Page 28 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

“You’re heading out early? You feeling okay?” Diane arches a brow, scanning me like I might be contagious.

I glance down at my watch, noting that it’s already four in the afternoon. To be fair, I rarely ever leave the office before six most days so I can understand why she’s questioning me.

“Yeah. I need to catch the train. Trying to make it back before Liam’s bedtime.”

Her confusion quickly melts into a warm, knowing smile accompanied with a wink. “That photo of him and your new nanny that the New York Politics News shared? Adorable. Total invasion of privacy, though.”

Diane’s got that Donna-from-Suits energy—always a step ahead. No attraction between us, though. No simmering tension. Just pure, unnerving insight.

When I got into work this morning, she’d printed out the article with the photo, slapped it on my desk, and threatened legal action against the person who took it.

Normally, I’d agree with her. But today?

Today, I spent the first two hours of my morning just sitting at my desk, staring at that photo, grinning like an idiot, and feelingstupidlygrateful that they took it.

Liam looks adorable, perched on Georgia’s back as they weave through the streets of New York City. He’s got a massive yellow-and-black-striped lollipop in hand, laughing his little heart out, and for the first time in a long time, he looks… lighter. Older. Happier. Freer.

And it’s because ofher .

Georgia, dressed in a simple pair of Levi’s that hug her curves like they were made for her, her strawberry-blonde hair braided into two neat sections, and a long-sleeved white shirt clinging in all the right places.

The collar dips just slightly as she tilts her head back, laughing at something Liam said, and God— the way she looks at him.

Like he’s her whole world.

Something tightens in my chest. Guilt that I’m going to be moving him away from her and wild, burning, desire that she’s so good to him. For him.

I’ve been telling myself for months that I need to spend more time with Liam, especially now that he’s living with me.

Ishouldbe home for bedtime. Ishouldbe more present.

But there’s always some crisis at work, always another fire to put out, and I’ve justified it by telling myself he’s safe. He has Eleanor. He adores Eleanor.

So, what’s the rush, right?

But then Georgia stepped into my orbit. And suddenly, work doesn’t feel so urgent anymore.

That’s why I’m headed home early.

“And maybe I should give the nanny the night off,” I add quickly, trying to sound like the responsible guy I am when what I really want to do is go home and get the nanny off.

I don’t want Diane to read too much into my intentions.

Honesty has always been my thing, but right now, I’m barely sure of what those intentions are myself.

Barely.

Her expression shifts, the adoration fading, replaced with something more... smug . Not that she knows anything for sure, because even I don’t but if there’s anyone who could know the future, it’d be Diane.

“Stop,” I say with a chuckle, pointing at her before spinning on my heel and heading out of the office.

“I didn’t say anything!” she calls after me, her voice laced with amusement.

I push through the revolving doors of the building, stepping into the cool afternoon air. The city hums around me—horns blaring, voices blending into the rush of foot traffic. The familiar chaos of Manhattan. A quick glance at my watch. If I hurry, I can make the next train.

Weaving through the sidewalk crowd, I make it to the station just as the Hamptons-bound train screeches to a stop. The doors slide open, and I step inside, finding a seat by the window as the train lurches forward.

A request for an interview with NBC News.

A statement needed about the farmers’ strike in North Carolina from the North Carolina Farmer’s Post .

A request for an interview with a popular gossip magazine on Politics Hottest Under 50s Eligible Bachelors.

I roll my eyes at that one.

I sift through them quickly, deleting what I can, leaving the rest for Diane to manage the way she always does until one email catches my eye. It’s from Colt’s lawyer.

*************

Hey Troy ,

Things aren’t looking good for Colt’s appeal.

I caught wind from a judge in Charlotte that the one handling his case plans on having him serve his full five-year sentence which means he’ll be in for at least the next year.

It’s not right, but that’s the latest. I think some of these guys are friends with the judges in Whitewood Creek.

I should have more for you next week, but it might be a good idea to head down here as soon as you can, especially after the recent announcement regarding your run for governor.

Might stir things up a bit. Either way, I’m not optimistic.

Talk soon.

**************

Dammit.

If Colt’s lawyer isn’t optimistic about the appeal, things must be bad.

