Page 68 of The Back Forty
By the time I get back to the house, the sun’s already sunk behind the mountain peaks, leaving the sky streaked in smoky blue and burnt orange.
It’s later than I meant for it to be. I’d planned to be home before dark, catch Dani before she started packing or worse, talked herself into thinking her only option is going back to live with her sister. But after our moment behind the Tilt-a-Whirl, Cash roped me into tearing down the petting zoo and packing up the chickens. Then Colt wandered over, told me Molly had to put the baby to bed and Regan needed to rest her back, which meant Rae, Lydia and I were on our own dismantling the food booth that we built from scratch.
After that, I made the mistake of making eye contact with Marcus from the fair planning committee who wanted an update on how Beckham was liking the new head coach for his school's football team. Before I could get out of that conversation, RhettMiller from Whitewood Creek Plumbing flagged me down to ask for help loading up what felt like fifty port-a-potties onto his trailer, since three of his guys were out with food poisoning.
I didn’t ask for the details, but I know for sure it wasn't because of the food at the Marshall booth. Probably that sketchy funnel-cake truck that Rae approved as mayor and chief of the fair planning committee when I told her not to.
Now, my back’s wrecked, my shoulders ache like I’ve been trampled by a bull, and my stomach’s been eating itself for the past hour. But I didn’t stop for food. Didn't want to risk missing Dani before she made her escape.
I’ve been texting her all evening, updating her, stalling her, begging her not to go until we can talk. And when she stopped responding, I pulled the boss card like a damn coward. Told her we needed to discuss our itinerary for next week. About the flights for Tuesday.
Total bullshit since we both know she's already booked them and knows the schedule better than I do, but I knew it’d keep her here until I could get back. If there’s one thing I can count on right now, it’s Dani’s loyalty to the job. She takes pride in her work just like I do. And that's why we've worked so well together this past year.
When I step inside the front door, the house smells incredible. Warm. Savory. Something like meatloaf and maybe sweet onions and fresh herbs hangs in the air, thick and homey. It smells like the kind of house people come home to. Not the one I usually live in which is empty or reeks of Beckham's sports socks.
I toe off my boots by the door, eyes scanning the living room. Lights are low and it's peaceful in here. Then I follow the scent into the kitchen and there she is.
Dani's standing at the table, setting down a serving platter with a golden-brown meatloaf. There’s already a salad on the wooden surface, and a glass pitcher of tea sweating beside it. The ice clinks as she sets down the last of the forks and napkins.
My gaze rakes over her form appreciatively. She’s changed into a sundress. It’s yellow, soft, a little wrinkled like she’s been wearing it for hours, and it hugs her in all the right places. Brings out the golden flecks in her brown eyes, a nice dip in the front that lets me see her full tits and reminds me that I still haven't seen them or touched them the way that I want to. She’s smiling, but it’s not for me. It’s for my kid.
Beckham’s already seated at the table, napkin tucked into his shirt like a caveman, talking a mile a minute about his video games and football season. He’s gesturing wildly with his hands, and Dani’s listening like whatever he’s saying is the most important thing she’s heard all day.
I lean in the doorway and just watch them together. The way his eyes light up when she laughs. The way her whole face goes soft around him. I don’t know when they built this kind of bond, but the realization knocks me flat. I missed it happening. Missed how she snuck her way into not just my house but my kid’s heart while I was off traveling.
What’s that rule I made about not looking at her that way? About keeping my distance because she’s an employee. Yeah, well, that’s feeling like a load of shit right about now.
Half of our staff’s tangled up in some kind of relationship. Molly’s a cop and Rae’s the damn mayor, but they both still draw paychecks from the Marshall family enterprises because they find their selves working on the egg farm or distillery often, pulling way more than their weight when they're not doing their other jobs.
That's just what we do. All of us. And here I am, pretending I’m somehow different. That starting something with Dani would be wrong when it feels like the rightest thing I could choose.
I’ve been scared. Maybe because from the moment I saw Dani, I knew that if I had her, I wouldn’t be able to let her go and she'd change my mind about everything for good. She’s the first woman I’ve ever looked at and thought: I could build something with you. Not just a night. A life.
“Hey,” she says, finally noticing me watching. Her voice is soft and hesitant. There’s a shyness in her expression I’ve never seen from her before.
I want to walk over and kiss her right now. Just cup her jaw and tilt her mouth to mine, stake a claim in front of my kid and let him know Dani's sticking around for good. But I don’t. I get the feeling that she'd hate that type of possessive behavior. Plus, I need her to talk to me and tell me what she's thinking about.
“Hey,” I say instead. “What’s all this for?”
She smiles and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “A thank you. For letting me stay here these last couple days.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Her look says it all. That’s the same thing I said this morning when she got on her knees and blew my fucking mind with her mouth. I can still feel the way my balls tightened so fast right before I unloaded down her throat and the little moan she gave on my tip as she sucked up everything that I gave her.
Fuck, Lawson, don't get hard in front of your son right now.
“I know,” she says, her voice soft. “But I wanted to.”
I take a seat next to her, the table warm and full in a way it hasn’t been in years. Dani serves Beckham first then reaches for my plate next.
“Thank you,” I murmur, brushing my fingers against hers intentionally when she passes it back to me. Her cheeks flush, and I see that flicker of awareness in her eyes. That spark. I should probably play it cool, but I won’t.
“So,” I say, shifting my attention to Beckham. “How was your night?”
“Oh dad,” he says, bouncing a little in his chair. “Kirk and I hit every ride at the fair. Then we met up with Lacey and went on the Ferris wheel.”
My eyebrows climb because is the girl thing starting already? “Lacey?” I ask.
