Chapter 6

Jackson

I don't know why I thought this bonfire would be a good idea.

Actually, correction. I didn't think it sounded like a good idea. But I went along with it anyway.

Ash has a beaming smile on his face as he reclines in his Adirondack chair, another of my dad's projects from years back. He's laughing at whatever story Colton is telling, but I don't hear a word of it.

I'm too caught up in him .

Bad fucking idea, that's what this is. The whiskey sure isn't helping, even though I'm sipping slow. I need to keep my distance and my head. I need…

"Wait, wait," Ash says, his tone capturing my attention. "The Darling Donkey, as in he belongs to the town?"

"That's right," Colton says.

"And he just…wanders?" Ash asks. "Like, he goes wherever he wants?"

"No one's gonna tell him no," Colton says. "But he's got a bell to warn you when he's coming."

Ash lets out a laugh that sounds incredulous. "Jesus. Is he really that bad?"

"Worse," Lawson answers, looking more aware than he did earlier. More like his usual self. I'm glad to see it. "He bit my arm when I was sixteen. Still have a mark."

Lawson tugs up his sleeve to show Ash in the low light of the fire. A crescent-shaped scar mars the outside of his forearm.

"Holy shit," Ash says. "Wait, sixteen? How old is this donkey?"

My brothers all pause, seemingly doing the math.

"Thirty-two," I answer.

Ash's wide eyes swing my way. "Thirty-fucking-two?" he repeats, apparently over his concern about swearing. "How long can donkeys live?"

"Forty or so is a pretty standard upper limit," I tell him.

"So there's a senile donkey terrorizing the town, and you're all okay with that?" Ash asks, sounding amused now.

Colton shrugs. "He earned his due. Saved little Marjory Bell when he was just a foal."

"The donkey saved a girl?" Ash asks.

Remi smiles, the tale a favorite of his, but it's Lawson who speaks up. "The story is legendary around here. The Bells are an old family in town. They own the distillery. When Marjory was three, she wandered off while the family was having a picnic. No one could find her until the Darling Donkey came trotting down the road, braying wildly. Curious, a few folks followed him to where, half a mile away, little Marjory had fallen into a sinkhole."

"Holy shit," Ash breathes.

"So, yes," Lawson says before taking a sip of his whiskey. "He's an asshole, but he's our asshole."

For some reason, Colton looks at me and grins. I flash him my middle finger.

"That's wild," Ash says, shaking his head. He's leaning back in his chair, looking utterly at ease with his legs splayed comfortably and his whiskey tin in one hand. The other runs through his hair, causing the strands to fall messily around his eyes before he tucks them back behind his ear.

I swallow down my groan.

"What about you, Jackson?" Ash asks, startling me, even though I'm looking right at him. "Any wild stories? Other than the midnight skinny-dipping, of course."

Colton snorts. "Jackson doesn't do wild."

"What does that mean?" I gripe.

"C'mon, bro. You're too dependable. Too mature ."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I mutter. If anything, Colton's the one who could use a little more maturity in his life.

My brother shrugs. "It's not. But name the last time you went and let loose."

Silence falls around the campfire.

"He needs to get laid," Remi says.

I sputter, staring at my traitorous brother. He just smiles back at me. "Jesus fucking Christ. I don't know why I put up with this shit."

"Come on, Jackson," Remi says evenly. "Otto left—"

"No," I cut in.

"—over two years ago."

"It's time to move on," Colton adds gently, like he's talking to a spooked horse.

"Really?" I ask that particular brother. "You're talking to me about moving on? What about Noah King?"

Colton immediately scowls. "Did you fucking see this?" he asks, shifting around enough to pull something from his back pocket. He unfolds what appears to be a small newspaper clipping. "Look at this. ‘King Farrier Service, the best shoeing in three counties.'" He slaps the paper closed before shoving it back in his pocket. " Three counties . What a fucking dick."

"You keep that in your pocket?" Remi asks.

"He's just trying to get back at me," Colton goes on. "This is a direct attack on the ad I put out last month."

"Where you claimed to be the best farrier in town," Lawson says.

"Well I am," Colton counters, tone hot. "You telling me I'm not?"

"Oh boy," Lawson says evenly.

As my brothers start to bicker, I toss back the rest of my whiskey. Ash's eyes catch mine from across the fire, and there's something in his expression I'm not expecting. It takes me a second to place it. Sympathy . It's the last thing I want.

