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  “How do you know that?” Kennedy asked.

  “Can’t tell my secrets to a stranger.” Holden winked and Jameson had an overwhelming urge to punch his friend. “I’m Holden, by the way.”

  What the hell was going on? Was Holden flirting with Kennedy? It sure looked that way to Jameson and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why that bothered him so much. It shouldn’t have even hit his radar. He’d seen Holden pick up hundreds of women—they loved him and flocked to his fun-loving disposition and quick smile. Why would Kennedy be any different? And why in the hell would the sight of it make Jameson so irate?

  “What made you decide today to ask for help?” Jameson interrupted the Holden lovefest. He couldn’t stand to watch her beaming smile aimed at his friend any longer.

  “After I was done at my mom’s house, I was putting away my tools and Reggie stopped for a chat. I’d had enough of his badgering months ago, but his visits are happening more frequently and today he told me if I thought things were tight now, they were about to get worse—”

  “He threatened you?” Nixon cut her off.

  “He’s been threatening me, Nixon. That’s how he gets people who don’t want to sell to sell. That’s why I’m here. I need to find a way to make him leave me alone, before things get any worse. I know he’s fuckin’ with me, but I can’t figure out how. I can’t prove anything, and I don’t know what he’s planning next.”

  Nixon’s jaw was clenching and Jameson knew his friend hated to bring up the sheriff’s department but it needed to be asked. “Have you reported him to the authorities?”

  Kennedy gave him a sad smile. Obviously having heard what Sheriff Dillinger had done to McKenna and her family softened her features and she nodded before she answered, “I have. Each time I went in, I was told there was nothing they could do. That Reggie wasn’t doing anything criminal by offering me money to purchase property. Rich Dillinger practically laughed at me and said he didn’t see an issue with Reggie’s offer no how, and I should sell before I lost my land to the bank.”

  “Fuckin’ dick,” Nix sneered and Jameson had to agree. “You in danger of losing your property?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Jameson could feel his muscles tighten as his body went taut with anger. The thought of sweet Kennedy Lane, who busted her ass to help her mama and worked hard to get what she had…she shouldn’t be in any kind of danger. She shouldn’t be feeling the stress of losing something she clearly loved.

  “But you are now?” Jameson practically growled his question.

  “It’s not that bad, but a few more shitty months and I’ll be seriously scrambling. And with my mom needing the extra help, and her insurance not kickin’ in to pay for Miss Janice, and paying out-of-pocket to build that new ramp, let’s just say it was a hit. But I do have money saved for a rainy day so I can pay you. I figure it’s raining now and I’d better patch the hole and put a stop to it before it’s pouring and I flood. So please, don’t let my financial situation stop you from helping. I can—”

  “You’re not paying us.”

  Three sets of eyes swung in Jameson’s direction and he’d have to admit he was as shocked at his declaration as they were.

  “No, really—”

  “As you said, you’ve known Nixon since you were five. You’ve helped his dad on this farm. We’re not taking your money.”

  “I’m not a charity case, Jameson. I have money. Not a lot, but I’ve been saving my whole life for an emergency.”

  “Didn’t say it and didn’t think it, Kennedy, so I know you’re not a charity. It’s the right thing to do. Neighborly, even.” Jameson knew his excuse was lame but it was the only one he had for his out-of-character behavior.

  He’d known when she first told him about her situation they wouldn’t be charging her. But finding out about her mom, and more about Reggie Coleman, cemented Jameson’s resolve.

  “I don’t take handouts. No way, no how. Either I pay or I find someone else,” she proclaimed and Jameson couldn’t help but notice how cute she was when she was trying to be stern.

  “It’s not a handout, it’s a public service. You said it yourself, he strong-armed the widow who lives next to you into selling when she didn’t want to. And I know I haven’t lived here long, but I pay attention and I find it difficult to believe she couldn’t find a farmer to rent her land to. Which means Reggie Coleman made it so she couldn’t. So if he pulled that shit with an old woman, God knows who else he’s done it to.”