That was why I hired him in the first place for my little brother—he’s an eternal optimist, a fighter until the end.

The kind of guy who never gives up, even when the odds are stacked, and they are.

With over twenty years of experience defending prisoners in Charlotte, if he’s feeling defeated, I know that I have to move fast.

I rub my jaw, thinking. I need to head to North Carolina for the campaign anyway, but this... this makes my visit even more urgent despite my already packed schedule.

My thoughts drift to Liam, and my dad’s words echo in my mind: Bring him home to visit.

I wonder if Georgia would be up for a trip down there. Last time we talked, she made it clear moving to North Carolina isn’t an option for her, but maybe if I show her Whitewood Creek and my family’s farmstead in person, she’ll get the charm of the small town and our family businesses.

Maybe, she’ll consider moving when I win.

I like the thought of that.

What’s a woman like Georgia doing desperate to stay in New York anyhow? She’d said her family owns a ranch in Texas. With her rosy personality, carefree attitude and quick wit, it seems like she’d fit in just fine in Whitewood Creek.

She’d fit in just fine with me and my family, too.

I sigh, sinking back into the train seat, and reading over the email once more.

Colt has a year left on his sentence, but my goal is to get him out by November.

I want him home with the family for the holidays this year, not rotting in that cell for another twelve months.

He isn’t innocent, not completely, but defending that woman shouldn’t have landed him behind bars for this long.

The whole situation is messed up, and it’s personal.

Every day he stays inside, I feel like I’m failing him.

I’m not the emotional type. Cash fights with his charm, Colt with his fists. Lawson? He wins wars with his patience, and Regan... well, she’s never fighting with anyone.

But me? I’ve always been the steady one—the father figure. First for my siblings, then for Max, and now for Liam. You don’t get the luxury of falling apart when you’re in politics, raising a family, holding people together. I fight behind the scenes, in ways that no one sees or understands.

But damn if I don’t feel like breaking down right here on this train full of curious, anonymous faces.

The anger, the frustration, the years of pushing everything down is starting to catch up to me. Most days it feels like I have everyone depending on me and yet I’m letting each down in their own special, terrible way.

The train pulls into the station, and I wipe at my face, realizing a tear has somehow slipped down my cheek. That’s the first one in years. Probably since I became a father twenty-two years ago.

I pull my cap lower, a Charlotte Hornets logo on it causing a ridiculous contrast to the ten-thousand-dollar Armani suit I’m wearing. But at least it gives me some privacy. New Yorkers aren’t interested in a politician from another state wearing an NBA hat.

Stepping off the train, I make my way to the carport, weaving through the streets.

As I get closer to the shore, the tightness in my chest begins to ease.

The gates to the community slide open, and with every mile that I move toward the beach house’s front door, the weight of the day—of Colt’s appeal status, of everything —starts to lift.

And the moment I open the door to my home, I know I made the right decision leaving early.

The scent hits me: pumpkin, bergamot, and cinnamon, all blended together into a warm, welcoming fragrance.

It’s clean in here, like Georgia just finished vacuuming and the kitchen looks spotless.

I can’t lie—it’s a hell of a feeling, coming home after a long day dealing with headaches and assholes to a house that’s clean and smells good.

Georgia might be a whirlwind at times—a free-spirited, wild, country girl—but she’s nothing if not attentive.

To Liam, and to me. Every night, without fail, there’s laundry going, the floors are swept and spotless, and the counters wiped down.

She picked up on my need for order and control right away and without hesitation or being asked, has made sure it’s happened.

And I know I’m paying her to watch Max, but cleaning like this wasn’t part of the deal.

Damn if that isn’t sexy.

And dammit I haven’t thanked her once for it.

The house is quiet though it’s only six fifteen. I head upstairs, my footsteps light, until finally I hear Georgia’s cheerful voice coming from the bathroom, followed by Liam’s sweet giggles.

“A boat! Look, Liam! Brumm,” she makes the sound of an engine, and Liam’s sweet laughter rings out, filling the hallway. I smile as I listen, resting my head against the frame with a sigh.

Is there anything better than the pure joy of a child? A life untouched by the distractions and pain of the world where their only job is to play and learn.