Page 2 of Mud & Moxie
My brother’s best friend. The boy who once handed me marshmallows at bonfires—then told me my dreams were “fluff.” Dylan Carter. Ten years later, the sting still burns.
I adjust my bag strap, pretending the weight steadies me. It doesn’t. My gaze snags on the scar along his jaw, the mud on his boots, the way his flannel stretches across his shoulders. He shouldn’t look good. Not to me. Not after years of disdain.
“Doesn’t surprise me your brother would show,” he mutters, voice like gravel.
“Well, I didn’t expect to seeyouhere, bud.” Matthew’s words snap, sharper than mine. Protective, skeptical.
Dylan’s eyes flick over me, lingering on my damp hair, my wrinkled skirt. His mouth twitches—amused. “Guess city life doesn’t teach you how to handle a little rain.”
“Guess farm life doesn’t teach you basic manners,” I shoot back before I can stop myself.
Matthew groans softly. “You two sound like an old married couple.”
I choke out a laugh. “Over my dead body.”
Dylan smirks. “Careful what you wish for.”
Anger bubbles hot. He never misses a chance to dismiss me. My business, my success—none of it counts in his world. To him, I’m still the girl who left town. Still not enough.
Matthew shifts beside me, hand tightening on my shoulder, a silent warning not to escalate. “Easy,” he mutters, the warning for both of us.
Before I can retort, the office door creaks open. Mr. Jenkins peers out, adjusting his glasses. “If you’re both ready,” he says carefully, “we can begin.”
Both.The word slams into me. I look at Dylan, heart thudding. What could possibly require usbothhere?
Matthew’s gaze cuts between us, suspicion plain. His best friend and his sister. Oil and water. Trouble waiting to boil.
The farmers by the wall trade knowing looks, already plotting how this will spread over coffee tomorrow. By sunset, half the county will know Madison Wilkes clashed with Dylan Carter at the law office.
I can already imagine the hashtags: #CityGirl, #DoesntBelong, #Drama. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Because the more they believe I’m all gloss and filters, the harder I fight to prove I’m not.
And Dylan, infuriatingly, seems to be enjoying every second of my humiliation.
***
Dylan’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the flicker of surprise in his eyes. He masks it quickly, arms crossing over his chest, while I wear mine plain as day.
“Both?” I demand, sharper than I mean. My voice echoes in the hushed office.
Mr. Jenkins gestures us inside with a patronizing smile. “All will be explained shortly, Miss Wilkes. Mr. Carter.”
“Is it okay if my brother comes in with me?” I ask, suddenly desperate for his support.
“Certainly,” he replies.
The formality grates. Dylan uncrosses his arms, steps aside. “After you,” he says, voice dry as dust.
“Don’t strain yourself with chivalry,” I mutter as I march past him, folders pressed to my chest like armor.
The scent of cedar and rain-damp flannel trails behind me, too familiar. Dylan follows, boots thudding steady against the floor.
We sit side by side at Jenkins’s desk. His presence seeps into my skin. I shift, determined not to show it.
The office feels smaller with Matthew in the corner, arms crossed like a sentry. The steady tick of the clock is thunder in my ears. Jenkins clears his throat, papers shuffling. “Your uncle valued you both greatly. Which is why you’re here together.”
The words hit harder than the storm outside. Uncle Ray valued me? He valued Dylan? Enough to tangle us in some legal knot? My mind spins. Questions clog my throat.
Together. The word booms. Dylan’s jaw tightens, mine drops open. Matthew’s jaw works like he’s holding back words of his own. He looks ready to step between us, just like he did atbonfires and school hallways. But I’m not sixteen anymore. And Dylan isn’t just his best friend. He’s the storm I swore I’d never get caught in again.
