Page 16 of The County Line (Whitewood Creek Farm #2)

“Good afternoon, Colt!” Lydia’s overly cheerful voice greets me as soon as I enter the community center for the Boys & Girl’s Club of Whitewood Creek. Her outfit is over the top today, another flowery skirt and a shirt that says, “ Free Hugs,” that I swear went out of style in the nineties.??

“Hello.”

She’s grinning like she has a secret that I’m not in the mood to hear. I give her a blank stare and raise a brow until she finally cracks.

“Okay, don’t get upset, I know you and Malachi were really vibing…”

I wouldn’t go so far to call it vibing...

He’s a good kid, I can tell that much, but we hardly talk when we play games. I’m guessing he prefers it that way as much as I do.

“...but his mom took him out of town to the west coast for a visit to her family for the next two weeks.”

“Okay…”

“So, I need you to cover for a kid whose big is also gone,” she continues.

“That’s fine.”

She smiles and nods. “Well, great! That was easy enough. So, Jenni Sutton is twelve years old and currently living with a foster family in Whitewood Creek. She’s been coming here once a week for a year now and from what I’ve heard, loves playing games.

She’s the girl standing over there in the corner with a Skip-it around her ankle. ”

“Jenni?” My gaze shifts to the corner of the room, landing on a girl who looks much younger than twelve. Her messy brown hair frames a face too small and serious for her age, and she’s dressed in baggy cargo pants that look two sizes too big.

Something about her outfit—the cargos, the oversized sweatshirt, and scuffed Converse—takes me back to little Molly, the girl I grew up with. She used to trail after me and Mav wearing the same kind of getup, always ready to tag along on whatever adventures we’d drag her into.

It stirs something inside of my chest, making me wonder if she’ll end up showing tonight.

I’d like to see her again. Is that… interest?

That’s probably one of the emotions my therapist said I should lean into.

But right now, I can barely handle an hour dealing with an eleven-year-old boy—how the hell am I supposed to handle a twelve-year-old girl?

Lydia nods encouragingly. “Yep. Jenni. She’s great. A little shy at first, but once she warms up to you, she’s a chatterbox. Just help her feel comfortable and you two will get along just fine.”

Yeah, I don’t see that happening.

I’m not exactly Mr. Warm and Fuzzy. But two weeks with this kid means two fewer weeks of community service. I can deal with it. I don’t have a choice.

“Okay, well, that’s it! Go on now,” she says, giving me a quick pat on the arm before laughing nervously. “Oh! Sorry about that. I probably shouldn’t have... um... pushed you.”

She backs away awkwardly, leaving me to face Jenni alone.

Awesome.

“Oh, Lydia, wait.” I call after her. She pauses and spins around. “I forgot to mention, I might have a friend joining me today.”

Her brow raises. “A friend?”

Is it that shocking to think I might have a friend left in this town?

“Yeah, her name is Molly.”

Her brow drops. “Molly Patrick?”

I nod.

“Well, that’s wonderful news. I’ve been asking her to come volunteer ever since she moved back to town. I’ll be sure to get her signed in if I see her. Will you two be joining us tonight for happy hour?”

Shit.

I forgot all about the volunteer happy hour she tried to push me into last week.

“I’m not sure. Probably not.”

She nods. “Well, it’ll be a good time if you decide to come. Maybe you can convince Regan to join us next week.” She smiles and then walks away while I stare across the facility at the little girl who is standing in the corner, jumping up and down over a Skip-it.

Dammit.

I can already tell this hour is going to suck.

What is it that Gen-Z says when they dread something?

Big yikes.

Is she even Gen-Z? What’s the generation after Gen-Z? I don’t have a fucking clue.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to soften the permanent scowl that’s etched on my face and loosen the tension in my shoulders.

I paste what I think is an easy smile on my face.

It’s the kind of expression I’m more used to wearing when I’m at home, tinkering with the house, or working at the distillery with my family—not facing a twelve-year-old girl who looks like she’s one wrong move away from bolting.

I cross the room, my boots thudding heavily against the floor, until I’m standing right in front of her.

The way I’m towering over her probably comes off more intimidating than I intend, but what am I supposed to do?

The girl barely clears four feet tall. I can’t exactly crouch down to her level without looking ridiculous and likely throwing out my back.

At least she isn’t the girl I scared two weeks ago when I first met Malachi.

That would have been my luck.

Maybe we should be sitting...

