction, and reminded you of your past mistakes .”

I gave myself a thumbs-up. It was ridiculous and deeply necessary but oddly, I felt a little bit better after doing it.

Then I grabbed my bag, squared my shoulders, and drove to the fair with my heart pounding and my brain replaying every single detail of the last twelve hours like a trauma reel directed by a horny teenager.

If it had just been last night, one lapse, one heat-of-the-moment, what-happens-in-the-living room-stays-in-the-living-room kind of thing, we could’ve played it off this morning. Laughed about it. Chalked it up to whiskey, beer, and poor judgment. One of our stupid bets gone way, way too far.

But then he showed up at my bedroom door this morning wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, hair damp from the shower, looking like every fantasy I’ve had since I bought that damn vibrator last year.

And just like that, I blacked out. All I remember is pulling him into my room, grabbing him, needing him. Desperate to see his cock.

I told myself it would just be a taste. There was no way I could have kept it at just a taste.

The heady taste of his dick in my mouth, the smooth feel of his skin on my tongue, everything about his thick length was addicting and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to look at him the same again without thinking about the power I know he wields in that thing.

And then he surprised me, dropped to his knees like a man on a mission and made me come apart again so fast I saw constellations. I’m talking heat, tongue, rhythm, like he knew my body better than I did after only one time together.

I swear, how we went thirteen months without ripping each other’s clothes off is beyond me because now that I’ve felt Lawson’s tongue pressing on my clit, that image is burned into my brain like a brand.

Permanent. Irreversible. Probably going to flash before my eyes when I die as the last memory I see.

I always figured he’d be good in bed. There’s a reason those women left his hotel room in the mornings looking blissed out and ten percent prettier—like sex with him came with a complimentary facial and a shot of self-esteem.

But that? That was something else entirely. That was full-body worship. That was crave-him-until-it-hurts, think-about-it-in-the-grocery-store and during-board-room-meetings, ruin-me-forever level sex.

And there was a small part of me that thought we were ready to move into friends with benefits territory. But now it all has to stop.

Because the second Catalina showed up—boom.

My happy little post-orgasm bubble? Obliterated.

She's always been a fun suck, but it’s impressive how quickly she ruined my morning and week.

She didn’t even need to yell. Just her presence, her words, that too-knowing look.

.. it was all one big, brutal reminder of what I already knew deep down.

I can't do this. We can’t do this. She wasn’t wrong. Not about any of it.

She just ripped the blinders off and handed me a reality check tied up in a bow of scowls and judgement.

A reminder of why I came to the wrong coast in the first place.

Why I left Elijah and my cute little apartment that I loved in East Hollywood.

Why I promised myself never again will I mix work with pleasure.

And yes, I know that Lawson isn’t Elijah. He’s not manipulative. He’s not selfish. He’s not trying to control me. I guess we do mostly talk about work when we’re together, but I feel like he knows there's more inside of me than what I can provide to the Marshall business. I think...

But still... what happens when you engage in these desires instead of thinking level-headed about your future and career?

Disaster. Every time.

Doesn’t matter if it’s a rom-com or real life, someone ends up hurt, heartbroken, or fired. Or hell, dead. And I’ve already flirted with death once before. I’ve used up my one get-out-of-the-hospital-free card.

And right now, I don’t have anything left to spare.

***

“Hey babe, you look cute this morning,” Regan says as I walk into the white portable booth we hauled in for the fairground’s concessions.

Her eyes twinkle mischievously as she slices up onions for the omelets that we’re selling today using the Marshall farm’s eggs.

“Glowy. Fresh-faced. Suspiciously well-rested.”

I blink at her, tucking my hair over my shoulder. “I do?”

She nods. “You do.”

“She does have a glow,” Rae chimes in from the back counter where she’s chopping red bell peppers. “Did you switch to a new serum or finally try my nighttime retinol routine?”

“Nope.” I grab an apron from the hook on the wall and tie it too tightly around my waist, like it’ll hold in all the secrets threatening to spill out of me about what Lawson and I did this morning.

“Maybe it’s because your sister left,” Rae says, voice lilting with curiosity. “And you finally get your space back and to leave Lawson’s house.”

Rae's married to Cash Marshall, one of Lawson's younger brothers. And just like her husband, she doesn't know when to let something go because she enjoys ribbing people until they're full blown embarrassed.

“Yep, must be it,” I lie, smile painted on like that's exactly why I'm glowing and not because their brother-in-law and brother had his tongue buried inside of my pussy this morning while he said the filthiest things a man has ever said to me in my life.

“Okay, put me to work before you two force me into a skincare confession.”

They both eye me like they know I’m full of shit but thankfully drop the grilling.

For the next three hours, I lose myself in the rhythm of the fair.

The clatter of frying pans. The sizzle of bacon.

The smell of butter, roasted garlic and cinnamon sugar from the next booth over.

The air is cooler today, autumn’s biting at the edges of the season, and for a while, it feels good. Peaceful.

Lydia and Molly join us at some point. I scramble eggs, pour coffee, deep fry everything not nailed down. I smile at kids with sticky fingers and flirtatious, single dads whose eyes linger a little too long on the dip in my shirt.

I pretend I’m fine. That I’m not thinking about how I have to pack all my things tonight to move back in with Isla.

That I’m not imagining what Lawson’s thinking about as he works.

That I’m not terrified of facing my younger sister who I'm certain has already pieced everything together after our awkward run-in this morning.

