Page 3 of Mud & Moxie
And maybe the cruelest part? Some corner of me knows that for all my city polish, my curated feeds, my influencer deals—I’m not immune. One look from Dylan Carter and I’m back at bonfires and barns, to rejection and the pull of something I never shook.
Whatever comes next, it won’t be simple.
And for the first time since I walked in, I realize this storm is just beginning.
***
2
The WILL
DYLAN
The grandfather clock in Jenkins’s office ticks like a hammer against my skull. Each clang collides with the rumble of thunder beyond the window. The smell of old leather, damp wool, and rain drifting through the cracked pane presses down on the room. I’ve sat here before—leases, contracts, handshakes that spelled another season working Ray Wilkes’s land. But this time, the air feels heavier. Ray is gone. And I’m sitting shoulder to shoulder with Madison Wilkes, of all people.
I angle my knee away from her, trying to carve out space. She still carries that city perfume, sharp under the rainwater, jarring in a room of dust and wood polish. My jaw tightens. If I breathe too deep, I’ll remember things I swore I buried.
Jenkins clears his throat and opens a folder. His voice is steady, formal. “We’re here to execute the last WILL and testament of Raymond Wilkes. Raymond valued both of you, which is why you are both named.”
Both.The word stings. Uncle Ray wasn’t blood, but my family has farmed his acres for years. We turned the soil, filled the silos. Every spring, I walked those fields with him, listening to stories about my father and the first Carter hands who broke ground there. If I thought about it too long, he felt more like kin than landlord.
Jenkins adjusts his glasses. “To my niece, Madison Wilkes, I leave half ownership of Wilkes Farm and Estate. To Dylan Carter, I leave the other half.”
Even half-expected, the words land hard. My chest tightens, not with shock but with weight. Half ownership. Not just a lease. Not another season. This land—Ray’s land—is mine now. Ours.
Beside me, Madison stiffens. I don’t need to look to picture her eyes wide, her mouth parted in that stubborn mix of outrage and disbelief. She didn’t grow up walking these fields until her back gave out. She grew up chasing skylines and likes. And now she owns half of what I’ve spent my life preparing for.
Jenkins keeps talking. “The condition is this: you must co-manage the property together for six months. If either of you withdraws before the term ends, the property reverts to the county for auction.”
Six months. My throat knots. Six months with Madison Wilkes. The girl who left without goodbye. The woman who breezed in today like a storm in heels and hashtags. She doesn’t know the first thing about running a farm.
I keep my expression flat. Inside, grief for Ray tangles with fury at the mess he’s left me in. He trusted me to keep this land alive. And he trustedher.
Balance, Jenkins says, like that explains anything. Maybe Ray thought her business sense could match my calloused hands. Maybe he thought throwing us together would force something to grow. All I feel is the floor tilting beneath me.
I finally turn my head. She looks at me like I’m the last person she’d choose. I’m thinking the same damn thing.
This is going to be hell.
***
Madison shifts in her chair, the leather creaking. Lips pressed tight. I know that look—it means an explosion’s coming. That’s what she does—she storms, she flares, she leaves scorched earth in her wake.
Jenkins shuffles the papers. “Raymond wanted it clear—this is not symbolic. It is a working agreement. Equal say in operations, expenses, and management decisions. Nothing moves forward without both signatures.”
There it is. The knife twist. Equal say. I picture her weighing in on crop rotations or equipment repairs, manicured nails tapping on her phone while I’m knee-deep in mud. The thought makes my stomach knot.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her inhale, steadying herself. Insulted? Overwhelmed? Hard to tell. Ray once told me Madison had grit hidden under the polish. I laughed then. I’m not laughing now.
My hands tighten on my knees, callouses scraping denim. “And if one of us walks?” The words rasp harsher than I mean.
Jenkins glances up. “Then the farm reverts to county auction. Raymond was adamant.”
A cold weight settles in my chest. County auction. Outsiders with deep pockets could swoop in, turn Ray’s land into something unrecognizable. I won’t let that happen. Not after everything we poured into these fields. Not after every promise I made him.
I glance at Madison. She’s staring at Jenkins, eyes wide but fierce, already calculating angles. She won’t back down.Different reasons, same result. She’ll fight for this farm, even if she doesn’t know how.
Me? I’ll fight because it’s in my blood. Which means six months of battle ahead.
