Page 11 of The County Line (Whitewood Creek Farm #2)

He leads me over to the platform and points out where he’s laid the pavers and his plans to finish it.

“This is amazing, Colt,” I say, stepping closer to admire the setup. The stonework is perfectly laid out, each piece fitting seamlessly together. “Where’d you learn to do all this?”

“Took some classes in prison,” he says matter-of-factly, brushing off the weight of that statement like it’s nothing.

“And Cash has been helping me out when he can. I’ve always been good at the design part, but the hands-on construction effort?

That’s more Cash’s thing. Here, have a seat,” he adds, gesturing to one of the wooden chairs circled around the cylinder pit.

I sink down onto one, running my fingers over the polished surface as he kneels nearby to adjust some of the supplies that are scattered around.

There’s something so satisfying about watching him work, so purposeful and skilled, bringing meaning to the chaos.

I’ve always had a thing for guys and manual labor but watching Colt is completely distracting.

My eyes move around the pit, counting how many chairs he’s set up. Nine .

“Why are there so many seats?”

“One for each of my siblings, plus Georgia, you and Mav. I doubt I’ll ever get Beckham or Max to come down here since they’re too cool for me now,” he jokes.

My chest tightens as I look at him, and I’m hit by a wave of guilt and sadness.

That was Colt—always loyal, always treating me and Mav like family, even when life and circumstance tried to strip everything from him.

It’s like the five years he spent locked away didn’t dull his heart or his instincts.

How we ever became friends with him in the first place still feels like a mystery sometimes.

Colt was always the good guy—steadfast, loyal, kind and from a family that was a staple within our community.

And I hate what they —what the world—stole from him.

At least it feels like that guy’s still underneath his new exterior.

“Speaking of Mav, have you seen him lately? I’ve been trying to catch up with him since I got released, but I think he changed his number.”

I shake my head, sighing. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with him since I moved back, but no luck. His number’s the same, but he never answers it.”

Colt nods slowly, his expression unreadable as he leans against one of the poles that he’s installing around the firepit for string lights.

“That sucks. I haven’t seen him in years.

Cash said he quit at the distillery shortly after I got locked up.

I was hoping to see if he’d be willing to come back and work for me this time. ”

“Really?” I arch a brow, surprised.

“Yeah. Why not? I know he was starting to get mixed up in your dad’s business before I got locked up.

I tried to warn him, told him to be careful, but you know Mav—always had his own way of doing things.

Never liked being told what to do. I think he just needed some direction, some guidance.

Maybe if he comes back to work with me, I can give him that. ”

I nod, but the knot in my stomach tightens.

That was Mav, all right—headstrong to a fault.

Reckless in a way that used to terrify me.

Still does. But the fact that Colt is willing to give him a shot after everything?

That he sees something in my brother worth saving?

It tells me the good in him isn’t buried deep. It’s right here, right now.

Colt stretches his arms overhead, the motion accentuating his broad frame, then twists side to side to loosen up.

“He never visited me once while I was locked up,” he says, his voice is firm, still devoid of emotion.

“Not once. That was my best friend, you know?” He shrugs, “Guess he forgot about me. But I haven’t forgotten about him. ”

I bite down on my bottom lip, guilt prickling at the edges of my thoughts.

I didn’t visit him either. Sure, I was in Louisiana during that time, running from my own problems, but I should’ve made the effort.

And Mav? I’d always assumed he would’ve been there for Colt no matter what.

Colt’s ready to pick up exactly where we left off, but the world around us isn’t the same and guilt floods me again for how I discarded our friendship so easily when I moved.

And then there’s Regan—the person I’m supposed to help reconnect with him today. She hadn’t visited either. None of us had. It feels like we all left Colt to fend for himself at a time when he needed us the most.

“I’m sorry my brother wasn’t there for you. That sucks.”

He gives a small shrug, but I can see the hurt that lingers behind his eyes. “Hey, are you sticking around for a bit? I was planning on grilling some hot dogs, but I need to wash up first. Then I have my first therapy session in an hour across town.”

“You got your water hooked up to the RV?”

“Not yet. Plan on using a pump to draw it from the creek into the bathroom of the vehicle but for now I’m just bathing in the creek. Does the job alright.”

Oh…

My mind flashes uncontrollably, to an image of Colt completely naked, standing in the rushing creek water, scrubbing every inch of his sculpted, muscular build with his large, tattooed hands.

