Page 34 of The County Line (Whitewood Creek Farm #2)

When I wake up, the house is completely quiet.

The storm must’ve blown itself out of North Carolina sometime after Molly and I fell asleep.?

Carefully, I untangle my arm from around Molly, pausing to take her in.

Her dark hair spills across my bed in a wild mess, her long lashes cast soft shadows over her high cheekbones, and those lips—plump and slightly parted, cause me to still my breath so I don’t wake her.

She looks peaceful, beautiful, like the girl I used to know.

The one I’ve always wanted to shield from the ugliness of life, even when I was too young to understand why.

I know now, though. It’s because she makes me better—always has, and I intend on protecting what we’ve got fiercely.

Even if I feel like I don’t deserve it yet.

She’s been through hell with the men in her life, and I’ve watched from the sidelines as her trust has been shattered repeatedly. I’ve promised myself that I’ll be different. I won’t be one more name on the list of people who’ve let her down.

But last night…

Damn , last night.

I told her I wouldn’t fuck her, and I meant it. Not because I don’t want her—I do. Too much if I’m being honest. And sure, I can make her come in ways that don’t involve my cock, and maybe that’ll keep her satisfied for a while. But how long can I keep dancing around the truth?

I’m broken. A fucking mess of a man. And no amount of wanting her can fix what’s wrong inside of me.

It’s not her—hell, everything about her gets me hard.

Her body, her face, her damn laugh. She’s perfect.

But I’m the problem. Something inside me is fractured in a way I don’t know how to put back together.

If I can’t let myself feel everything, if I can’t trust, then what the hell do I have to offer her?

Orgasms without emotional connection?

A protector and provider with the emotional control of a child?

She deserves more than that. I know she does. She deserves a life.

And that’s the part that terrifies me. Giving her more means risking it all—risking her seeing the ugly parts of me, chancing going soft at the worst possible moment because my head is fucked, and my heart is a minefield.

Call me a coward, but I’d rather keep her at arm’s length than ruin what we have. Because if I let her down while I’m fucking her, I don’t know if my pride will recover.

And losing her? That might just be the final blow.

I throw my legs over the edge of the bed, still wearing my sweatpants from last night, and make my way downstairs.

Coffee doesn’t do much for me anymore. It hasn’t since I got out of prison.

When you spend years waking up to the adrenaline of survival, that edge—the edge to survive—it’s sharper than caffeine could ever be.

I push open the backdoor of my dad’s house and step outside to breathe in the crisp April air.

It’s still early, the kind of quiet you only get before the world wakes up.

Dew clings to the grass, and the first light of the sun spreads across the horizon.

Spiderwebs glisten like strands of glitter, stretched out across the lawns, catching the morning light.

It’s beautiful, this scene, I know it is.

Freedom should feel like this—peaceful, clean, alive.

New beginnings. But I don’t feel any of its beauty.

The only time I feel anything is when I look at Molly.

With her, there’s protection, desire, and something else that gnaws at me. Something that I know is love.

A shiver runs through me, but it’s not from the cold or from the realization that I’m in love with Molly.

It’s that heavy, ominous sense—like a storm on the horizon, or something shifting in the universe just out of reach.

I’ve learned to trust that feeling over the years.

Ignoring it when I was younger almost cost me my life. Now, I know better.

Something isn’t right.

Sliding my phone from my pocket, I scroll to Liv’s number and hit call. She’s my therapist—but she gave me her personal number in case of emergencies. Told me I could call anytime, day or night, if I needed to talk or was in a crisis. And something about this morning feels like an emergency.

The line rings a couple of times before her groggy voice answers, “Colt?” Her tone is soft, grounded, the kind you don’t mind waking up to and despite me being hard on her for her age, I think she’ll make a fine therapist someday.

“Sorry for calling so early,” I say, staring out at the horizon.

“Don’t apologize. What’s going on?”

I take a deep breath, letting the cool air settle in my lungs but the words feel stuck at the back of my neck.

“Colt? You there?” she asks again, bringing me back to reality and the fact that it’s only four o’clock in the morning.

“Yeah, sorry, I just realized how early it is.”

“It’s alright. I’m up now. Going to go make myself a cup of coffee. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Just... got that feeling, you know? Like somethin’ ain’t right.”

She’s silent for only a beat. “Did something happen last night?”

Where do I even start? I’m not sure how to answer what happened between Molly and me.

She continues, “You obviously called me for a reason so how about we start with where you are right now. What do you see around you?”

I blow out a breath. “I’m at my dad’s house. Spent the night here last night. I’m alone, standing outside, looking at the sunrise just peaking over the horizon.”

“Okay, and how does that make you feel?”

A shiver runs up my spine again, that same dreaded sense of something bad coming fills my blood. Whatever it is, I get the sense that once the sun crests, it’ll be here and there’s nothing that can stop it.

“I know I should feel peace, but I don’t. Something isn’t right.”

“Okay, was anything destroyed by the storm last night? You said you live on a large farm. Do you think it’s possible the animals might have been injured? Would you feel better if you go check on them now?”

