Page 15 of The County Line (Whitewood Creek Farm #2)

“Fucking move, people,” I grumble, weaving in and out of the small town bumper to bumper traffic while I try not to be late to my weekly meeting with my parole officer.?

Not only am I in a piss poor mood because I had to pause pouring the foundation of my new home for this appointment, but she’d texted me last week saying that our meeting today would be all the way across town in a random office space she occasionally meets with her clients for check-ins.?

The timing couldn’t have been worse—lunch hour traffic in a small town, where every light seems determined to make me late.

And being late isn’t an option, not with this woman.

Even if I can tell she wants to sleep with me, I’m not about to risk her running to the judge to complain if I don’t show up exactly on time.

My truck lurches and sputters as I slam on the gas.

“Come on…” I mutter, gripping the wheel so tightly that the leather cracks underneath my fists.

I cut sharp off the main road, taking a side street to shave off precious seconds. Finally, the office building comes into view, and I barrel into the parking lot with just a minute to spare.

Throwing the truck into park, I jump out and dash through the front doors, heart pounding as I race into the lobby.

Well, there’s an emotion that I haven’t felt in a while , panic. Though I’m certain I felt that one a few times behind bars.

“Hello,” the receptionist greets with a wide smile.

“Here to meet with Isabel,” I grunt out, hardly giving her a glance.

She looks down at her chart then nods. “Room 617.”

I round a corner, weaving left and then right, taking in the variety of people scattered throughout the building.

It seems like this space is used for everything—business meetings full of men in suits, a birthday party, and who knows what else.

I can’t help but wonder how they’d feel if they knew a former convict, charged with assault, was wandering these halls.

Finally, I spot Room 617. Taking a steadying breath, I knock firmly.

“Come in!” a familiar voice calls from the other side.

I twist the doorknob and step inside, expecting Isabel—but it’s not her. Instead, it’s the one woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

“Molly?” I ask, startled. “What are you doing here?”

She’s standing there in her police uniform, a snug pair of green cargo pants and a neatly tucked green polo with Officer Patrick stitched across the front.

Her jet-black hair is pulled back into a tight, low bun, and her piercing blue eyes are practically dancing with mischief.

She looks like she’s been waiting for this exact moment to catch me off guard.

“Surprise.”

I turn my head to the side, completely confused.

She laughs. “It’s a long story, but guess who’s Whitewood Creek’s newest parole officer.”

“Well, no shit.”

She smiles and nods. “Take a seat. I’m not sure how long I’ll be filling in for,” she flips open the folder that’s laying on the table, her eyes scanning the pages, “Isabel Smith was your parole officer?”

“Yeah.”

She closes it. “Well, I hope that you’re not too disappointed with this change.”

“Not in the slightest.” Because I’m not.

Given the choice between looking at Isabel, with her blonde hair and flirty personality or Molly, my friend who’s grown into a beautiful young woman, and trust me, I’ve taken a notice to that fact, well, I’ll always choose Molly.

Plus, I have a feeling Molly won’t sell me out to the courts if I’m not flirting back with her.

Though I might like to.

She blushes faintly, straightens the folder in front of her, and I take the moment to study her features.

The delicate curve of her slim nose, slightly upturned at the tip.

Her sun-kissed skin. And those eyes—a striking cerulean, blue that could rival the Gulf of Mexico.

Then there’s her lips, soft, with a cupid’s bow so perfect they form a natural heart.

She’s something else, different, and I’m admiring her openly and obviously, maybe too obviously. I probably shouldn’t be, but there’s something about her that’s changed.

A stir of emotion flickers in my chest as I look at her, and for a brief second, I wonder if this might be one of those twelve feelings Liv told me to practice recognizing this week. I wonder which one it is.

“So,” she says, her voice pulling me back to the moment, “I have a template they recommend I use as an outline for our meetings. I can run through it, or we can wing it while I try to work in these court-appointed questions.”

“I’d rather you wing it.”

She smiles and nods. “Okay, cool. So, tell me how things have been going? How’s the home you’re building?”

“Good. I was working on the foundation today. Been living out of the RV I showed you in the meantime at the farmstead.”

She nods and jots down a few notes before continuing, “That’s good. And how about work? Are you back at the distillery?”

“I’ve done two days there with Cash, trying to transition back into things slowly.

A lot’s changed since we launched the craft brews, and I don’t want anything to get missed with my return.

The grand opening of the family brewery and restaurant is in a couple of weeks, so I plan on traveling to Charlotte for that. ”

She nods and smiles. “I see here that Isabel made a note of that travel and though it’s over ten miles away, the courts have approved it due to being classified as for work, however you must stick to being gone from the county limit for three hours tops unless you choose to stay overnight with a court-approved contact. ”

“I’ll be staying overnight, and Lawson is that contact.”

She nods and makes a note. “I’ll make sure they have a record of that. Will this be the first time you’ve seen the brewery then?”

“Yeah. I’ve only seen pictures of it.”

She smiles warmly and I realize this is the most relaxed conversation I’ve had in a long time. “I bet you’re excited to see it in person.”

I blow out a breath because I am, but excitement isn’t something that I’ve allowed myself to feel in a long time. Excitement means joy and looking forward to the future. I’m not convinced I can feel that yet. Maybe I don’t feel worthy of it.

“It’ll be good to see the place in person. Check out if Cash got my vision correct. Will you be coming to the grand opening?”

