Page 32 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

I should have thought this through better.? But in my defense, how could I have known that this would happen??

Troy had told me to let him know the next time I planned to take Liam into the city so he could arrange for security to travel with us, but we weren’t in the city—we were in the Hamptons, our supposed safe place where no one knows who we are, and paparazzi aren’t looking for photo ops except from the really rich and famous.

At least, that’s what I thought.

James took the train out this morning, planning to spend the weekend at his parents' massive estate while overseeing some renovations.

We enjoyed breakfast together at one of our favorite spots, a charming farm-to-table restaurant that serves nothing but cold-pressed juices, mimosas, and dishes made from ingredients raised and grown in their garden.

All things that I thought Liam would enjoy.

We laughed and chatted as Liam chimed in showing off the adorable new sentences he’s learned to James.

When we parted ways, I made a last-minute decision to pop into one of those upscale thrift stores that are scattered throughout the Hamptons—where the wealthy donate their barely worn, name brand designer clothes, and people like me can snag them for a fraction of the cost. It’s where I bought my dress for the end of the summer Hamptons party, and I’m determined to find another great steal.

“Oh, look at this, Liam!” I exclaimed, holding up a gorgeous white tutu-style skirt adorned with delicate tulle and tiny beaded sparkles.

Chanel, of course. The original price? A staggering $3,000. Current price? $300. Even with that discount it still felt wildly overpriced.

Liam clapped, jumped up and down, and swayed his little body to the 90s pop music coming from the speakers overhead.

It was one that I grew up listening to in my dad’s truck when we’d drive around the acres on our family ranch, looking for breaks in the fences and checking on the cattle.

I couldn’t help but join in, the two of us dancing like no one was watching.

And maybe it was that carefree moment—just me and Liam, laughing and bonding—that made me completely miss the fact that we were being watched—by a group of paparazzi that had snuck into the shop completely undetected.

“Hey! Hey! Can you please give us a statement on Troy Marshall’s run for governor in North Carolina?” a reporter’s nasally voice cuts through the store, and before I can process what’s happening, a long, black microphone is shoved in my face.

I freeze for a second, blinking away the confusion.

I’ve never been approached by the paparazzi before, and it takes me a few moments to even register who this person is.

But once I do, I move into action. Dropping the dress back onto the hanger and grabbing Liam’s hand tightly, my protective instincts kicking in as my heart races.

“Come on, Liam, we’re getting out of here,” my voice is steady, calm and in control in an attempt not to startle him though inside I’m a mess of nerves around what’s about to happen.

Of course, this is the exact moment he decides to throw the mother of all two-year-old tantrums.

“No! I don’t want to leave, Georgia! NO!

!!” Liam’s wails echo throughout the store, and I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks.

If they didn’t know Liam or my names before, they do now considering Liam is screaming it at the top of his lungs as I drag him through racks of dusty, way too expensive clothing.

The reporters begin to close in, cameras clicking in rapid succession as they call out more questions about Troy, his love life, rumored relationship with Minnie Meadows, and close working partnership with the mayor of New York City.

One reporter swoops next to my side, bumping into me while I bring Liam to the front of my body to shield him.

"Were you aware that Troy Marshall and Minnie Meadows were spotted having breakfast together this morning? What could they have been discussing? Are they dating? Is this young boy their love child? And—who exactly are you ?"

For someone who values privacy, who has never been in the spotlight or subjected to invasive questions, this is a nightmare. Cameras flash, microphones shove closer, and the reporters' voices blend into a chaotic hum, each one eager to pry into a part of Troy’s life that he’s never shared.

But what truly unsettles me isn’t just the ambush. It’s the way their words hit a place in my heart I hadn’t realized was vulnerable. A place that, despite my best efforts, had started to soften towardTroy .

And to top it all off, a reporter somehow knows about Colt.

“We’ve heard that Troy has three brothers who work on his family’s farm. Where’s the third one? He hasn’t been spotted in four years.”

I keep my head down, dodging their questions and gripping Liam’s hand tighter while I’m practically dragging him through the store.

“Move out of our way!” I snap, trying to muscle my way through the pack of paparazzi that have now closed in on us. But Liam, still crying and flailing, is slowing us down too much.

Finally, we make it out of the store and onto the sidewalk, a narrow space lined with just shops and the quaint main road of the buzzing Hamptons town.

I yank him along, my heart racing and the blood rushing through my ears as I look both directions, finding the pathway now covered with passersby and reporters.

Who are these people?

Why do they care this much about Troy?

How did they find us?

How do they know we’re connected to him?

"What about Minnie? Are Troy and her together? Do you think there will be a proposal soon?"

The words hit like ice water, freezing me in place. Troy was with Minnie this morning. Hours after our night on the beach. Hours after holding me close, whispering my name and taking care of my body in ways that ruined me. I swallow hard, but the bitter taste remains.

He’d carried me inside, tucked me into bed, and then vanished.

He hadn’t stayed. Hadn’t fallen asleep beside me.

And by the time I woke up, he was already gone—back in the city, buried in his usual Friday workload.

Meanwhile, Eleanor had arrived at the beach house, dropping Liam off for our day together before heading to an appointment she had planned.

