Page 45 of The Back Forty (Whitewood Creek Farm #5)

“Hello?” Lawson’s voice is deep and rough as he presses the phone to his ear while sitting on the side of the bed, still gloriously naked, his spine curved slightly, and hair mussed from sleep, and from me.

I roll onto my side, resting on my elbow to get a better look at him. He glances over his shoulder, catching my gaze. A lazy, boyish grin lifts his mouth as he mouths, “ Good morning, sweetheart" to me.

I follow his eyes, down between his legs, and yep.

Already hard again. Damn. I don’t know how I got this lucky.

Or how I found the nerve to leap off the edge with him.

But I did. And I’m not looking back. I'm choosing to believe that this time will be different and that Lawson's different because I know deep down in my heart he is.

But beyond that, I'm not putting all my faith and worth in a career or a man anymore.

I’ve found myself for the first time in my adult life and that’s what I’m putting my identity in.

Because I've changed. I'm different. I'm a woman who doesn't let work control her anymore to the point of making herself sick.

And that means that no matter what happens outside of me, I'm always going to be okay because I'm okay with myself.

He rakes a hand through his hair, and I watch his whole expression shift as the person on the other line talking delivers what looks like is bad news.

“Dammit,” he mutters under his breath. “Alright. Okay, yeah, I’ll be there as fast as possible. Just… keep him calm as best you can. Thanks for letting me know, Melissa. Yeah. Tell him I’ll be there soon, and yes, I’ll tell Dani you said hi.”

He hangs up and turns to me fully now, that soft concern blooming across his face. “That was Mel. She says hi.”

My stomach drops. “What’s wrong?”

Lawson exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Beckham hurt his ankle last night at football practice. They’ve got him at the hospital now, think it’s either a fracture or, worst case, a break. I gotta fly home.”

He leans down, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and kisses me gently like he wants to stay with me but knows he needs to go.

“You gonna be okay to do the interview solo?”

“Are you sure?” I sit up, wrapping the sheet around my chest.

He nods without hesitation, like it’s already decided.

“Dani, I told you I trust you more than anyone and I meant that. You’re the best hire I’ve ever made, and the best decision I’ve made outside of work too.

Fuck, you're the best thing all around in my life.” He moves to stand then reaches for his boxers and pulls them on, muscles shifting under golden skin.

“These past couple days with you have been everything. But now that we've established that we're all in, I need to take care of my son and then I need you to fly home to me so we can make up for lost time. Plus, I know you’ve got this handled.”

My throat tightens with nerves, but I smile back, trying to be strong for both of us.

He kisses me again, lingering this time, his hand cupping my jaw. “You’ve got this, okay?”

I nod; my voice caught somewhere between pride and longing. I know I’m good at my job, but it’s more than that now. He can depend on me. He trusts me completely, without hesitation. I don’t feel like I have to prove myself to him anymore, and that’s worth more than anything.

“Okay.”

He finishes packing while I stay in bed, still naked, just watching him move around the room efficiently and focused, but distracted by the fact that we’re still buzzing from each other.

When he finishes brushing his teeth and zips up his suitcase, he turns and groans softly, his eyes locking on me like I’ve just undone all his self-control. “I gotta catch this flight, but hell, you have no idea how badly I want to crawl back in that bed and kiss you.”

I smirk, letting the sheet fall as I sit up straighter, breasts on full display. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

He growls low in his throat, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “You’re evil.”

“Tell Beckham I'll be back to playing video games with him soon while he recovers. I hope that he heals quickly.”

Lawson walks over and kisses me hard; his hands slide to my breasts as he groans against my mouth. He squeezes them both at the same time then presses his forehead to mine and holds himself there. “Have I told you that these are the best tits I’ve ever seen?”

I grin. “You have. But it never hurts to hear again.”

He shakes his head, muttering curses as he forces himself away and out the door, leaving me warm, wanting and in a complete daze.

I spend the next thirty minutes in the shower, steam curling around me as I replay everything in my mind again.

His hands, his mouth, his words, the way he looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.

Afterward, I blow out my hair with care, slick on a deep red lipstick, and slip into my favorite red suit dress.

It hugs every curve like it was made for me and my cheeks heat hoping Lawson will watch me wearing it from North Carolina.