The thought of him naked leaves a burn in my cheeks, and I wonder—would he do it in front of me because he’s that confident in his body, as he absolutely should be?

Or because he doesn’t see me as anything more than his buddy’s little sister and a woman who will always be just a platonic friend?

I nod absentmindedly, biting my lip as I try to get my thoughts back on track. Regan’s going to call any second now, and I need to focus on the real reason why I came here.

To help them.

“They’ve got you going to therapy now?” I ask, latching onto anything to steer the conversation—and my wandering mind—back to neutral ground.

“Yeah,” he grunts, rubbing his jaw. “Part of my parole requirements. Meeting with some student therapist.” He rises to his feet, tossing a few freshly cut logs into the fire pit.

With a flick of a lighter, he works to coax the dry wood into flames.

Easing the flame to life with a gentleness that feels way too sexual to me.

“ Come on, now,” he whispers, and I swear he’s talking to me and not the budding flames.

My throat’s dry and my panties are soaked. I shake my head and stand up. “I won’t be able to stick around for lunch—thanks for the offer—but I do have a favor to ask.”

He straightens up, his expression instantly serious. “Anything for you. What’s up?”

My heart stutters at the quickness in his response. He really would do anything for me. Still, after all the time and distance that’s between us.

Roxy exits from the RV at that moment, distracting me.

“Hi, sweet girl,” I greet her with some pets as she licks my face eagerly and Colt watches.

After a few more ear scratches she abandons my side and walks to his loyally.

Colt rubs her gently, sending another wave of heat through my body.

It’s the hard angles of him and the gentle touches that has my mind in the gutter.

Ex-convict who’s seen some bad shit, yet gentle dog dad and a loyal friend.

“Um, it’s about Regan...” I clear my throat.

His shoulders tense, and he exhales sharply. His face is unreadable, a blank slate devoid of emotion, but his voice drops an octave. “What about her?”

“She wants to talk,” I say carefully.

“Okay...”

“Now. If you’re up for it?”

He rubs a hand over his buzzed head, his gaze shifting toward the creek. There’s a long pause before he finally nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” I echo, surprised by his easy agreement.

He glances at me, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Was this a setup or something?”

I laugh and stand up taller. “Sort of.”

He shakes his head, that fleeting smile making another rare appearance. It suits him. Dammit, it suits him. I wish I could make it stay there permanently. It takes years off him and reminds me of the easy times we used to have.

“Tell her to meet me in fifteen,” he says, turning toward the creek. “I’m gonna rinse off first.”

“Got it. Thanks Colt.” I give him a quick wave as I head back to my car.

I tell myself not to look back. He’s probably still fully clothed, hasn’t stripped down yet.

But let’s be real—self-control isn’t exactly my strong suit when it comes to staring at Colt, and I’m a very single, very horny twenty-eight-year-old in desperate need of some fresh material for my imagination.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I finally give in and steal a glance in the rearview mirror.

My breath catches.

My heart freezes.

And my mind stills.

Oh... damn .

He’s completely naked, every inch of his backside on full display.

And what a display it is. Even his butt—muscular, perfectly round, and shockingly free of tattoos—is a work of art.

His entire body is a masterpiece, every muscle shifting and flexing as he moves toward the creek’s edge, pausing to stare into the water like some wild, untamed god surveying his domain.

I know I should hit the gas and drive away before he catches me staring, but I’m frozen.

Hypnotized. Drinking in every inch of him and etching it into my memory like I’m afraid I’ll never get another chance.

He’s raw, unfiltered perfection, a living sculpture carved by someone with a deep appreciation for sinful things.

And that person must be me because while I’m staring, Colt glances over his shoulder, those hazel eyes zeroing in on me like a sniper’s scope.

Busted .

A devilish grin spreads across his face, slow and teasing, like he knows exactly what’s going through my mind.

“No need to be creepy about it, Molly,” he calls out, voice full of mischief. “All you have to do is ask!”

Before I can even think of a comeback—hell, before I can start breathing again—he steps down the bank and into the water, his naked form slipping out of sight.

And I’m left sitting here, cheeks blazing, heart pounding, wondering if I’ve just discovered the inspiration for every steamy dream I’m ever going to have and whether I have a not-so-harmless crush on my brother’s best friend.