Page 22 of Mud & Moxie
I jerk back, heat flooding my face. Dylan’s hand drops, his jaw tight. For a second, the raw heat in his eyes flickers into something else—frustration, maybe regret.
Matthew’s gaze narrows. He doesn’t speak, but the warning is clear:don’t hurt her.
I press a hand to my chest, pulse racing. We were a breath away. Seconds from something I can’t take back.
And now, I don’t know if I want to.
***
10
The Kiss
DYLAN
The sky hasn’t learned mercy. By dusk, another storm piles up on the horizon, darker and meaner than the last. Clouds bruise purple, thunder growls low, and a hot wind rattles the loose tin on the machine shed. Even the cattle shift uneasy in the pasture, tails swishing as if they can smell trouble.
I should be inside checking the generator. I should be doing a hundred useful things. Instead, I find myself pacing the yard with Madison at my heels, both of us spoiling for a fight we haven’t named yet. The first raindrops smack the dust hard enough to raise the smell of iron and earth, sharp and metallic. My pulse syncs with the sky—fast, restless, waiting for the break.
“You’re impossible,” she mutters behind me, voice edged like glass. “Every time I try to help, you shut me out. You’d rather wrestle the storm alone than admit you might need me.”
I turn, the words striking deeper than they should. Rain slicks her hair to her cheeks, lashes spiked. She looks like defiancecarved out of lightning. And maybe she’s right. I’ve carried weight so long, I don’t know how to hand it over.
The wind kicks harder, tossing water sideways. Thunder cracks, close enough to rattle my bones.
Everything feels like it’s about to snap—the storm, the farm, me.
And standing there in the middle of it is Madison, daring me to admit the truth.
***
The rain thickens fast, slanting like a curtain between us and the rest of the world. Madison crosses her arms, chin tilted, daring me to argue. Fine. She doesn’t have to wait long.
“You think this is a game?” I snap, louder than I mean to. “Roof patches, market smiles, playing house for the neighbors—it’s not a brand, Madison. It’s survival. If this place falls, it doesn’t just hurt me. It hurts crews, suppliers, families who depend on the contracts.”
Her eyes flash. “You think I don’t understand pressure? I built my business from nothing, Dylan. I work eighteen-hour days feeding content to people who forget me the second I stop posting. I know what it means to keep something alive when the odds are stacked against you.”
“Hashtags and filters won't hold a roof on,” I bite out, the words tasting bitter the moment they leave. “That’s not the same as weather and debt and land that doesn’t care if you’re tired.”
She steps closer, rain plastering her shirt to her frame, every word sharp as hail. “And you’re so stuck in your pride you can’t see that maybe my skills could save this place. Marketing, branding, events—those could pay bills just as much as soybeans and corn.”
Lightning rips across the sky, bleaching her face pale and fierce. The thunder that follows shakes the ground, but it’snothing compared to the quake in my chest. Because she’s right. And admitting it feels impossible.
“You don’t belong here,” I grind out, half a plea, half a shield.
“I do if I fight for it,” she fires back. “Same as you.”
The storm surges, rain drumming hard enough to drown reason.
The argument crackles like live wire, each word pulling us closer, until the heat between us has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with everything we’ve tried to bury.
***
The distance between us disappears in a blink. One second we’re spitting words like weapons, the next a magnetic force pulls us together. The rain pelts down, thunder cracks again, I catch her wrist, hauling her against me. Her breath stutters, warm against my mouth despite the cold rain.
Far off, headlights smear through the rain. A truck bounces into the yard, tires hissing on the wet gravel—Matthew’s rig. I barely register it in the heat of the moment, too consumed by Madison to think of anything else.
I kiss her. It’s not careful. It’s not rehearsed.
