Page 30 of The Back Forty (Whitewood Creek Farm #5)

By the time I get back to the house, the sun’s already sunk behind the mountain peaks, leaving the sky streaked in smoky blue and burnt orange.

It’s later than I meant for it to be. I’d planned to be home before dark, catch Dani before she started packing or worse, talked herself into thinking her only option is going back to live with her sister.

But after our moment behind the Tilt-a-Whirl, Cash roped me into tearing down the petting zoo and packing up the chickens.

Then Colt wandered over, told me Molly had to put the baby to bed and Regan needed to rest her back, which meant Rae, Lydia and I were on our own dismantling the food booth that we built from scratch.

After that, I made the mistake of making eye contact with Marcus from the fair planning committee who wanted an update on how Beckham was liking the new head coach for his school's football team.

Before I could get out of that conversation, Rhett Miller from Whitewood Creek Plumbing flagged me down to ask for help loading up what felt like fifty port-a-potties onto his trailer, since three of his guys were out with food poisoning.

I didn’t ask for the details, but I know for sure it wasn't because of the food at the Marshall booth. Probably that sketchy funnel-cake truck that Rae approved as mayor and chief of the fair planning committee when I told her not to.

Now, my back’s wrecked, my shoulders ache like I’ve been trampled by a bull, and my stomach’s been eating itself for the past hour. But I didn’t stop for food. Didn't want to risk missing Dani before she made her escape.

I’ve been texting her all evening, updating her, stalling her, begging her not to go until we can talk. And when she stopped responding, I pulled the boss card like a damn coward. Told her we needed to discuss our itinerary for next week. About the flights for Tuesday.

Total bullshit since we both know she's already booked them and knows the schedule better than I do, but I knew it’d keep her here until I could get back.

If there’s one thing I can count on right now, it’s Dani’s loyalty to the job.

She takes pride in her work just like I do.

And that's why we've worked so well together this past year.

When I step inside the front door, the house smells incredible.

Warm. Savory. Something like meatloaf and maybe sweet onions and fresh herbs hangs in the air, thick and homey.

It smells like the kind of house people come home to.

Not the one I usually live in which is empty or reeks of Beckham's sports socks.

I toe off my boots by the door, eyes scanning the living room. Lights are low and it's peaceful in here. Then I follow the scent into the kitchen and there she is.

Dani's standing at the table, setting down a serving platter with a golden-brown meatloaf. There’s already a salad on the wooden surface, and a glass pitcher of tea sweating beside it. The ice clinks as she sets down the last of the forks and napkins.

My gaze rakes over her form appreciatively.

She’s changed into a sundress. It’s yellow, soft, a little wrinkled like she’s been wearing it for hours, and it hugs her in all the right places.

Brings out the golden flecks in her brown eyes, a nice dip in the front that lets me see her full tits and reminds me that I still haven't seen them or touched them the way that I want to. She’s smiling, but it’s not for me. It’s for my kid.

Beckham’s already seated at the table, napkin tucked into his shirt like a caveman, talking a mile a minute about his video games and football season. He’s gesturing wildly with his hands, and Dani’s listening like whatever he’s saying is the most important thing she’s heard all day.

I lean in the doorway and just watch them together.

The way his eyes light up when she laughs.

The way her whole face goes soft around him.

I don’t know when they built this kind of bond, but the realization knocks me flat.

I missed it happening. Missed how she snuck her way into not just my house but my kid’s heart while I was off traveling.

What’s that rule I made about not looking at her that way? About keeping my distance because she’s an employee. Yeah, well, that’s feeling like a load of shit right about now.

Half of our staff’s tangled up in some kind of relationship.

Molly’s a cop and Rae’s the damn mayor, but they both still draw paychecks from the Marshall family enterprises because they find their selves working on the egg farm or distillery often, pulling way more than their weight when they're not doing their other jobs.

That's just what we do. All of us. And here I am, pretending I’m somehow different. That starting something with Dani would be wrong when it feels like the rightest thing I could choose.

I’ve been scared. Maybe because from the moment I saw Dani, I knew that if I had her, I wouldn’t be able to let her go and she'd change my mind about everything for good. She’s the first woman I’ve ever looked at and thought: I could build something with you. Not just a night. A life.

“Hey,” she says, finally noticing me watching. Her voice is soft and hesitant. There’s a shyness in her expression I’ve never seen from her before.