“No.” I’m certain it’s not that. Regan, Cash, and I spent hours securing the chickens yesterday.

The hens are safe, the barns locked tight, and there’s no way the property took any real damage.

Cash built that place like a damn tank. I hesitate, considering whether I should take one of the four-wheelers down to check anyway, but my gut tells me this isn’t about the farm and my gut’s never been wrong before.

“Alright,” Liv says carefully. “What about the distillery? Could it be damaged?”

“It’s not that.”

“Okay... Then tell me why you’re at your father’s house instead of sleeping in your RV.”

She knows about the RV and the house I’m building. I’ve told her more than I thought I ever would during our most recent sessions. “I came here last night because of the storm. The wind was bad, and I didn’t want to risk the RV blowing over with me inside of it.”

“Could the RV be damaged?”

“Maybe,” I admit, though I know that’s not why I feel like tearing at my skin. Damage to the RV wouldn’t have me standing here with my fists clenching and my heart pounding like this. Material things can be replaced, people can’t be. “But that’s not it.”

“Does the idea of damage to the home you’re building bother you? You’ve been spending so much time and energy working on it.”

“No.” This doesn’t feel like something that can be fixed.

“Alright, let’s continue on then. You spent the night in your childhood bedroom. Is it possible that brought up old emotions and feelings around the years you lost?”

“I did sleep in my old bedroom.” I pause, my throat tightening. “With a woman.”

She’s silent for a beat, and then asks, “Molly?” Because I finally told her about Molly. Somehow, she got that out of me during my last session. And frankly, it was a relief talking about the feelings that I’d realized I’ve always had for her.

“Yeah. Molly.”

“Do you think that’s why you’re feeling like this? That maybe something happened between you two last night, and now your relationship is moving into territory that feels... overwhelming?”

Maybe. But it still doesn’t sit right.

I spin around, taking in the sight of the farmhouse from the back, bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun.

My gaze drifts to my bedroom window that’s right next to the oak tree we used to climb down as kids.

Molly’s still asleep up there. Protected under my care just like the tree’s protecting me now.

Am I scared of what’s happening between us? Of course. But it’s not because I don’t want it. It’s because I know what I can’t give her.

A proper relationship.

I can protect her, be there for her, give her trust and dependability.

But I can’t leave the county limits. I can’t take her wherever she wants to go or show her the world like she deserves.

No fancy dates. No drinks over candlelight.

I can’t even make love to her the way I want to, without second-guessing myself at every turn, worried I’ll disappoint her.

It feels like there are more can’ts than cans for us right now , and hell, that’s terrifying for a woman you know you’re in love with. I know it’s temporary, but my record, my life, it’ll never be like it was before.

I’ll never be like I was before.

“Maybe,” I finally say, my voice rough. “Maybe it’s about Molly. Or maybe it’s just about me.”

Liv hums softly on the other end of the line, giving me space to wrestle with that thought.

I want her. I’ve always wanted her. And that’s exactly why I’m so damn scared. How long will she stick around for the few things that I can give her until she realizes another man can give her more?

I swallow thickly just as the back door opens and Roxy joins my side.

“Hey girl,” I coo, rubbing her head gently.

She whines but lets me scratch her, shaking her warm black body back and forth like she’s just waking up.

When I bend down to pet her harder, I realize I’m still on the phone with Liv.

Roxy licks my face in greeting, but then stops, her ears perking up as if she hears something.

“What is it girl?” I ask and that feeling of dread returns instantly. Whatever is happening, has nothing to do with my insecurities towards Molly. Something isn’t right. Her eyes dart toward the oak tree I was just looking at and without any more evidence, I immediately know.

“I gotta go,” I bark out to Liv before hanging up without waiting for a response.

I know where my feet are taking me, but I follow Roxy as she races inside, back up the steps to Molly’s room. Blood rushes in my ears loudly as I push open the door to my bedroom to find her awake now and sitting upright, still on the bed.

She looks like a ghost. Her left hand is pressed into her cheek while her right hand is gripping the phone in her hand, but it’s dropped to her side, knuckles white, disconnected from any call.

“Molly… what is it?” I ask, taking a steady step towards her.

Her bright blue eyes are darker now and the look of sheer terror behind them tells me I’m going to hate whatever she says next.

“I…I…” she coughs, wets her lips, shakes her head and then swallows. I take the phone from her hand and look at the last call.

Whitewood Creek Police Department.

“Maverick’s dead,” she finally whispers, and the last of the air in my lungs leaves my chest. I stand up, take a step away from the bed and blink at her a few times, not believing that I could have heard her correctly.

She’s still sitting there, eyes with a faraway look in them, the darkness in them almost haunting.

“That was Lydia… she was giving me a heads up. Apparently, they found a body two weeks ago in a ditch right outside the county limit and haven’t been able to ID it.

They finally were able to just last night and confirmed it’s him,” she gasps, and folds in half, clutching her stomach like she’s going to throw up.

“He’s gone, Colt. Mav’s really gone.”