  “What’s this about? What widow?” Nixon interjected.

  “Mrs. Nickels,” Kennedy sighed. “She couldn’t find anyone who wanted to rent the land after Mr. Nickels died, so she had to sell. Of course, Reggie Coleman was there to scoop it up, and at a ridiculously low price.”

  “All of it? Or did you buy your land back?”

  “All of it. Even if I could’ve afforded to buy it back from her, I couldn’t go it alone. I tried for a year, but even being only two-hundred and fifty acres, with the old equipment and everything that goes into the daily operations, I had to admit it was too much for me. It sucked when Mom had to sell it off, it sucked more when Reggie got it.”

  Nixon’s face was stone and Jameson knew his friend was feeling Kennedy’s loss. Nixon loved his dad’s farm and had given up a lot to come home and take care of it. Jameson hadn’t had much of anything growing up. His mom had done the best she could after his dad bailed, but they’d had to move a lot, so he’d never grown attached to places or things because he’d known he wouldn’t have either for long. He couldn’t begin to comprehend the connection either of them felt.

  “Jameson’s right, we’re not takin’ your money.” Nix lifted a hand and stopped Kennedy’s protest. “Hate to have to pull this card, especially because I knew your dad and he was a proud man, never took nothing from nobody without payment. But you’re in the position to let pride get in the way. You need our help, we’re gonna give it, and there’ll be no repayment. I don’t want to get into your personal business but unfortunately, we’re gonna have to do that, too. Jameson’s gonna take you to the sheriff’s station and you’re gonna talk to Jonny Spenser. But before you do that, Holden’s gonna check and see if Dillinger or anyone else in that office actually filed a report—”

  “There are no reports filed involving Reggie Coleman harassing anyone. No reports on him for anything, actually. Not even a speeding ticket in the last twenty years,” Holden cut in.

  “Didn’t think so,” Nix continued. “When you’re done at the station, head over to Kennedy’s. Her house is situated back from the road and surrounded by trees—I want cameras up ASAP.” Nixon’s directive was aimed at Jameson so he nodded his understanding.

  Kennedy frowned. “Wait. Cameras? Is that necessary? All I wanted was some sort of dirt I could use to make him stop,” she protested.

  “We’ll find that. But in the meantime, you need to be safe. I’m assuming you live alone.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Right. You gotta man that stays over regular?”

  Jameson once again stiffened. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind that she might’ve had a man. But now that Nixon had brought it up, Jameson’s gut soured and he held his breath waiting for her answer.

  “I don’t have time to clean out my damn truck, you think I have time for a man?” she joked, but there was something behind her flippant comment that made Jameson believe Nix had hit a sore spot.

  “Then yes, the cameras are necessary. It’s better to have them up and not needed than need them and not have them.”

  “But—”

  “How far back do you want me to dig?” Holden asked Nixon, cutting off Kennedy’s protest.

  “As far back as you need to go to find something,” Nix answered.

  It was time to leave. Holden was going to start asking questions that Jameson didn’t want her to hear. But more than that, he didn’t want her freaked out, and there was no doubt, Nix and Holden’s conversation w
ould do just that. A man like Reggie Coleman didn’t just wake up one morning and decide to be a prick—he’d been perfecting his tactics for a good long while. And Jameson would bet Mrs. Nickels the widow wasn’t the first woman Reggie’d fucked over, he’d bet she wasn’t even the fifth. So if sweet, pretty Kennedy Lane didn’t already know, Jameson wanted to keep it that way.

  “Come on, Kennedy, let’s head to the station.”

  “But—”

  “I want to get to your place before it gets dark.”

  “Can I talk?” she snapped.

  “Sure, when your ass is planted in my truck and we’re on the road.”

  “But we need to talk about me paying.”

  “We did, and it was decided you’re not paying.”

  Kennedy’s whole body transformed as she looked like she was getting ready to lose her shit. Her face was tinged pink, steel infused her spine, and she stood taller. And finally, her sexy bedroom eyes flashed with anger.