This interview is a big deal. And I want to own it. It feels good knowing he trusts me, but I still want to make him proud.

I skim through my notes while waiting for the car, reviewing everything from yesterday’s pitch and the questions that they’ll ask.

The Marshall family’s new holiday spirits line, our sustainable farming practices, the marketing roll-out, I know this backwards and forwards.

I am this campaign, so I feel confident I'll nail this today.

By the time I’m settled into the makeup chair at the studio for simple touch ups, I’m composed, confident, and radiating boss energy. That is, until she shows up.

“Hi!” A perky redhead with a polished Southern accent and an impeccable blowout rounds the corner. “I heard you’re filling in for Lawson Marshall this morning.”

I offer her a warm, professional smile. “Yes. I’m Daniela Alba. VP of Sales and Marketing for the Marshall family businesses.”

She shakes my hand, her grip firm and just a bit assessing. “Nice to meet you. I’m surprised Lawson found someone he trusted enough to represent him. He’s not exactly known for giving up control.” Her smile sharpens and the way it twists hits me in my gut.

My stomach flips. I flush. She’s pretty. Charismatic. And from the familiarity in her voice, she knows him more than just from a professional setting.

Has she slept with him?

She laughs, tossing her shiny hair over her shoulder. “Well, tell him I said hi when you see him next. You’re on in a few.”

I nod, pressing my lips together as she walks away.

Okay. It’s fine. This is fine. Lawson has been traveling for years.

He’s probably slept with more women than I’d ever want to know.

That’s not a reflection of me or him. That’s simply his past. He's eleven years older than me. This is normal. I need to focus on what’s in front of me.

I’m not like the others. He’s said that.

He’s never dated any of them. But we… we’re dating… right?

Right ?

Don’t spiral, Dani. This isn’t Elijah. This isn’t going to crash and burn. This is different and this is special.

I take a breath, meet my own eyes in the mirror, and nod. You’re different. You’re special. This is solid. Trust it. Don't panic before you go on live television.

A producer calls my name, and I hop off the chair, heels clicking against the polished set floor as I move to where I’m being directed to sit. I paste on my best smile and take my seat on the plush purple couch, settling in across from the woman who just unintentionally or not, rattled me.

I shift slightly, angling toward the camera like I’ve done this a hundred times, and nod when they give the countdown.

“Three… two… one… and we’re live!”

She beams into the camera, voice as smooth as her lipstick.

“Good afternoon, New Orleans. Today I’m joined by Daniela Alba, Vice President of Sales and Marketing for Whitewood Creek Distillery and Egg Farm in the heart of Whitewood Creek, North Carolina.

Dani, the Whitewood Creek family farm is a sustainable, all-organic, free-range, no-kill facility. Is that right?”

I smile confidently, crossing one leg over the other as I lean in.

“That’s correct. Once our hens stop laying, they get to live out the rest of their lives in comfort.

Big open barns with views of the Blue Ridge Mountains, fresh grass underfoot, plenty of bugs and sunshine.

No more pressure to produce. Just peace.

The farm’s been in the Marshall family for generations, and the heart of it has always been about doing the right thing, by the animals, the land, and the people who depend on what we produce. ”

The interviewer nods. “That’s beautiful. And the farm also has a distillery. I’ve heard you’re working on some exciting new spirits for the holidays?”

I shift slightly in my seat, smoothing my hands over my skirt.

“Yes, that’s right. We’re launching another limited seasonal line this year—warm, spiced flavors using ingredients grown right there on the property or sourced from other small local farms in North Carolina.

It’s a reflection of who we are rooted in tradition but always evolving. ”

She gives a satisfied nod, then turns back to the camera with her practiced charm, and just like that, the interview carries on.

Ten minutes later, the segment wraps. My palms are damp, my heart hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears. As soon as we cut to commercial, I step off the stage and shake the interviewer’s hand.

“Great job,” she says briskly, already pivoting toward her next guest.

I blink, stunned by how fast it all moves. “Thanks,” I murmur, more to myself than to her, then step aside and exhale sharply, pressing a hand to my chest to try to calm my racing heart.

Okay. You did it.

You didn’t black out, throw up or say anything humiliating. That went… surprisingly well?