I set my tin cup on the ground before standing. "'Scuse me," I say to nobody in particular.

The trek to my back door is short, the long grasses and weeds crunching underfoot as I walk. I tug the door firmly closed behind me before pacing into the bathroom and bracing myself against the sink.

Otto .

"Goddamn it," I mutter, pushing off from the basin. I piss, zip up and wash my hands, and then step back into the hall. I come up short when I see Ash leaning against the back door.

He followed me. Again .

"Nice place," he says casually, looking around. From the back hall, he can see a good portion of the house. The hallway is short, just my bedroom on one side, the bathroom on the other. Further in, the space opens up, high ceilings covering the living area off to the left and the kitchen to the right. Wooden posts and beams are exposed throughout, and cream-colored walls keep the place light.

"Thanks," I mutter, crossing my arms. Unless I want to go through Ash, it appears I'll have to wait.

"The…full moon incident," he says. "Was that because of your ex?"

Fucking hell . How did he guess that?

I don't say anything, but Ash nods, as if he gets it. How could he?

"What are you doing in here?" I ask, my tone harsher than I intend.

He shrugs lightly. "They started talking about him again, and…it didn't feel right hearing it without you knowing."

"Why?" I ask, at a loss.

He shrugs again. "Exes are personal."

This conversation feels dangerous, as if we're teetering on the edge of a precipice I'm not yet ready to face.

Ash must be able to read it from my expression because he shoots me a soft smile. "Bathroom?"

I push the door next to me wide, and he nods, stepping forward. Before I can move, he's slipping past me into the bathroom, his arm brushing my chest. I hold my breath, not moving a muscle. But I swear—I swear —he slows down, making the contact linger. His eyes meet mine, stormy, stormy gray, and then he's past.

I walk down the hall, not bothering to wait for Ash before heading outside. The fire flickers a couple dozen feet away, my brothers' laughter ringing through the night air.

I move forward, my feet following the less perilous path.

When I wake, it's midmorning, the sun shining brightly and accosting my eyes. Damned whiskey .

I take my time getting out of bed. Technically, it's my day off. But that doesn't mean much. I work seven days a week, regardless of whether or not I should, according to my family.

The morning crew will already be hard at work this time of day, but my own business isn't pressing. So I take a shower, brew a pot of coffee, and sip it from a mug while catching up with a few online reports. By the time I make my way over to the ranch house, it's nearly noon.

I hear singing when I step inside the door, and it's so unexpected, I stop still to listen. It's a Neil Young song, if I'm not mistaken. "Heart of Gold."

Ash's voice is smooth as he sings about getting old and searching for love or maybe just companionship. Whatever it is, he feels it, the words soft and sweet and full of an aching melancholy that makes my own chest constrict. Not wanting to interrupt, I stand inside the doorway for long minutes, just listening. Until a soft throat clear comes from nearby.

My mom gives me a knowing smile from the doorway to the mudroom. She must have come in that way while I wasn't looking. "Sure is pretty, don'tcha think?"

I grunt, ignoring her soft laughter as I head down the hall. Ash has switched to humming by the time I reach the kitchen, and despite girding myself for it, the sight of him still sends a jolt through me.

"Hey," he says, noticing me immediately. He's standing in front of the counter, an apron draped over his neck and tied around his waist as he kneads dough. His hands and forearms are dusted in flour, the smooth planes of his face lit by the midday sun that's shining in through the south-facing window.

"What're you doing?" I ask gruffly.

He wings up a blonde eyebrow, sparing me the briefest of glances before refocusing on the dough. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It's your day off."

"Yeah, well, I really wanted to get a loaf of gluten-free bread made up for Ira's sandwiches this week. Figured I'd do it now. Sounded like fun."

I make a sound, and Ash gives me another look.

"What is it?" he asks, tone patient.

"You should be relaxing," I get out, knowing my mom would call me a hypocrite for saying so. But he just got here. I don't want him run ragged from the start.

I don't want him running off…

"Jackson," Ash says mildly, interrupting my unwelcome thoughts, "this is the most relaxing job I've ever had. I get to cook for a bunch of people that enjoy my food, clean up a little, and then sit around in one of the most gorgeous places I've ever been. Believe me, I'm plenty relaxed."

He does look it. Even though he's working the dough rhythmically, his body is loose, not tense. He's smiling, for Christ's sake. He looks happy .

