Page 12 of The County Line (Whitewood Creek Farm #2)

“You want another one?” I ask, nudging the bag of hot dog buns with my boot.

The fire’s burning low now, embers glowing beneath a thin veil of smoke.

I could toss another log on, stretch this out a little longer before I have to leave for therapy, but I’m not sure if she wants to keep this going or if she’s just working up the nerve to say what’s on her mind.

Regan dabs at the corner of her lips with a crumpled paper towel—the same ones I grabbed to use as napkins. “No, thank you. That was good.”

I nod, chewing the last bite of my third one.

The flavor lingers—oak wood, charred edges, just a bit of mustard.

Just the way I like them. Next time, I’ll make my dad’s chili recipe to throw on top.

That’d be real damn good, better than the meals I’ve been used to for the past few years.

Might even add some strong spices to see if that’ll get me to break.

“So,” she starts, shifting in her seat nervously.

After Molly left, I rinsed off in the creek.

Cool water had rushed over my skin, but my mind was tangled up in thoughts of her tight-as-sin Levi jeans, that low-cut tank top she was wearing and those blue eyes that could bring a man to his knees.

I fisted my cock to those thoughts until I came in the river and toweled off before Regan showed up.

I told her I was making hot dogs, and she said she’d join me. Just like old times.

We built up the fire, skewered the dogs on sticks, and sat in silence, eating and listening to the hum of the woods around us.

I don’t mind the quiet. After years locked up, where privacy is a luxury and silence is never really silence, I welcome it.

But I’m on borrowed time before I have to head across town, and I can tell she’s got something pressing on her.

I don’t expect an apology. People handled my incarceration in their own ways, and I never held it against them. But I hoped—hell, maybe even prayed—that Regan and I could find our way back to how we used to be.

“I’m sorry,” she says finally, pulling her legs up onto the chair, turning to fully face me.

Her eyes, a deeper blue than Molly’s, glisten at the edges, her throat working like she’s holding back the tears I don’t want to see fall.

“You’re alright,” I murmur.

She shakes her head. “No, let me finish, please.” A sharp inhale, then, “I’m sorry for never visiting you while you were away.”

I give a nod and wait for her to continue.

“I believed you were innocent. I believed what you did was noble—that it was right. Defending that woman… I hope you know that. I never doubted your intentions. You’ve always been the strongest one out of all of us, sticking up for the people who need it most. Do you believe me?”

I nod because I do know that. I’ve never doubted that Regan supported me.

She wipes at the corner of her eyes with the back of her palm, and I sit there, watching her work through it.

“But I just couldn’t handle my own emotions, seeing you behind bars.

I was afraid I’d fall apart if I saw you.

I thought… fuck.” She tilts her head back, blinking up at the sky like she’s trying to keep the tears from falling.

A shaky breath, then, “After a year of not visiting passed, I realized I’d been making this more about me.

My own feelings, what I couldn’t handle, instead of focusing on you and just showing up.

But by then, I felt like it was too late.

The guilt got too big, and then I thought, what if I just showed up out of nowhere?

Would it be weird? Would you even want to see me?

” Her voice tightens. “And then I kept telling myself Troy would fix this, that he’d get you out faster.

But he didn’t… and then—” She wipes at her eyes again, exhaling hard.

“The years just flew by, and I missed my brother the whole time, but I thought you’d hate me. ”

She stops, reaching down for her bottle of water, taking a long sip. “I’m so sorry.”

I nod. “I know. Thanks for saying that.”

She forces another wobbly smile. “Are you okay? I mean, being out now?”

I drag a hand over my buzzed head, considering that question. Am I okay? No. But will I be?

Fuck, I don’t know that either.

“I’m figuring it out. Taking it one day at a time. Just trying to focus on what I can control, keep my head down and do these last few things that are required of me.”

She nods, lips pressing together like she understands. “Yeah…”

The silence settles between us again. It’s not us. It’s never been us. I don’t want this awkwardness between us anymore.

“Maybe we can…” I hesitate, then push forward. “Maybe we can do one of our family dinners. You and I can cook, and we can have everyone over.”

Her eyes brighten, a real smile breaking through this time. “Really? I’d love that. Like a coming-home dinner?”

I nod. “Yeah. That sounds really nice.”

“It does.”

I push hard on my knees and move to stand, opening my arms for her.

She rushes into them without hesitation, and I wrap her up tight.

I still feel the numbness, that ache in my chest that hasn’t let up since I walked out of that prison, but somewhere inside it, there’s a flicker of relief.

Relief that we’re going to be okay. That we’re going to work on this.

That maybe, someday, things will feel normal again.

She pulls back, smiling at me as she wipes at her eyes one last time.

“Hey, Colt?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to have you back.”

I force a smile, my throat tightening. “It’s good to be back.”