I want to walk over and kiss her right now.

Just cup her jaw and tilt her mouth to mine, stake a claim in front of my kid and let him know Dani's sticking around for good. But I don’t.

I get the feeling that she'd hate that type of possessive behavior.

Plus, I need her to talk to me and tell me what she's thinking about.

“Hey,” I say instead. “What’s all this for?”

She smiles and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “A thank you. For letting me stay here these last couple days.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Her look says it all. That’s the same thing I said this morning when she got on her knees and blew my fucking mind with her mouth.

I can still feel the way my balls tightened so fast right before I unloaded down her throat and the little moan she gave on my tip as she sucked up everything that I gave her.

Fuck, Lawson, don't get hard in front of your son right now.

“I know,” she says, her voice soft. “But I wanted to.”

I take a seat next to her, the table warm and full in a way it hasn’t been in years. Dani serves Beckham first then reaches for my plate next.

“Thank you,” I murmur, brushing my fingers against hers intentionally when she passes it back to me. Her cheeks flush, and I see that flicker of awareness in her eyes. That spark. I should probably play it cool, but I won’t.

“So,” I say, shifting my attention to Beckham. “How was your night?”

“Oh dad,” he says, bouncing a little in his chair. “Kirk and I hit every ride at the fair. Then we met up with Lacey and went on the Ferris wheel.”

My eyebrows climb because is the girl thing starting already? “Lacey?” I ask.

He grins, face lighting up. “One of my friends from gaming. You know, pinkboots00?”

Dani chuckles. “The one who sent you the glitter bomb?”

“Yeah. Anyway, she threw up on the ride. A different kind of glitter bomb if you get my drift.”

I bark out a laugh. Okay, I guess I don't have to be worried about him liking girls just yet.

“That bad, huh?”

“It was gross. Brown and sticky. She had some sort of bagel for breakfast. I think it’s the same one that was giving everyone food poisoning.” He makes a face and shudders.

Dani fakes a gag and then bursts into laughter with him, but all I can think about is the way she gagged this morning—on me. My pants get a whole lot tighter, and I shift in my seat, adjusting myself under the table.

She notices. Of course she does. Her eyes narrow, then dance with mischief.

“You good?” she asks way too sweetly.

“Peachy,” I say, then reach under the table and rest my hand on her thigh.

I squeeze firmly, reminding her that I can make her squirm too.

Her back stiffens, eyes flicking toward Beckham, who’s blissfully unaware as he devours his meal.

Her legs clamp shut as I slide my hand upward, and when she tries to block me with her wrist, I only press harder, my fingers dancing with the hem of her dress.

“This is amazing,” Beckham says, pushing his empty plate away.

“Did you even chew?”

He shrugs. “I’m gonna go game. Lacey said she'd be waiting for me. Thanks for dinner, Dani!”

“You’re welcome,” she says, voice a little too high.

The moment he’s gone she’s on me, turning in her chair, brown eyes blazing.

“You can’t do that,” she hisses, smacking my arm away but I don't release her thigh.

“Why not?” I squeeze her again, watching the heat rise in her cheeks.

“Because you know exactly what you’re doing. You’re messing with me in front of your son.”

I lean in, voice low and gravelly. “I’m not messing, Dani. I’m warning. You make a gagging noise at my table and I'm going to think about you gagging around something else.”

Her breath catches. I see the war in her eyes, the line between what she wants and what she thinks she should want. And I know I’m about to ask her to cross it with me. To throw any doubts away and give this a shot.

Her cheeks flush, pink spreading like heat up her neck and then she looks away from me. In the past, she'd charge head into this moment but she's retreating now. And I hate that something's changed and not the way I want it to.

“Well, you still shouldn’t do it,” she says softly. “Because we need to talk.”

I lean back, just slightly and release her thigh. “I know.”

“So…” Her voice is tentative and careful. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and something about the gesture cuts me open because she’s nervous with me. “You go first.”

Well, fuck. That wasn’t what I was expecting. I clear my throat and shift in my seat. “Sure. So, this week, we’re flying to Minnesota to meet with Giant Leopard Spirits.”

She nods quickly, grateful for the safe subject of work. “That’s going to be huge for us.”

“Yeah. Has the new guy finished the pitch materials?”