I make my way back to the prep room, grab my bag, and fish out my phone ready to text Lawson with an update that I’m heading to the airport only to find a string of messages from him already waiting.

Lawson: Watching you from the hospital. Beckham is in good spirits. They think it’s just a fracture. Boot for six weeks and then PT.

Lawson: Fucking beautiful, baby. Damn that red lip on you is doing things to me.

Lawson: All I can think about is having those lips wrapped around my cock. Bring that lipstick home with you. I want it to leave marks on me that I’m never washing off.

Lawson: You’re doing amazing. Not that I’m surprised. But the way you’re handling the questions is smooth as hell.

Lawson: Beautiful—you can hear the passion in your voice when you talk about the business. It’s a turn-on. If I haven’t told you that before, let me make it clear. I love that you believe in the family vision as much as we all do.

Lawson: I can’t stop staring at your tits in that dress. Come home soon.

Lawson: Great job, baby. Call me as soon as you can, please.

A breath escapes me that’s part laugh, part groan, part man, I'm so gone for him.

Me: Thanks. On my way home.

His reply comes immediately.

Lawson: You did amazing. How does it feel?

Me: Good. Honestly, I was so nervous.

Lawson: Didn’t look like it to me.

I chew the inside of my cheek, hesitating, then type:

Me: Can I ask you something without you getting upset?

Lawson: I’m never going to get upset with you.

God, I hope that’s true.

Me: Did you sleep with that woman? The one that was interviewing me.

My thumb hovers over the screen after I hit send, and instantly, my stomach knots. Because this isn't the type of girlfriend I want to be to Lawson. Insecure, jealous, immature. I'm embarrassed that I'm even asking him this, but the question is still swirling in the back of my mind like smoke.

The taxi pulls up outside the station and I toss my bag in the back, climbing in quickly as the door slams shut behind me.

Still no response. I stare at the screen like I can will the text bubble to appear.

Shit. Maybe that was too much.

Maybe it’s too soon for this kind of question. Maybe I shouldn’t care. I’m guessing it was years ago. It doesn’t matter for what we have now. I probably look like such a child to him.

But it does matter. Not because I think he did anything wrong, he didn’t. But because she got under my skin. And because I care way more than I probably should because I'm in way too deep with Lawson.

By the time we’re halfway to the airport, my phone finally buzzes in my palm.

Lawson: Sorry, baby. I didn’t answer right away because I honestly didn’t know who she was nor was I looking at her during that interview. I had to look her up online. Yes. Six years ago, I think. It meant nothing. I didn’t even recognize her until you said something.

I stare at the message; my heart caught somewhere between relief and embarrassment.

Me: I see.

Lawson: Are you upset? Did she say something to you about me?

Me: No. I get it. It was way before me. I know we both have pasts. I just… I felt a little jealous, I guess.

Lawson: I get that. But please believe me when I say that there’s nothing to be jealous of. I wasn’t looking at her, not even once during that interview. I was too busy watching you. You have my attention. You’ve always had it. I can’t look at anyone else when you’re in the room.

That text undoes me a little. I press a hand to my lips and smile into my palm.

Me: At the gate now.

My phone immediately lights up with his name across the screen.

I swipe to answer. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

His voice is low and warm, a comfort I didn’t realize I needed until I heard it. “Can’t a boyfriend call his girlfriend?”

I blink. My heart skips in my chest. “So… is that what we are now?”

There’s a soft laugh on the other end. “I don’t know, sweetheart.

‘Boyfriend’ feels kind of juvenile at my age.

From where I’m standing, you’re mine. My girl.

My everything. The one that I plan on having forever with.

I don’t need a label to prove that. But if it helps, sure. I’ll be your boyfriend.”

I grin, cheeks heating. “You haven’t had a girlfriend since…”

“Since I was twenty-five years old with Mel,” he finishes. “And you’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted like this . ”

I bite my lip, my heart doing a little flip. “How can I help you, boss?”

He chuckles. “Actually, I need a favor. When you get back to the state, can you swing by the house and grab Beckham’s insurance ID from the safe in my office? I’ll text you the code. Mel forgot to get her copy.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you at the hospital?”

“Sounds good.” He pauses, then adds softly, “Hurry home, sweetheart, I miss you.”