  “No one decides anything for me, Jameson. You two may think you’ve decided, but that doesn’t mean it’s a done deal.”

  “Think about—”

  “I am thinking, Nixon, and I’m thinking that you doing this for free feels like shit. I pay my bills. I make my own way. And it has nothing to do with pride and everything to do with what’s right. I don’t take advantage of other people’s kindness. You’re already doing me a favor by looking into this on short notice. I won’t have you doin’ it for free and I certainly won’t have you come outta pocket on it. I pay or I’ll find someone else.”

  “How many summers did you come over here and help my pop?” Nix asked.

  “He paid me.”

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know, Nix. Every summer since I was thirteen until the year he passed.”

  “Right. And when he got sick, you come over here and help out around the house? You mow his grass, even though he bitched he didn’t want you to? You bring him food? You come over and check in on him, keep him company?”

  Kennedy didn’t say anything and Jameson knew Nix had made his point.

  “Not the same thing, Nixon, and you know it. I loved your dad—he was there for me and my mom when my dad died. And I should’ve done more for your dad.”

  “It is the same thing. There’s a debt to be paid, and it’s mine. I owe you. And you know if my pop was around, he’d have my ass in a sling if I didn’t take care of you. You and I may not have spoken in many years, but my dad told me everything you’d done for him. How much he appreciated your help, especially in the end. And if you don’t think me knowing that you were here taking care of my old man when I couldn’t didn’t go a long way to help my guilt, you’d be wrong. Don’t fight me on this, Kennedy. We’re taking care of this for you.”

  Kennedy’s body slumped as she realized Nix wasn’t backing down. Jameson hadn’t known all that the woman had done for Nixon’s dad, but hearing it, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. Kennedy Lane was a good person, through and through. And as much as Jameson liked hating everything and everyone, he just might like Kennedy.

  And now that he knew he liked her as a person, it was going to make the attraction he felt toward her even harder to tamp down.

  Someone as bright and cheery as Kennedy didn’t need Jameson’s bad attitude and black soul to darken her world. No, she belonged in the bright, brilliant light, and Jameson knew he was best left to his cold solitude.

  The fuck of it was, for once Jameson wanted to know what it felt like to be wrapped in warmth.

  4

  Kennedy

  I was annoyed Nixon had pulled his father into the money conversation. It’d been a low blow. But once he’d started ticking off the things I’d done for Mr. Swagger, like I was some goody-two-shoes, I knew I’d lost.

  I hadn’t helped Mr. Swagger because I wanted gratitude, I hadn’t even done it to return the kindness he’d showed my mom and me after my dad died. I did it because all I could think about was my own mom. If I’d been off serving my country like Nixon had been and my mom was all alone, I’d want someone to help her.

  I truly believed you reaped what you gave. I knew that some people thought I was a pushover because I never said no when someone needed help, and I offered my time more than I received back. But the truth was, even though I had very little, I had more than some. I would never allow others’ inability to do the right thing make me a pessimistic bitch. That didn’t make me a pushover, it made me a good person.

  “I’m sorry,” I told Jameson as we pulled out of Nixon’s lane.

  “For what?”

  “I’m sure a trip to the sheriff’s office wasn’t how you’d envisioned your afternoon going. Or should I say evening.”

  The sun had sunk farther into the western sky, streaking the horizon with yellow and orange. Even though Jameson had said he wanted to look at my place while he still had daylight, I didn’t think that was going to happen.

  “Had nothing else planned,” he said, not taking his eyes off the road.

  “Well, at least you shoulda let me drive my own car. That way you didn’t have to go back to Nixon’s to drop me off and waste more of your time.”

  “Need to go back there anyway, considering that’s where I live.”

  “You do? I didn’t know that.”

  “Yep. Nixon moved out a while ago and moved in with McKenna, Zack, and Mandy. All of us live there.”

  I didn’t know who all Jameson was talking about, but I assumed he meant Holden and the other guys I’d heard he’d worked with.

  “I love that for Nix. I’d heard he moved in with McKenna, but I also know you can’t believe half the shit you hear.”

