Page 4 of Mud & Moxie
***
Jenkins drones on, but all I hear is blood rushing in my ears, tangled with the steady drum of rain. Equal authority. Six months. Auction if we fail. The words clang like loose bolts in my skull.
Madison finally speaks. “So let me get this straight—we have to agree oneverything? Budgets, repairs, planting, sales?” She leans forward, eyes flashing. “What if we can’t?”
Her tone twists something in me—half irritation, half grudging respect. At least she isn’t pretending.
Jenkins steeples his fingers. “Then nothing moves forward. That was Raymond’s stipulation. Full cooperation, or not at all.”
I rub the back of my neck, bitter laughter threatening. Cooperation with Madison?
She plans hashtags. I plan yield per acre. Oil and water.
She exhales sharply, muttering, “Unbelievable.”
I bite. “You think this is some kind of game? A six-month getaway to boost your brand?”
My voice cuts low. “This is real work, Madison. Work you don’t know the first damn thing about.”
Her head whips toward me, eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare stand there and act like I don’t belong, like Ray didn’t trust me enough to put me in this WILL.”
The air between us snaps tight. Grief edges into my anger. Ray trusted her, too.
Maybe he saw something I can’t. But all I feel is her glare and the sinking certainty we’ll tear each other apart before we save an acre.
Jenkins clears his throat louder. “I suggest you both remember whose wishes we’re honoring.”
I drag my gaze away, fists clenched. Fine. Six months. Ray’s way. But I know—we’re heading straight into war.
***
Jenkins leans forward, eyes flicking between us like he’s refereeing. “Raymond also requested you begin management immediately. There will be no delay.”
Madison’s head jerks. “Immediately? As in—when?”
“Tomorrow,” Jenkins says smoothly. “The fall planting cycle is critical. The sooner you work together, the better the chances.”
Tomorrow. The word lands like a punch. My family always lived by planting cycles. Madison probably thought she had time to ease in, time to figure out how to wedge farm boots into her designer closet.
Her mouth opens, then closes, uncharacteristically silent. I almost smirk, but grind my teeth instead. Ray really set us up.
“Fine,” I say. “Tomorrow. I’ll be there at dawn. Fences down on the east pasture, barn roof needs patching.”
She glares, sharp as steel. “You don’t get to bark orders, Dylan. This is a partnership.”
“Then start acting like it,” I snap. “Because the farm won’t wait for you.”
Thunder rattles the windows. Inside, the air is just as charged. Jenkins exhales, closing the folder with a thud. “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow you begin.”
Settled. Not even close.
Ray didn’t just tie us to a farm.
He lit a fuse.
***
Silence follows, thick enough to choke. Madison straightens, chin tipped like she’s posing for cameras instead of covering nerves. I used to think it was arrogance. Now I wonder if it’s armor.