When I pass a cup of black coffee across the booth’s open window to a man with warm green eyes and light brown hair, I catch my breath for half a second. He’s cute. Not Lawson cute. But someone I might’ve noticed once before everything that happened last night.

“Thanks,” he says with a kind smile.

“Hey, Rhett!” Regan waves as she leans against the open window. “How’s the business going?”

“It's coming,” he responds with a sigh. “I'm trying to expand over to Meadowbrook. Working on getting a new contract with the city which means hiring more people. Especially since I moved Declan to the business we opened in Charlotte.”

“Ah, well good for him,” Regan says with a smile.

I glance between them. “Declan was your ex, right?"

“Yeah,” Regan says, nodding and leaning closer with a whisper. “But don't let Hayes find out that you brought him up."

I smile because Regan's husband Hayes Walker is a former professional bull rider turned the Whitewood Creek's primary medical doctor. He’s quiet when you first meet him, but if you mess with his wife, there'll be hell to pay.

I love the way he looks at her so possessively, like she's the beginning and end of his world. And now that they’re about to become parents, his love only burns brighter for her.

I try to focus on their conversation about Regan's property, the old Mayberry property she's transformed into a wedding venue and photography hot spot, but I'm distracted. Because I’m thinking about how tonight I’ll have to go back. To the house. To Lawson. To the conversation we never really finished. And to the truth I’m still too afraid to say out loud: That something happened between us and it’s changed our relationship permanently.

And it wasn’t just sex. It was something so much more that I've always wanted but know we can’t have.

Rhett smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that easy, sun-warmed way. “How’s the pregnancy going? That's all Hayes seems to talk about when I get called to the hospital for plumbing issues.”

“It’s going really well,” Regan says. “I’m due soon. I can’t wait. Neither can he.”

His smile stretches wider. “Happy for you both.” He adjusts his hat and glances toward the fairground bathrooms with a sigh. “I gotta go check on these porta-potties. Someone tipped one over last night and they’ve been a risk ever since. Living the dream. See you around.”

"See ya, Rhett," I say with a wave and that's when my eyes lift and I notice him for the first time watching me.

Lawson.

Across the dusty sprawl of the fairgrounds, right at the edge of the petting zoo he and his brothers put together. He’s crouched down holding a chicken of all things, which has to be Cash’s doing. There’s no way that Lawson voluntarily picked up that tiny dinosaur.

There’s a messy-haired kid giggling like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and Lawson’s saying something to him that makes the kid laugh harder, but his eyes are locked on mine.

My breath catches. He’s still. Focused. That same impossible-to-define look that says I’m either in deep shit or he’s thinking about this morning too.

My cheeks flame and I whip my gaze back toward the griddle, hoping no one else caught the look that passed between us—because the heat behind his eyes could burn the place down.

“Hey Dani. You good?” Regan asks, turning to me with a skeptical glance.

“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “Just a little warm in here.”

She nods, wiping her brow. “It is warm. Good news is we’re almost done. You can head out if you need to pack up your stuff at Lawson’s. I think he mentioned you’ve got another crazy week of traveling coming up. So much for your ‘relaxing’ vacation.” She snorts.

I laugh, but it’s shaky. “Yeah, when he hired me, I didn’t think I’d be living out of a suitcase every other week, but I really enjoy it. It's fun flying around, giving pitches and experiencing new cities. I've even convinced him to get me a room upgrade a few times.”

Regan's brows jump. “That's shocking. You know, he could let you go on those trips solo now. I just think he likes going with you.”

She says it with such innocence, just a passing comment, but it hits me square in the chest. I blink at her, then glance back toward the grill because does she even realize what she just said?

Does he not trust me to handle things on my own?

Is it just about control? Or is it… something else? Does he like spending time with me?

No. No don’t do this. Don’t spiral. Don’t project. Don’t make this into something it’s not, Dani. You’ve done this dance before. You know where it leads. Even if he does enjoy it, you can't let anything more happen between you two again.

I try to shake it off, scrubbing the grill harder than necessary, but all I can think about is him.

Lawson, with his wild hazel eyes and his mouth—God, his mouth.

The way he looked at me this morning like I was his whole damn world.

The way his tongue moved over my skin, deliberate and hungry, like he’d been waiting a year for the chance to taste me. Which, honestly, maybe he had.

“Hey.”

I jump so hard I nearly knock my head on the roof of the tiny little shop. I spin around, heart slamming in my chest. “Jesus, Lawson. You scared the crap out of me.”

He doesn’t apologize. Just frowns, arms crossed. “You done for the day?”

“Uh, not yet.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “That’s not what my sister just said.”

I blow out a breath and rub my hands on a towel to give them something to do. “Okay, but I wanted to finish this first.” I gesture to the grill and brush that I’m still holding.

“Come on.” He jerks his chin toward the door.

I squint at him. “Why?”

“I want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

His frown deepens. “That’s not what we do.”

“What’s not what we do?”

“Not talk and avoid each other. We talk. We bicker. We banter. We disagree. We throw jabs and challenge each other, and then we figure our shit out. That’s our thing.”

Right. Because we’re coworkers. Because I’m his employee and he’s my boss. Because it’s our job to communicate, even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy. Not because there’s something deeper here. Not because last night, and this morning, meant anything.

Because it can’t.

Because I’ve been here before and I barely made it out in one piece.

Because Catalina was right.

So, I set down the grill brush, already halfway to being scrubbed into oblivion, and follow him outside to talk.