Page 14 of Truly (Peachwood Falls #2)

L aina

“Come on,” Luke says, thrusting a cup of coffee into my hands. “Cheer up. It’s gonna be a beautiful day.”

“Let’s see how you feel about that when you’re wearing my drink.”

He laughs, enjoying my irritation entirely too much for his safety.

In Luke’s defense, he did let me sleep in.

In my defense, I could’ve been tired out a lot more easily if he would’ve given in and fucked me last night.

Even though that might not have been in our best interests, particularly because I’ll need to leave once the dust settles.

But he was adamant, so maybe, just maybe , Luke Marshall isn’t interested in me.

At some point since I’ve been away from Peachwood Falls, it seems Luke has become a choir boy.

Damn him .

I love a thoughtful man. It’s so sexy . It’s such a turn-on. But it’s less appealing when you need an orgasm as badly as you need air, and the man you want to rail you grows a conscience.

“You could try to be a little nicer to me.” He smirks. “I even got up bright and early and drove to Chase’s to borrow a pair of Kennedy’s boots just for you.”

“I feel it coming on.”

“What are you talking about?”

I lean forward and whisper, “ I hate you .”

All he does is laugh.

I down the rest of the caffeine and then follow him outside. He’s right—it is a beautiful day. The sun is high and bright, the birds are singing in the trees, and a perfect breeze rolls gently across the driveway as we approach the barn.

“You’re in luck,” he says.

“That’s exactly what I feel. Lucky .”

He rolls his eyes. “The weather has been really nice, so the horses have been in the pasture most of the time. The stalls aren’t awful.”

“Yay.”

“Come on,” he says, bumping me with his elbow. “This is going to be so much fun.”

“Luke, let me share something with you. Some things are fun, and others are not. Things that take place involving horse shit are not in the fun column. Ever. Okay? Let it go.”

“You’re testy this morning.”

I glare at him as he opens the doors to the barn.

“Being mean isn’t going to make this go any faster,” he says.

“Trust me. I know. For the past twelve hours, I’ve thought very mean things about you, and they’ve dragged on.”

His eyes sparkle as he walks me back until my backside touches the wall. I refuse to let him think he’s breaking me.

His hands are planted on either side of my head, caging me in. He’s so close that I can smell the toothpaste and coffee on his breath. I lift my chin in defiance.

“Why are you so mad, Pumpkin?” he asks, teasing me.

“Don’t call me that when you’re being mean.”

“ I’m not being mean .” He grins. “I told you I just wanted to give you a little space. It’s the right thing to do.”

“No, Luke, the right thing to do would’ve been to fuck me so hard that I stop thinking about all the crap that happened this week. But thank you so very much.”

The grin twists into a darker smile. It sends a shiver down my spine.

That’s it. This is where I want you.

“That’s not why I’m mad at you, though,” I say, pretending to fix his shirt so I can touch him.

“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.

I do it all the time.” I act like I dust something off his shoulder.

“I’m just a little unhappy about having to get up so early, and I really hate horse shit. So why don’t we?—”

“No.” He pushes away from me and heads toward a storage room. “You’re cleaning these stalls with me.”

“ Luke ,” I whine. “Come on. Let me cheer you on instead.”

He hands me a really big rake-like thing. “Have you done this before?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“No.”

“Red flag.”

He tries not to laugh.

“I’ll sing for you,” I say.

“No, Laina.”

He plops several other tools into a wheelbarrow and starts toward the stalls.

“Dude, people pay me to sing, and I’m willing to do it for you for free. A full concert . I won’t stop as long as you’re working.” I follow him. “You’re getting a hell of a deal.”

He opens the gate. “See the piles of poop?”

“This is so freaking gross.”

He grins. “See them?”

“Yeah. I see ’em.”

“First, use your manure fork to lift the poop and give it a little shake to get the clean bedding off. Then you’ll put it in the wheelbarrow,” he says.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mutter.

“Then sweep all the bedding away from the pee spots. Then take the shovel and put the pee-soaked bedding in the wheelbarrow.”

“I’m noticing a trend.”

He ignores me. “Give the pee areas a quick spray of odor eliminator and then brush all the bedding still in here over those areas. Then we’ll put new bedding down.” He smiles at me. “Got it?”

“I really thought you were joking about this.”

