I wrap my hands tighter around the mug, resisting the urge to flip them off through the window like some bitter city girl who can’t hang. But honestly? That’s exactly what I am. And I’m not sure I care enough to pretend otherwise.
With another sip, I glance at the empty doorway and mutter to myself, “Let’s get through the first damn week.”
The front door creaks open in the distance. Boots stomp. Male voices filter in. So much for peace and quiet.
I take one more long sip of the coffee, then set the mug down with a quiet clink.
Showtime.
I don’t turn around right away. Maybe if I stay still enough, they’ll think I am part of the furniture and leave me alone.
No such luck.
The heavy thud of boots grows louder until it stops behind me. I brace myself, jaw tight, and take one final sip of coffee like it is armor.
“Well, good morning, sunshine,” a familiar voice drawls, low, gravelly, and way too smug for someone covered in sweat and dirt. “Didn’t think we’d see you up before noon.”
I turn slowly, mug still in hand. My brother, Pace, leans in the doorway like he’s auditioning for aRugged Farm of the Yearcalendar—shirt clinging to him like a second skin, jeans dusty, hair damp with sweat, and his signature shit-eating grin firmly in place.
Because he knows he’s irritating.
And he no doubt lives for it.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I say flatly. “But the stampede of voices outside doesn’t believe in sleep.”
He chuckles, not the least bit apologetic. “That’d be the ranch hands. They’re not used to outsiders, especially not ones from a big ‘ole city and enough attitude to start a brushfire.”
“They’re lucky I didn’t come out swinging.”
“Oh, I told ‘em you might,” he says, pushing off the doorframe and strolling into the kitchen. “Boss out there said it would help you build character.”
I roll my eyes as he grabs a glass, fills it at the sink, and chugs the whole thing without stopping for a breath. He finishes with a loudahhand wipes his mouth on his sleeve like a twelve-year old.
“You settling in okay?” he asks, his tone a bit more serious now. “Barely saw hide nor hair of you the last two days except when you came down to eat.”
I shrug. “If lying awake and wondering why I didn’t stay in L.A. counts as settling, then yeah. I’m thriving.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, he leans back against the counter and studies me with an older-brother squint that says he’s about to pretend he knows better.
“You know,” he says finally, quiet now, “you don’t have to stay. No one’s chaining you to the porch. If you’re unhappy, leave. Don’t be dragging everyone here down because life dealt you shitty cards. We all have our issues here. We don’t need yours, too.”
His words hit harder than I want to admit. Not because he’s wrong, but because it’s the first thing anyone’s said that feels like truth instead of obligation.
I take a slow sip of coffee. “Well, John is right. My mother put me in a shit ton of debt I can’t prove isn’t mine and apparently pissed off more than a few loan sharks. Your boss made sure I understood what would happen if I leave.”
Pace nods once, something unreadable flickering across his face. Respect, maybe. Or surprise. It’s gone before I can name it.
“Well,” he says, the smirk returning as he heads back toward the door, “if you change your mind, I think there’s still a seat on the noon Greyhound with your name on it.”
“Tell the driver to save it for you,” I mutter into my mug.
He barks a laugh and winks over his shoulder before slipping outside again, the door banging lightly behind him.
I stare after him for a second, then exhale hard and rub a hand over my face.
It’s not even 9 a.m., and I’m already exhausted.
This is going to be a long damn week.