“Hey,” I say, hoping it comes out nice and soft but instead it comes out as a very loud growl.

She jumps even though she’s looking right at me and moves backward until her back is pressed against the wall, palms digging into the cement like she’s going to claw her way out of here.

Great. Five seconds in, and I’ve already fucked this up.

I clear my throat and try again. “Hey.”

Still too gravely.

“Hey?”

A little better but way too deep and quiet now.

I rub my jaw, seeing if that’ll help loosen things up and give it a final try. “Hi.”

Much higher pitched and a bit squeaky. Now I just sound like I’ve inhaled helium. That one hurts my throat, and I end up coughing out-loudly.

She bends her head to the side then starts giggling uncontrollably while clutching her chest. “Was that difficult for you, big guy?”

I chuckle and smile, the first genuine smile I’ve felt in a long time. Maybe things won’t be so bad being paired up with this little child.

“Does the big, bad, monster struggle at using his soft words? Are you not used to intimidating people with your height and scary tattoos? You know what they say, big guy little di-”

“I get it,” I put a hand up, stopping her before she can continue her childish roast of me.

She smiles and studies me curiously. “I’m Jenni Sutton. You must be my new big, Colt Marshall.”

“I am.”

“Well, you’re definitely not like my last one.”

“Who was that?”

“Leslie.”

“What was she like?”

“Leslie was he, and I don’t know. He signed in every day then snuck out the back to smoke cigarettes with his friends.”

What the hell is wrong with these people?

“Okay, well I won’t be doing that. I don’t smoke and I’m not interested in sneaking out.”

She smiles again. “Okay. I believe you.”

“So, what do you want to do today, Jenni?”

“I usually just stand here and work on my Skip-It skills, but I guess we can play a board game. I haven’t played one of those in a long time.”

“Okay, which one?” I ask.

Her eyes shine as she answers, “Monopoly.”

Before I can react, she’s darting over to the table that’s piled high with board games, zeroing in on a red-and-blue box. Without hesitation, she flips it open, sending the contents—game pieces, fake money, and cards—spilling onto the floor in a chaotic mess.

I crouch down to help her gather it up, and that’s when the floodgates open. She starts rambling about her life, school and friends, words tumbling out so fast and scattered it’s hard to keep up.

Lydia wasn’t kidding—give her a few minutes, and she transforms into a full-blown chatterbox.

Honestly, it’s making my head hurt. As she talks a mile a minute, I try to sort through the list of emotions my therapist assigned me to practice, searching for the one that fits this situation. I land on confusion.

Pretty sure that wasn’t on the list, but I’m adding it because I’m confused as fuck at what she’s talking about right now.

I’m half paying attention to what she says as she organizes the money into neat little piles and rolls the dice, her words finally pricking my ears as they fade in, “So that’s the fifth family I’ve lived with this year, and I really don’t want them to adopt me, but they seem set on it.

They said they always wanted a daughter.

I hate feeling like I’m a commodity to them and frankly, their son gives me the creeps. ”

“Wait… what?” I stop her midstream.

She rolls her eyes, and moves her dog token game piece forward too many times for the number of dots on the dice that she rolled.

“Oh, look at that, I landed on Vermont Avenue. Cha-Ching!” she shouts, fist-bumping and placing down some money to purchase the property that I’m certain she did not rightfully earn.

It doesn’t bother me in the least that she’s cheating because I’m too focused on what she said before.

“This family you’re with now wants to adopt you but their son gives you the creeps?”

She nods. “Yeah, I don’t like him. The vibes are off.” She nudges the dice my way then raises her brows. “Your turn, big guy.”

I roll, trying to stay in the game, but my focus sharpens on her conversation instead.

Jenni is smart, funny, and quick-witted.

She talks about losing her mom just six months ago—at the hands of her father, who’s now in prison for manslaughter—with a casualness that doesn’t match the weight of her words.

It’s like she’s recounting a day at the park, not the kind of tragedy that should break a person.

For a moment, a flicker of sadness crosses her face when she mentions her mom—her best friend, apparently—but she shoves it down, burying it deep before anyone can notice.

I don’t even know what to say. There’s nothing I can say because I recognize the look in her eyes.

There’s a determination not to let anyone know she’s hurting.

The hour flies by, and before I know it, Lydia is calling for everyone to wrap up. Jenni is already on her feet, tossing her crumpled wad of play money onto the table like the game—and everything else—was just another thing she can easily move on from.