I stare him down as I step into the stall. “You know, this is making me rethink leaving Tom.”

Luke turns away. “You’d be dealing with a pile of shit either way.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. That was funny.”

He turns on music and starts to work on the stall beside me.

It takes a while, but I get into the groove.

It’s not as bad as I feared and not nearly as stinky.

By the time I get to the urine, I’m not enjoying myself , but it is a little satisfying.

Strangely, we haven’t spoken for over half an hour, which reminds me of all the times we just hung out years ago simply to be with each other.

We knew each other so well then. How much of that has changed?

What do I really know about this man today?

“Do you enjoy being a farrier?” I ask.

“Yeah. Of course. It’s all I ever wanted to do.”

“I wondered. Sometimes people change their minds, but they’re stuck doing what they’re doing that pays the bills.”

“What about you? Do you like performing?”

I scoop up the last clump of urine, then mist the areas with deodorizing spray.

“Laina?”

“Yeah, I do,” I say, trying to find the words to describe my messy thoughts.

“I actually love putting on shows and the theatrics of it. I love engaging with my fans, and hearing their stories, and listening to how my songs have impacted their lives. And I love songwriting and collaborating with other artists.”

“But …”

I sigh and set the spray next to the wheelbarrow. “But I’m tired.”

The scraping from his stall halts.

“I love what I do, Luke. I’m so lucky, so blessed, and so grateful for the opportunity to do what I do. What an honor. But I don’t want my job—and it very much is a job—to be my whole person and all that I am .”

He comes to the stall doorway beside mine and leans on his broom. His eyes are tender, full of concern, and it melts my heart right down to my—Kennedy’s—boots.

“I’m a paycheck to everyone now,” I say, my eyes filling with tears.

I’ve never said this aloud to anyone. I’m not sure I’ve even given myself the freedom to think this thought through. But as I hear the words, I know they’re true. I can feel them release from my heart.

“My parents see me as a paycheck,” I say. “Agents, publicists, managers. Backup designers. Set designers. Costume designers. Lighting crews. Security details. Property managers. Chefs. Those people’s families. Accountants. Attorneys. I could go on and on.”

“Then stop.”

“I don’t want to stop making music.”

He leans the broom against the wall. “You don’t have to stop making music. But you can also find a way to have a life outside of it. Laina, you don’t exist to keep thousands of people’s lives turning. And whoever made you feel like that can fuck off.”

“If only I had a reason to have a farrier on tour with me. You could come and tell people that.”

He laughs. “Find a way to get horses into your show, and I’m there.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

We exchange a smile.

“I’ll tell you what,” I say, stretching my back. Damn, this is hard work . “You dump that load of crap wherever you put it. Then come back and I’ll clean out the next one without complaining if you tell me stories.”

“About what?”

I shrug. Normal life . “I don’t know. Tell me what you do all day. Tell me why you shove all of your receipts into one drawer in the kitchen. Or explain why you have twenty-one cans of tomato soup.”

“You really did go through everything.”

“I told you I did.”

He narrows his eyes, trying to decide whether I’m joking. I didn’t go through everything in his house. But I’m not telling him that. I like to watch him squirm. It’s fun. He’s fun .

How could something that came so naturally between us for years still be there? How can this man make me feel more beautiful in pink boots and horse shit than a team of experts can make me feel in glam and couture?

It’s the mystery of Luke Marshall.

“Walk with me,” he says.

Luke pushes the soiled bedding out the far side of the barn. The sun hits us immediately, warming my face. Man, I’ve missed the sun, too .

The realization that I haven’t relaxed in the sun more than a few times over the past few years wallops me.

I’m normally in a studio or rehearsals. Sometimes I’m in bed due to a late meeting and then wake up and scramble to start the day.

Even if I have a day off and am in a location to enjoy the sunshine without skyscrapers, Tom’s voice is in my head about avoiding the sun so I don’t screw up my complexion with freckles and sun damage.

How did I put up with his shit for so long? And how does no one else in the world see him like that?

We move quietly down a path until we come upon a manure compost pile. He deposits the fresh load onto the mound.

“It’s been a long time now,” he says as we return to the barn. “I can’t truthfully remember why at this point, but everyone was saying the world was going to end.”

We slow as a butterfly flutters along in front of us.