I was grateful for the distraction of a day spent with Liam after our steamy night together.

But now, hearing that he was out with Minnie—not just privately, but publicly —this morning…

it makes me feel like his dirty little secret while his real girlfriend gets paraded around town, smiling for cameras, perfectly positioned for the world to see.

It makes me feel like he rushed back to her as soon as he could.

Another voice shouts something about the Marshall family farm, but I barely register it.

Embarrassment swirls in my stomach, hot and suffocating—Troy spent the morning with Minnie after bringing me to orgasm.

And now, instead of dealing withthat, I have to figure out how to protect Liam and get us out of this mess in one piece.

My mind blanks as I clutch Liam to my back, shielding him from the flashing cameras, the shouting voices, the relentless, prying eyes. These people are vultures, circling, hungry for a scandal.

And though part of me wants to turn around, march up to them, and ask, Who the hell do you think you are, ambushing a stranger and a toddler in the Hamptons? —I don’t.

Because right now, my only focus is getting out of here.

“Who’s the child? What’s his name? He looks just like Minnie!” Someone else shouts.

Are you fucking kidding me…

I step towards the curb, trying to put some space between us but the bodies keep closing in.

I move to take off again, Liam’s still throwing a fit when suddenly, he trips and is sent flailing to the ground, scraping his knee in a crumbled ball of little limbs half in and out of the street.

He lets out a blood-curdling scream and clutches his leg as tears stream down his chubby cheeks.

I bend over to scoop him up, but before I can collect him and take off, I notice a black SUV with tinted windows barreling towards us.

Time slows down, my pulse hammers in my ears with only a second to decide what to do.

And without hesitation, I throw myself over Liam, pressing him into the sidewalk, covering every bit of his little body with mine, bracing for impact.

And at the last minute, the car screeches to a halt mere inches away from us, just barely sparing my legs.

Someone is using this—this terrifying, heart-pounding moment—as aphoto op.

“Are you out of your fucking minds?!” I roar, still sprawled on the pavement.

My pulse is a wild drum, my breath short.

The driver. The cameras. The gaping onlookers.

They’re just… standing there. I don’t care that I’m swearing in front of Liam.

We’ll have a talk later about when and where certain words are appropriate to use, but a near-death experience?

Yeah, I’m giving myself a free pass on using the F word.

My voice shakes with fury, fear, and leftover adrenaline as I scramble to my feet, scooping Liam up and hoisting him onto my back. He clings to me immediately, arms locking around my neck in a desperate grip. He’s still crying—but now, it’s not out of frustration about being pulled from the store.

Now, it’s fear.

Fear of them.

The flashing cameras. The relentless voices. The vultures who see a scared little boy and a woman on the pavement and don’tcare about anything but the story—because they’re too busy capturing the moment for clicks and headlines.

“Hold on, I’ve got you,” I whisper to him over my shoulder in a voice that I hope sounds like I know what I’m doing.

I don’t have time to yell at the rest of these assholes, or process what just happened. I shout out another fuck you, flip them the bird, holding it there for longer than necessary to be sure they catch it on camera for their headline.

‘ Future Governor of North Carolina’s Nanny Cusses on Sidewalk After Near Death Experience.’

I’ll ask Troy for forgiveness later for ruining his perfect reputation but right now, I don’t care what these people think of me.

I spin on my heels and take off, sprinting down the sidewalk, weaving through the crowd with Liam clinging to my back. The flashes of cameras blur into streaks of white behind me, their relentless snapping fading with every pounding step.

Then—finally—silence.

By the time I reach the safety of our community gates, my lungs are burning, my legs aching, but I don’t stop until I’ve crossed into familiar territory. I twist around, scanning the street, my pulse hammering in my ears.

No one followed us.

Only then do I slow my pace, my breath ragged, my heart still thrumming from the chase—the nearaccident. Liam’s soft cries have morphed into deep, heaving sobs against my shoulder, his little body trembling in my arms. Liam’s crying, I’m shaking—we’re a sweaty, snotty mess.

I squeeze my eyes shut, inhaling deeply in a desperate attempt to steady myself.

Then, carefully, I loosen my grip, setting Liam down in front of me.

His tear-streaked face is blotchy, his lip wobbly, and it guts me.

Crouching down, I meet his wide, watery eyes and press my hands gently to his shoulders.

“It’s okay, buddy,” I murmur, even thoughnothingabout this feels okay. “That was scary, wasn’t that?” I steady my voice as I speak to him gently.

He nods his head, his sobs turning into sniffles now.

“I’ll always keep you safe. I won’t let that happen again, okay? We’ll talk to your Papa about getting some big, even scarier guys to protect us when we go out—bodyguards. You’ll like them.”

He nods again as I force my biggest smile and hug him tightly against my chest.

“Can I have an ice poppy?” he mumbles into my hair, and I can’t help but laugh.

After everything that just happened, what else is there to say?

If there’s one thing about two-year-olds, it’s that they’re resilient, and in his mind, he’s already moved on to a cold snack while I’m still catching my breath, thinking about the fact that Troy had lunch with Minnie Meadows this morning.

“Yeah buddy, we can get you an ice poppy. Let’s go inside and clean you up first.”