"Fine. Just… Don't work too hard."

He snorts at that. "What's that saying about the pot?"

I roll my eyes, turning around.

"Meet kettle!" he calls.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, heading back down the hall. When Ash starts humming again, I stop and close my eyes. I open them to find Remi standing right in front of me and jerk back. "Not a fucking word," I warn quietly.

He locks his lips and tosses the imaginary key before walking off.

My ringing phone is a distraction I welcome. "Yeah?"

"Hey, boss. Slight problem," Archie says. He's my manager over on the dairy side of things. "We got a call from Plum's. They had a refrigerator malfunction overnight and lost a decent chunk of product."

"They need more milk," I deduce.

"That's right."

"I can run it," I tell him. "Have it ready for pickup in ten minutes?"

"You got it. Thanks, boss."

As I slip my phone back in my pocket, Ash's voice comes from behind me. "Problem?"

I turn, finding him hanging halfway out of the kitchen doorway. "Nothing major. Just a supply run."

He nods a few times, lips pursed.

"What?" I ask slowly.

"Can I come?"

"You wanna deliver milk?" I ask, not sure I heard that right.

He nods, looking damn eager. Christ .

"Fine," I grumble.

His grin widens. "Just let me cover the dough real quick and wash up."

Ash disappears back into the kitchen, and I walk out onto the front porch, wondering what in the hell I'm doing. You know , a little voice in my mind whispers. I punt it far, far away.

Ash joins me before long, all cleaned up, his apron gone. "Ready," he says.

"Let's go," I reply against every one of my better judgments.

Archie has the supply of milk ready by the time we arrive. I load it into our refrigerated truck, and Ash jumps in the passenger seat like he's going to a lobster boil, or whatever it is they do over in Maine.

I turn the ignition. "You buckled?"

Ash doesn't say a word, so I look over at him. He's biting his lip. It pops free when he says, "Yes, Jack. I'm buckled."

I grunt. For reasons unknown, Ash laughs as I pull out onto the drive.

When we get to Plum's Grocers, my tagalong is all business. Without being asked, he helps bring the crates of milk in through the back door. When I remind him he's supposed to be taking it easy, he snorts while pointedly eyeing me up and down, and then he grabs another crate. My argument dies on my tongue.

Ash talks to Jenna, one of the employees, as Russ signs for the delivery of the milk. Jenna laughs brightly, touching Ash's arm. He doesn't seem to mind.

None of your damn business .

"Think the temps will be dropping anytime soon?" Russ asks. He's an older gentleman who's been managing Plum's since I was a child. His father held the position before him.

"They always do," I mumble, distracted as I take the tablet back.

He nods, setting his hands on his stomach. "Suppose so. Been a strange start to fall, though."

I glance Ash's way again. He's smiling wide. "Sure has been."

I say my goodbyes to Russ and give Ash a little wave to follow. He extricates himself from Jenna's company and heads my way. "Hey, mind if I grab a couple things before we go?"

I grunt. "Fine."

Ash gives my arm a slap before walking past the refrigerated units into the main part of the store. I follow after him, feeling like a damn dog.

Ash grabs a handheld basket and picks up shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Then he heads toward the snack aisles. When his basket gets full, he shoves a box of crackers at my chest.

"The hell?" I grumble, snatching it before it can fall to the floor. "What am I? Your pack mule?"

He stacks a bag of chips on the crackers in my hands. "Do you like complaining for the sake of it?" he asks, tone light.

I falter, wondering when this man decided it was okay to tease me. "I don't—"

"Arguing for the sake of it, too," he says, taking a step that puts him at my side. He leans close, fingers brushing against my waist. "It's okay, Jack. Your secret is safe with me."

Ash is halfway down the aisle before my brain kicks into gear and I whirl around. "The heck you talking about?"

He looks over his shoulder and winks. "Wouldn't be a secret anymore if I told, would it?"

Jesus fucking Christ .

I shake my head, boots thudding as I follow after him. "Whatever you say, sunshine."

Silence follows, and ah, shit . Ash is staring at me like I just handed him a golden ticket.

"Come on, darlin'," he shoots back, a husky sort of chuckle in his voice. "Let's get home."

Ash walks off, an effortless swagger to his steps. I manage to pull my eyes off his ass long enough to register what he said.

Darlin' .

Home .

Fucking hell. I don't think I was prepared for Ashley Alcott.