Page 7 of Mud & Moxie
I tip the brim of my cap lower, as if it can shield me from both the rain and the truth. But nothing can cover the way seeing her again cracks me open, pulling me back to a place I swore I’d left behind.
***
The rain forces us across the street to the diner, its neon sign buzzing weakly against the storm-dark sky. Inside, the air smellsof coffee, fried bacon, and the faint sweetness of pie cooling on the counter. It’s warmer here, too warm, like the town itself is trying to smother me in nostalgia. I shrug off my damp jacket and slide into a booth. Dylan follows, Matthew taking the end seat like he’s the referee no one asked for.
A waitress drops off menus, eyeing the three of us with open curiosity. I can already hear how this scene will spread—Madison Wilkes back in town, sitting across from Dylan Carter, brother Matthew standing guard. By tomorrow, half the county will have an opinion on what it means.
Dylan keeps his cap low, scanning the menu he probably knows by heart. I clear my throat, letting sarcasm coat my words. “Don’t suppose you’ll recommend the kale salad.”
He huffs, the closest he gets to a laugh. “Kale doesn’t belong within fifty miles of this place.”
Matthew shoots us both a look, one brow arched. “Don’t start.” His voice carries the weight of every time he’s had to step between us.
I bite back a retort, sipping the water the waitress set down. The glass is cold, grounding. My phone buzzes in my bag, no doubt messages piling up from sponsors and followers. But here, under Dylan’s steady gaze and Matthew’s protective shadow, the city feels a million miles away.
The waitress returns with coffee for Dylan and pie for Matthew, who digs in like he hasn’t eaten all day. Between bites, he levels Dylan with a glare. “You remember she’s my sister. That hasn’t changed.”
Dylan doesn’t flinch. “I remember.” His voice is quiet, almost respectful. For a second, I glimpse the boy who once put a wildflower crown on my head and grinned like he knew a secret.
I shift in my seat, unsettled by the warmth creeping in with the steam from the coffee cups.
This town is watching.
Matthew is watching.
And I’m not sure which scares me more—the judgment in their eyes or the truth unraveling in mine.
***
4
The Farmhouse Pact
MADISON
The next morning I agree to catch a ride with Dylan to the farm. The gravel crunches under his tires as we turn down the rutted lane. When the farmhouse comes into view, my breath snags. Paint peels in tired curls, the porch sags toward the earth, one shutter flaps and knocks a slow, hollow rhythm in the wind. Beyond, fields lie untended—rows gone fuzzy at the edges where weeds creep in, fences leaning as if they’re tired of standing guard.
Matthews truck is already in the yard.
Dylan parks. I step out carefully, in ‘city’ boots according to Dylan, sinking into the softened ground until the gravel finds me again. The house looks like it’s holding its breath—like it’s waiting to see if we’re the kind who show up or the kind who turn around.
***
MATTHEW
The barn is dimly lit, the scent of hay and aged wood surrounds me as I lean against a familiar beam. This place, a sanctuary of memories, feels like the only space where I can let my guard down.
I find comfort in a faded photograph—a snapshot of Ray in his younger days, leaning casually on the fence, a grin wide and reassuring. Holding it is like a ritual that links me to the past. Our past; Madison, Dylan, me, and our connection with Ray.
"Ray, you always saw things clearer than the rest of us. You had this way of looking at land and people and knowing what they could be, not just what they were. I wonder if you knew how much I clung to that clear vision of yours.
Your vision for me when I was starting the Mill helped me more than you'll ever know. Out here, it's just me and your echoes, trying to make sense of what you left us to do.
You gave half the farm to Dylan because you saw his potential, his work ethic. You knew he’d fight for it like his life depended on it. And you gave the other half to my sister, not because she needed it, but because you trusted she’d bring a piece of herself worth more than gold.
Keeping the farm isn’t just about soil or profit—it’s about you, Ray. It’s about not letting you down. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure Madison and Dylan think the same.”
Matthew places the photograph between the pages of Ray’s old ledger, a silent promise to uphold more than just a legacy. Standing straighter, he breathes in the silence, fortified by it. He steps back into the barn’s embrace with a new confidence echoing his resolve.