“I’m meeting with him tomorrow to collect everything. But from what I’ve seen, it’s clean and tight. Impressive, honestly. I'm proud of the hiring decision.”

I study her, the way her fingers tap the edge of her glass like she’s bracing for something.

"I never doubted you,” I tell her.

She nods but still doesn't meet my eye. “Do you want to handle the pitch?” I ask.

She blinks. “Without you?” her voice lifts in surprise, brows jumping.

I shrug, even though my chest squeezes. “Yeah. I mean, I’ll still be there. But if you want to take the lead, I think you more than proved yourself in Texas last week.”

She presses her lips together, rolls them between her teeth like she’s weighing something. “So, you’d still come?”

I pause. because does she not want me to? “Yeah,” I say slowly. “Is that an issue?”

She doesn’t answer right away and then it hits me.

She’s not asking about logistics. She’s asking if I need to be there.

If I’m hovering. If my presence makes things harder or more complicated.

Maybe she thinks I don’t trust her to do this on her own.

But I do. Hell, she’s the best damn person I’ve ever worked with.

Now, yes, the whole reason I hired her was so I could stay home more, get some balance back.

But I haven’t done that. I’ve followed her from state to state, week after week, like some lovesick teenager pretending I’m still in control because I love my job.

I love feeling like I'm valuable and contributing to the family business.

And if I didn't go, what the hell would I even do?

I'd feel like I was letting someone down or not doing enough.

Plus, I like being the one she talks to on the plane instead of some stranger just passing through who gets to make her laugh. I like sharing a hotel bar at night and watching her scribble notes in the margins of pitch decks or do our crossword puzzles together.

I like the way she looks when she’s all business. Focused. Fierce. Untouchable.

I’ve been greedy with her and didn’t even realize it.

“If you don’t want me to come, I won’t,” I say finally. “I don’t want you to think I’m flying out there because I don’t think you can handle it. You can. You’ve proven that to me repeatedly.”

She’s quiet. Then nods slowly, and I can’t tell if she’s relieved or disappointed. “It might be good to have you there,” she says eventually. “You’re comfortable with the CEO, and you’re still the face of the company. This is a big pitch so the connection would be good.”

“For now,” I say, reaching under the table and resting my hand lightly on her thigh again, not possessive this time, but grounding. “But please hear me, Dani. You can do this without me and you're just as much the face of this as I am now.”

She looks down at my hand and I can sense there's something heavier on her mind.

“Look at me,” I murmur.

She does. And I soften my grip, drag my thumb in a slow, steady arc against the inside of her knee.

“Don’t go getting all in your head about Texas.

What happened there wasn't a big deal." I'm lying because it was.

I was terrified for her. I didn't know what was happening and I didn't know how to help her.

Seeing her like that showed me her humanity, showed me a softer, more vulnerable side of her that I've refused to see because I didn't want to.

Because if I saw it, I knew I'd fall for her.

And just as I suspected, I did. Hard.

"I trust you. Hell, I might trust you more than I trust my brothers and sister.”

Her mouth parts, her lashes flutter, and I know I’ve landed a direct hit. And it’s the complete truth.

“I believe you,” she says quietly.

“Good. Thank you.”

She shifts in her chair. “So, what’s next?”

“We get back from Minnesota, have a day here, then prep for the Good Afternoon, New Orleans interview. They want to know about the holiday drinks we have planned and have questions about the expansion we’re doing on our egg farm.”

“Right. I got the interview questions from their producer already. Emailed them over and jotted down some answers I figured you’d want to cover.”

“Of course you did,” I murmur, and that fondness creeps into my voice again. “Thanks for doing that, sweetheart.”

She stiffens then clears her throat. “Maybe… maybe you shouldn’t call me that anymore.”

I lean back, my hand falling from her thigh again. I study her. “Why not?”

She shifts in her seat, curls her fingers around her glass like a shield. “Because it’s… not appropriate.”

“I’ve always called you sweetheart.”

“Yes, but maybe you should stop.”

I nod despite hating it. “Noted,” I say. I level her with a look. “Alright. That’s all my stuff. Your turn.” Sweetheart.

Her eyes narrow. “My turn?”

I nod. “Yeah, and start with who the hell Elijah is.”

She stiffens. Then she leans back and folds her arms across her chest protectively. "Okay, Lawson."