  “Only half?”

  “No, you’re right. It’s more like you can’t believe ninety percent of what’s floatin’ around.”

  “Now that I believe.” Jameson smiled and once again the small gesture changed his whole appearance.

  I wasn’t nosey by nature but I was curious as to why he always looked like he was pissed about something. To say he’d perfected the resting bitch face would be an understatement. Only on him it was more like a, ‘I’m a total badass and could snap you in two so don’t even think of talking to me’, face.

  At some point in Jameson’s life he’d been burned, that much was obvious. But what I didn’t know, and it’d never be my place to ask, was why he’d kept picking at the scab. Maybe whatever happened was so bad, he used the fresh pain as a reminder so he didn’t fall prey again.

  It was none of my business but I felt a little sad for him. Likely a man like Jameson wouldn’t appreciate me feeling any sort of way about his private life, but it didn’t make the sadness any less true.

  “You said, all of us live at Nixon’s old place. Who’s all of you?”

  “Me, Holden, Chasin, and Weston. Though I don’t know if you saw it, but Holden lives in his Airstream. He has it parked up at the barn.”

  “Why does he live in a trailer?” I asked before I thought better of it.

  “Don’t let him hear you call his fully restored, prized possession a trailer. He can get snippy about the Silver Bullet.” Jameson was joking, I could hear it in his voice and it made him sound way more likeable.

  “Noted.” I smiled back even though I doubted I’d be in the man’s presence again.

  “And he lives in it because he likes his privacy maybe only a tad bit more than I like my own. There’s three bedrooms in the farmhouse, none of us were real keen on having to double-up, but even if it was a ten-bedroom mini mansion, he’d still prefer his Airstream.”

  That was a little strange—opting to live in a trailer by a barn—but hey, to each their own. And I’d never had an issue with privacy, considering I was an only child and it’d been me and my mom since I was seventeen. Hell, some days I wished there was someone else’s voice or mess in my house. But then I remembered why it was that I still, at thirty-one, lived alone, and immediately redirected my depressing thoughts. No one wanted a tomboy
who had barely enough time to shower every day, forget about making time to actually date or buy a dress.

  Plus I was that tomboy and I had no interest in finding the time to buy a dress. If a man couldn’t like me in my work jeans with my hair pulled up, then he wasn’t worth the effort. So, why did I care that Jameson had seen me in my daily grubbies, and not freshly-showered at least?

  “Where’d you go?” Jameson asked, pulling me from my thoughts of growing old alone with only the buzzing of my bees to keep me company.

  “Huh?” I looked at him, and since he was stopped at one of the few red lights in town, he was staring at me.

  “You looked like you were a hundred miles away.”

  “Oh, I was just thinking about all the chores I have left to do tonight,” I lied.

  Jameson nodded and went back to looking at the road. I had a feeling he knew I wasn’t telling the truth, but he’d said he liked his privacy so I suspected he was giving me mine.

  It was a damn shame, too, because I figured it wouldn’t have taken much coaxing from him and I would’ve spilled my life story and how tired I was of always carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. That just for once I wished I had someone to talk to. Sure I had friends, and they’d take the time, but most of them were now married and had their own concerns. And my friends that were still single were only that way for short periods of time, then they’d find themselves a man and get lost in the newness of passion until they realized they’d picked another Mr. Wrong and go back on the prowl.

  I wasn’t prone to feeling sorry for myself, I didn’t have the energy or time for it. But all this Reggie business, and being afraid that one more misstep or financial hit and I’d lose the rest of the farm my dad had worked so hard to give us, was wearing me down.

  I just needed to sleep on it and tomorrow I’d be back to my old self. Strong. Independent. Resilient. That’s what my dad used to always say about me. He’d believed in me when his friends had chuckled at his daughter out working the fields with him. He’d always say, ‘My girl’s just as strong as any boy and she works harder.’ And I did work harder, I had to. In this small town, being a girl didn’t work in your favor, not if you wanted to do anything that resembled man’s work.