“I ate. No crumbs.” She grins.

Um... What?

“This was fun. I’ll be back to kick your butt next week, okay? Loser cleans up!” Jenni shouts the words over her shoulder with a grin, then skips off toward the doorway where a woman stands waiting for her.

I assume that’s her foster mother, the woman tasked with protecting and looking out for her after her mother’s death and apparently doing a shit job of it.

A sharp, hot feeling rises in my chest—something that feels an awful lot like rage—but it fades as quickly as it comes.

I sit there, trying to piece together what just happened, my mind gradually slipping back into the familiar state of numbness.

Then, a voice pulls me out of it.

“Hi, Colt. I’m so sorry I’m late. A last-minute client was added to my list, and I had to meet them across town.

” Molly takes a deep breath and straightens her shirt.

“Then I swung by my place to change out of my uniform, thinking I’d still have time to get here to volunteer and clearly, I’ve missed the whole hour with the kids. ”

My eyes lock with her blue ones and it’s like everything that I was worrying and thinking about before evaporates like smoke.

She’s wearing a pair of light-washed, baggy blue jeans ripped at the knees and a simple white tank top that clings just right to her full chest. Her black hair is swept into a braid that drapes over one side of her tanned shoulders, and her blue eyes practically sparkle with her smile.

Damn.

She looks good and it might be the first time I’ve really admired a woman since I got out.

“Did you have a good day?” she asks, her voice warm and easy like she doesn’t realize the affect she’s having on me.

“Yeah…” I grunt, though my focus has completely shifted.

She steps closer, and her scent drifts toward me—soft, feminine, intoxicating. Jasmine? Roses? Some kind of flowers. Whatever it is, it clings to her skin, warm and inviting, stirring something in me I haven’t felt in a long time. She smells like a woman.

It’s been years since I’ve been close to one, let alone one like her—beautiful, confident, completely unaware of the effect she’s having on me. The way she tilts her head, the slight curve of her lips, how her scent wraps around me like a slow burn—I feel it everywhere.

And after a long time of feeling nothing, I wonder if I’m ready to start feelingsomethingagain.

“Hey Molly, what does, ‘ ate, no crumbs mean?’”

The corner of Molly’s lips tilt upwards like she’s trying to conceal a laugh. “It means that you did something well. Like you crushed it.”

“Huh...”

She smiles and gestures to the table where Jenni’s money and game pieces are still scattered. “I take it you got beat in Monopoly?”

“More like hustled.”

She laughs, her eyes lighting up. “Are you hungry? Want to grab some food? I’m starving.”

Before I can answer, Lydia rounds the corner, her face lighting up when she spots Molly. “Hi, Molly!” she wraps her up in a big hug then pulls back to look at us both. “Are you coming out with us tonight too?”

Molly raises a brow, glancing between Lydia and me. I can practically see the assumptions forming in her mind, and none of them are accurate. Lydia’s a pretty girl, sure, but there’s nothing she could ever do or say to compete with Molly in my eyes.

“Where are you going?” Molly asks.

“The Wednesday volunteers usually head to Krissy’s Bar for happy hour—drinks, games, and food,” Lydia explains.

Molly’s stomach growls audibly as she lets out a laugh. “That sounds perfect. I haven’t eaten all day. Chief has me running around like a chicken. What do you think, Colt? You in?”

I shrug, doing some quick mental math. My curfew is at ten, and I can only travel within a ten-mile radius unless it’s for work.

Luckily, the bar falls within the mileage limit, and this technically counts as a work-adjacent event.

Besides, with Molly looking the way she does tonight, there’s no way I’m letting her go there alone.

For protection, obviously.

“Sure,” I nod.

“Great!” Lydia claps her hands, beaming. “This’ll be so much fun.” She runs off to rally the other volunteers leaving me alone with my friend once again.

Molly flashes me a grin, her fingers curling around my bicep as she gives it a firm squeeze. Her touch is easy, familiar—something we’ve always done without a second thought. But this time it feels different.

The warmth of her hand lingers, sending a slow pulse through me. We used to be close, all friendly brushes and casual hugs, but now? Now I want more. I want her hands on me in a way that isn’t friendly at all. I want to touch her in a way that shows her I’m not sure I want to be friends anymore.

“Let’s go. You’re driving since I walked here from my house,” she says with a grin before we head out the door.