Page 43 of Beehives and Broken Heroes

“The morning show on WHHR,” he said. “Their morning crew.”

“The morning crew is Crew. Crew Keller,” she said.

He placed his hands on his hips. “Wait, the morning crew is just one guy?”

She nodded. “Yep. Lucy does the afternoon, and there’s another guy at night.”

“Named Crew?” His brow creased in the most adorable way.

“Where have you been?” Hunter asked. “Crew’s been doing the morning show for years.”

Brandon scowled. “So why does he call himself a crew?”

“It’s a play on words. Morning crew, crewsing into the weekend, you know.”

He gave her a blank look.

She had a thought and took advantage. “Crew helped with the cleanup yesterday.”

Brandon shot her a glance, a hint of a smile on his lips.

She was about to press her advantage about getting involved with Harvest Ranch, but Maverick spoke up before she could. “I can’t believe you didn’t know his name was Crew.”

Allie gave up. How many times had she hinted at Brandon getting involved with the cleanup projects happening all week? At least once a day, and it just wasn’t working. That was it. She quit. And that was fine. Brandon was the most active person she knew. He was up at the crack of dawn, worked hard on the farm, and for his family’s business all day, often working late into the night. It’d just be one more thing.

She glared at the Westbrooks, but they were teasing Brandon and throwing fake jabs at him, and Brandon was smiling and laughing along with them. Her frustration fizzled. Yeah, it’d be great if she could get Brandon involved in the town cleanup, but this . . . this right here was a big part of the reason she wanted him involved: so he’d make friends.

She felt a sudden and overwhelming love for the Westbrooks. Would it be weird if she hugged them?

They sure seemed to be around him a lot. She was glad. She liked the idea of him melding in with the townsfolk. The more he became a part of Harvest Ranch, the better, as far as she was concerned.

“Haven’t you ever walked past the news building before?” Hunter jabbed Brandon in the shoulder.

Brandon stepped out of Ralph’s way as he pulled a man-sized black bag from the bed of the truck and carried it into the barn. “I don’t usually have much reason to go to town. The honey shop, hardware store, and market—that’s about it.”

“We used to go by and try to make Crew laugh on air,” Hunter said. There were big windows in front of the radio station, like a fish tank, where you could watch the show. “He never did. Lucy was easier, but she just turns her back on us now.”

“That’s it,” Ralph said, brushing off his hands. “How many balloons will there be?”

“Gloria Dudley said thirty balloons. Counting ours,” Brandon said, moving next to Allie and putting his arm around her. “I’ll have to take you up. You’ll love it.”

Yeah, like that was going to happen. She grinned up at him.

Chapter 14

It was late, well past midnight, and Brandon couldn’t sleep. Not completely abnormal for him. He’d had therapy for years to deal with PTSD from his service while in Afghanistan. That was mostly under control with a few lapses now again. He’d also lost a lot of sleep over the years worrying about his family and dealing with the issues there. Since he’d moved to Harvest Ranch, those worries had lessened to the point that they were almost nonexistent now.

Tonight, the sleeplessness was for an entirely different reason. First, he’d been caught up in thoughts of Allie’s face when he’d told her he wanted to take her up in his hot-air balloon. She’d looked freaked, and it’d been all he could do to keep a straight face. Jo had told him about Allie’s first trip up in a balloon. Apparently, it hadn’t been pretty, but it had improved her tardy record at church. He’d get her over that fear.

Then those thoughts had gone to her other fears—ones she managed to be slightly more subtle about. She worried that at some point he might leave Harvest Ranch.

He wandered the halls of the old manor house in his pajamas, sweats, a T-shirt, and bare feet, popping into every room to have a look over it. He couldn’t stop thinking of what Allie had said. Of her repeated insistence that this was his house now and to do with it what he would.

Those words had hit a nerve. He had been tiptoeing about like he was a guest. And she was right: this was his house now. He’d watched her carefully when she’d insisted he do whatever he wanted with it. She hadn’t been placating. She’d meant what she’d said. That was just the kind of gal she was. She always said exactly what she thought, and he loved her for it. It was so refreshing from what he’d known.

Well, she said what she thought about most things. Except for her three-dates-a-week rule. She wanted to see him more than that, and she did, but for some reason she felt a need to make rules that she thought kept them from going too fast. They saw each other almost every day, but if it was for less than an hour, it didn’t count. Not that he minded. As long as he got to see her, spend time with her, she could impose whatever fake guidelines she wanted. No skin off his back.

He stopped at a room in the back of the house with pink paint and floral wallpaper and flicked on the light. He stood in the middle of it, hands on his hips, toes digging into the ugly pink rug under the sofas. It looked to be some kind of sitting room, but why someone would just want to go in there and sit was beyond him. It was so pink, and flowery, and breakable.

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