Chapter Nine
Hunter made his three hundred and sixty-seventh circle around Zoey’s new arena, with Allie’s dog chasing after him, barking and wagging his tail. He refused to call it Brandon’s until he saw the man on a horse there. Until then, it was her project. Her well-managed project, he might add. She’d laid out the shape and size with landscaping flags and given him specific instructions on where to leave any debris he turned up with the harrow. Good thing Harvest Ranch soil was soft, or he’d have broken off a tine or two. Instead, he had a beautifully cleared spot for Zoey to run barrels and poles.
He shook his head in amazement. The next thing he knew, she’d be trading manicures from the salon with chocolate from his aunt’s shop for a set of poles.
She was kind of amazing with her switcheroo this morning. When that woman wanted something bad enough, she made it happen.
He was kind of flattered she’d wanted him that much. Well, his tractor skills, anyway.
Brandon’s truck rolled in, letting out a heavy sigh of diesel as he turned it off. The owner didn't fare much better. Brandon’s skin was the color of a squash, and his eyes were bloodshot.
Honey rushed him, tail whipping back and forth.
“Down, boy,” Brandon said. Honey’s ears pricked, and he ran off to investigate something in the woods.
Hunter climbed off the tractor, swiping his work hat off his head and mopping his brow before replacing it. “How was the clambake?” he called as he made his way over.
Brandon paused, his arm out as if he had to use it for balance. “The things I do for that woman.”
“Allie or Zoey?” Hunter asked carefully. He wasn’t sure how much Allie had shared with Brandon about how he’d ended up as a judge. From the sounds of it, she’d made it sound like a favor to her. Which, if he followed Zoey’s chain of favors, it was—technically.
“Allie. I love my sister, but there’s no way I’d sample 50-plus clam dishes for her.” He rubbed his belly. “If you ever wonder if you’re truly in love, ask and I’ll sign you up to judge the clambake.”
Hunter laughed nervously as he bit back his question about plowing fields for lemon bars. Bars which he’d not seen yet.
Brandon looked around, noting the tractor in the middle of his clearing. “You’re about 20 acres off … What’s going on?”
“I’m clearing the space for your arena.” Suddenly, Hunter was nervous about this whole thing in a whole new way. Zoey had said that Brandon was getting an arena out of this, but had she told him that? He had a sinking suspicion that this was all new to her brother. Oh boy!
“My arena?” Brandon confirmed Hunter’s worst fears.
Hunter was saved from having to explain by the rumble of another truck up the drive. He and Brandon turned to see Cash smiling through the windshield. The guy looked like he’d won bingo night at the festival, he was so happy. He pulled right up to the two and hopped out of the truck, hauling a large plate with him.
Before either of them could say anything, Zoey ran from her cottage house and waved to Cash. “You made it!”
“As promised.” Cash brandished the platter with a small bow.
Zoey picked it up off his palms, pivoted, and handed it to Hunter. “Paid in full.”
Hunter’s mouth watered as he inhaled the scent of lemon and shortcake. He’d first had a lemon bar when he was eight years old—he could remember the exact moment his life had changed forever. Growing up a Westbrook, he’d been handed chocolate from the time he could melt it in his chubby little fist. He’d eaten hand-dipped chocolates, brownies, cookies, cakes, and much more, not knowing that life could hold such zing! From that moment on, he became known as the Westbrook who didn’t like chocolate. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it—it was that he didn’t need it like the rest of his family.
He lifted a bar from the top of the stack and took a taste. His eyes dropped shut as the tart lemon exploded on his tongue. He moaned in pleasure. When he opened his eyes, Zoey was watching him, her cheeks flushed.
“What’s with the tractor?” asked Cash, breaking into their sweet and heated moment.
Brandon replied, “Apparently, I’m getting an arena.”
Zoey kicked a pebble. “Why are you surprised? You told me to work on it—I worked.” She waved her arm.
Brandon went still. “What do you mean by ‘worked’?” His eyes darted from Cash to her to the lemon bars, and then up to Hunter and back to her.
Hunter pulled the plate closer, feeling the need to protect his pay.
Zoey opened her mouth to answer, but Hunter’s phone ringing cut through the air. He would turn the volume all the way up so he’d hear it over the tractor engine.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. Shoving the tray to Cash, he dug out his phone. “Hey, Mom.”
Zoey motioned to a lemon bar, and he nodded. She picked one up and nibbled, her eyes brightening as the flavor took over. He bet she’d taste good right about now.
