After We Fall(17)

 

Still, what Georgia had told me about him made me think there was more to him than boorish bluster.

 

Someone who’d loved like that had to have a big heart, even if it was buried beneath prickly layers of grief and bitterness.

 

I’d give him another chance.

 

 

 

 

 

Seven

 

 

 

 

 

Jack

 

 

 

I stayed away from the house all afternoon, even though it drove me crazy to think that they were in there talking about my farm, making plans that would affect its well-being. Plans that would affect me. Sure, I technically owned only one third of it, but neither of my brothers had invested their heart and soul here like I had. Pete just cared about his restaurant idea, and Brad would be happy to chop the land into bits and sell it.

 

So go in there and stand up for yourself. Put your boot down. Say no.

 

But I couldn’t do that. It was two against one, and I wouldn’t win.

 

And now they had that fucking Barbie on their side too. How the hell could they think that woman knew anything about farming? She looked like she wouldn’t know the difference between a cock and a hen. Maybe I’d ask her.

 

The thought actually made me crack a smile as I left the barn after checking on one of the older horses who seemed to be struggling with the heat more than the others. You ever seen a cock before, Barbie?

 

I chuckled as I imagined the expression on her face. Her cheeks going pink. Her eyes going wide. She had pretty eyes, I’d give her that. Huge and bright blue. A pretty smile, too.

 

But she wasn’t my type. I liked natural. Down to earth. No makeup. Steph had lived in jeans and boots, her nose freckled in the sun, and I don’t even think she owned a hair dryer. She always let her dark, curly hair dry on its own.

 

Barbie had been wearing some kind of business suit, probably with high heels. Her skin looked like she never left the house, and her lips had been artificially pink. Her hair was nice, though, smooth and gold and shiny. What would it feel like slipping through my fingers? Wrapped around my fist? Brushing over my bare chest?

 

When my dick answered the question by twitching in my pants, I forced myself to quit thinking about her and move on to the next task.

 

She was nothing to me.

 

 

 

Around five, Pete came out to the little greenhouse I’d built with our dad and found me prepping some kale seedlings for planting. I needed to rotate some beds this weekend.

 

“Hey. Want help?”

 

“I’m about done in here. But I could use help repairing some fence along the western property line if you have time.”

 

“I do.”

 

We took a four-wheeler and drove in silence, me dying to know what had been discussed at the meeting but too stubborn to ask, Pete probably trying to figure out how to broach the subject without my taking his head off. I caved first.

 

“How’d it go with Marketing Barbie?”

 

Pete sighed. “She’s very nice, Jack. And she’s smart too. I think she’s going to help us a lot.”

 

“For how much? Did you see what she drives? A classic Mercedes in mint condition. Do you have any idea what those cost?”

 

“No.”

 

“Me neither. But I bet it’s a fuck ton of money.”

 

“You know, you don’t have to be such an asshole about this. No one is conspiring against you or wants to take anything away from you.”

 

“What the fuck would they take, anyway? Like you said, I don’t own this farm, I don’t own my house, I don’t even have a family.” I threw his words back at him as I pulled up at the fence that needed work and parked.

 

Pete stared at me for a few seconds, then shook his head. “I refuse to argue with you anymore. And I’m done trying to bring you in on this. You want to know what her ideas are, you can ask her.”

 

“I don’t,” I lied.

 

“Fine.” He jumped to the ground. “Let’s just get this done.”

 

 

 

I finished working for the day, cleaned up, and made myself some dinner. But I felt so tense sitting around the cabin by myself that I decided to go into town and grab a beer. I chose a little pub called The Anchor, sat at the end of the bar, and hoped I wouldn’t see anybody I knew. Nothing worse than wanting to nurse a beer and some self-loathing and being constantly interrupted by people who wanted to chat. They’d ask how I was doing with that sympathetic look in their eye, but they didn’t want the truth. They wanted to hear I was doing fine and then move on to small-town gossip, or better yet, get some to spread.

 

It was Friday night and the place was busy, but thankfully the last couple seats at the end of the bar were free, and the baseball game was on the TV right above them. I sipped my beer and tried to appear like I was really into the Tigers so no one would take the stool next to me and try to talk. My plan worked for about ten minutes.