“Regan mentioned it but I’m not sure yet. I might have to work that weekend,” she says.

“I know the family would love to have you there. Lawson’s done all the promotion and has it set up like a black tie event. Not really my style, but he thinks it’ll bring in some of the fancier folks from Charlotte.”

She nods. “Sounds like a good time to celebrate your family’s hard work. So, how’s your community service going? I see you’ve been volunteering at the Boys and Girls Club?”

“It’s alright so far. My kid’s Malachi, kind of a loner but we play games together and that gets him to open a bit.”

“Do you feel like that’s helping you at all? Working with him at the center?”

Helping me? How would community service with kids possibly be helping me?

“I’m not sure how to answer that.”

She places her hands on top of the stack of paper with a shy smile.

“Sometimes they say play therapy can help kids become more receptive to talking about their tough feelings with adults. It’s something I learned during my case management certification course.

I’m curious to know if playing with Malachi has helped you open up about your feelings. ”

“I don’t think I’m that easy to fix.”

She pushes her lips out like she wants to say something more but holds back so I cut in again.

“Do you have plans after this? I’m heading over to the center to perform my weekly service if you want to tag along. You can see how helpful it is for yourself.”

She sets down her pen and looks like she’s taken aback by my offer. “You want me to come with you?”

I shrug. “If you don’t have other plans.

One of the volunteer leads, Lydia, said they’re always looking for new people.

” And truthfully, I’m not sure why I offered other than I like spending time with Molly.

I always have. We used to be close and she’s one of the few people who knew the old me and is still around.

Besides my siblings, I don’t have any other friends left here since I got sent away and Mav won’t return my texts.

“Oh, you know Lydia did mention that to me.” Her voice trails off as if she’s considering it. “Maybe I’ll swing by. I need to stop by the office and handle some paperwork but maybe afterwards.”

“Sure. No pressure.”

She nods and smiles then turns her attention back to the checklist. “Okay, so talk to me about your goals and plans.”

I wince at the question. You have nothing but time to think about goals and plans when you’re locked away, but a one year plan felt like a luxury for a long time, and I’d still be locked up if it weren’t for Troy finally coming through.

My goals back then had been to get out of prison alive with my sanity intact.

“Sorry…” her voice trails off as she notices my obvious discomfort, “it’s on the list to ask.”

“No need to apologize.” I rub my beard, much fuller now since I decided to stop shaving it. “I think I’d like to get through the brewery grand opening, get back into the swing of things at the distillery, finish building my new home, get off parole, and try to find some semblance of a routine.”

And start to feel anything other than this hollow emptiness inside of me.

“What about things you’d like to do for fun? Maybe hobbies, or relationships...?”

I chuckle, a low, humorless sound, because relationships and hobbies are the last things on my mind. “Can’t imagine many women lining up to date a freshly minted felon. And honestly? I don’t have the energy for it.”

She shakes her head and tucks a loose, raven colored strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s not true. You’re a catch—plenty of women would want to date you.” Her cheeks flush as soon as the words leave her mouth as if she hadn’t meant to say them out loud.

I rub my beard, watching her carefully. Is Molly noticing me how I’ve been noticing her?

I lean forward, clasping my hands on the table.

Her eyes move towards my knuckles, tatted and scarred then slow up to meet mine with a calm, steady gaze, though I catch the faintest flicker of nerves behind them.

She looks adorable in her little uniform, asking me about hobbies and dating like I’m just some guy with the luxury of free time and endless patience.

She’s trying hard to play it cool, but I saw her earlier—stealing glances at me by the creek when I was about to wash up.

She was checking me out, noticing the ways that I’ve changed.

“I can’t leave a ten-mile radius unless it’s for work, and I’ve got a curfew at ten p.m.,” I say plainly. “Hobbies are a bit out of reach for me right now, and casual dating? Yeah, that’s not on the table.”

“Why not?” she asks again, her voice a little too high-pitched, like she’s nervous about the answer.

I sit back, deciding to give it to her straight. “Because I’m not interested in screwing around. And frankly, I’m not even sure I could.”

Her gasp is audible, her blush deepening, spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.

It creeps lower, disappearing under the collar of that buttoned-up uniform that doesn’t fit the girl that I used to know.

I can’t help but wonder if her nipples are the same rosy shade of that flush.

The thought lingers longer than it should. Maybe I’d like to find out for myself.

I shrug, not offering her any more information.

It’s not that I physically can’t get it up, it’s that emotionally, I don’t have it in me to offer a woman what she really deserves.

Sex isn’t just physical for women, and connecting to those emotions, that passion, that desire, it’s not in me anymore.

The last thing I need is to disappoint a woman with my inability to perform, so my hand is the only logical option at the moment.

“Okay, well, I think that’s about it for me,” she stutters as she shuffles her paperwork and slips it into her briefcase with a soft click.

“We covered your living situation, community service, job, and potential pastimes. Though I do think you should consider trying to find a hobby and even putting yourself back out there more for... um... you know, relationship.”

I grunt, the sound low and dismissive. If she’s hoping I’ll put myself back out there, she’s in for disappointment.

I have zero interest in adding to my already long list of headaches.

The last thing I need is a woman expecting something from me I can’t give—or worse, risking my already shaky reputation in this town.

How could I even think about being in a relationship when I can’t seem to feel anything ?

“So, you’re all free to go,” she says, her tone all business now.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you at the community center later?”

She smiles cautiously, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah. We’ll see.”