“I thought it was bullshit. And I was right,” he says, chuckling. “But Gavin believed it. He had a solid six months where he was certain the world was ending due to some old calendar someone found somewhere. I don’t know. It was ridiculous.”

“I never imagined Gavin as a conspiracy-theory type.”

He snorts. “If Gavin loves two things, one is beef jerky, and the other is a good conspiracy theory.”

“Good to know.”

“We all blew him off. Mallet even left the family text thread at one point because Gavin would start the day with a countdown to the end —and he was dead serious.”

“Oh, wow,” I say, laughing.

“Chase had to threaten him to shut up around Kennedy because he was starting to freak her out. As this very random date on the calendar approached, Gavin started showing up at our houses with … stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“I think Chase got cases of Pop-Tarts and something really off the wall. Pineapple juice, maybe? I can’t remember.”

I laugh, gazing up in appreciation of Luke’s rugged profile.

“Kate lived close then, and I think she got something like tortilla chips and baked beans,” Luke says. “Mom and Dad got those little wieners in a can.” He looks at me and grins. “ A lot of them .”

“I can see ways of whittling down the Pop-Tarts. Pineapple juice is good in mixed drinks. Tortilla chips and baked beans can be used. I mean, it might take a while, but you could use those in everyday life. It’s the wieners for me.”

“There’s a joke there, and I’m letting it go. I want you to know that.”

I shove him, making him laugh. “Is this story going anywhere? Or did you want me to walk into a wiener joke?”

“I was trying to get to the tomato soup.”

“Well, get there, then.”

He pushes the wheelbarrow back into the barn.

“That’s what I got from Gav—tomato soup.

Twenty-however-many cans of it,” Luke says.

“Definitely better than the wieners, but I would’ve loved those Pop-Tarts.

I tried to barter with Chase, but he wasn’t having it.

He said it was the only useful thing Gavin had ever done for him, and he and Kennedy were eating them.

I’m stuck with the cans of soup that have probably expired. ”

I laugh. Actually, it’s more like a cackle. The thought of all those wieners totally amuses me. And Luke still has the cans of soup.

But while I find amusement in the story, I’m also … sad . In leaving Luke, this is what I missed. I might have been here to use those cans of soup. I might have been the recipient of something equally bizarre. How fun would that have been.

“I wish I had siblings.”

“Uh, no, you don’t.”

“I do,” I say emphatically. “You have such a bond with your brothers and Kate. Heck, you and Gavin even seem to have a bond with Kennedy. I have a bond with no one. It’s just me out here.”

We stop by the next two stalls. Luke dusts his hands off and looks at me.

“What?” I ask.

“How would you feel about seeing my parents?”

This is not a question I was expecting.

“No pressure,” Luke says. “I know you’re skittish about seeing people right now, and I get it. I respect it. But they won’t tell anyone, and I know they’d love to see you. Mom is gonna be pissed that she didn’t know you were here. She’ll think we stole a reason from her to make a casserole.”

I laugh, the sentiment like a rush of sunshine on my soul.

To see Maggie and Lonnie again would be like curling up in my favorite blanket.

I wish I would’ve kept in contact with them over the years.

They were a piece of good in my life, and I’m certain they would’ve offered me advice when I needed it the most throughout the years.

But it felt too odd, too sad , to stay in touch with them after Luke and I fell apart.

Lonnie wouldn’t have tolerated Tom Waverly, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have allowed me to get engaged to him without a long chat—with both of us. Even if I wasn’t dating Luke anymore, I know he would’ve said something. Maggie, too. It’s too bad that didn’t happen.

And it’s also too bad that I’ve missed so much since I left. Even if I gained a career and a whole life by leaving, I lost, too. Because in my heart, Peachwood Falls—the Marshalls—feels like home.

“You know what, Luke? I want to see them. It would be nice to say hello again.”

“Okay. But I’m not responsible if Mom gets too squirrely on you. You heard her last night. She’s getting uncontrollable in her old age.”

“Don’t you let her hear you say that.”

He hands me a shovel and picks up another one.

“I tell her shit like that sometimes just to wind her up. It’s a good cardio workout.” He winks at me. “Now, let’s get these last four cleaned, refill them with clean bedding, and get out of here.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

We trade a final smile and get busy.