12. Dusty

I’ve made a lot of mistakes over the years.

Screwing up is sort of my specialty.

And while this isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done, it’s got to be in the top three.

Gus wasn’t just my boss. I don’t want to say he was like a father to me, because I had one of those. Runner was far from perfect, but he had a heart the size of Texas, and us kids were the only thing he seemed to care about.

Gus was more like a raft on shaky water. I was a kid who was more or less drowning. Gus reached out and offered a hand. He set the example of the way a man ought to be. I respected the hell out of him. If I had known who Marnie was, that she was his beloved niece, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near her.

He used to roll his eyes at my womanizing ways. I’m sure he’d be turning over in his grave if he knew I even got to poor Marnie.

God damn. What a fuck up.

“I didn’t know who you were.” I blurt.

She looks distracted, but at my words, one eyebrow flies up. “That’s obvious.”

“I’m sorry… If I’d known… I wouldn’t have…”

She turns to face me, watching my awkward attempts to explain myself with dry amusement. “You wouldn’t have what?”

“I’m just sorry, is all.”

She shakes her head. Her scent cuts through the warm night, sweet and flowery, and my fingers itch to reach out and pull her in.

I study her face, her posture. She’s not caving in on herself like someone who’s ashamed of their own body. If anything, she looks a little miffed.

Interesting.

It’s almost like she’s not embarrassed that we fucked, so much as the fact that we didn’t know who we were to each other.

I can sympathize with that.

Or maybe I’m just projecting.

But she definitely has the look of someone who has bigger fish to fry than to worry over boy troubles.

Ed woofs from the cab of the truck.

Her gaze cuts over to the dog before returning to me. She tosses that dark hair over her shoulders. “Well, now what? Are you planning to make things awkward?”

“What? Me? No.”

She narrows her eyes, scanning my face. “We can still work together, right?”

“Of course. Yes. Definitely.”

I’m falling all over myself to assure her, and I don’t even care if I look pathetic. It’s more than I hoped for. I was fearing the worst.

She nods sharply. “Good. Because I don’t know the first thing about selling farmland.”

Like that.

That’s what I was afraid of.

“Selling?”

I manage to rasp.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Gus’s attorney said I could trust you.”

“You can.”

I hesitate. “But have you thought it over? Are you sure you want to sell?”

“I’m not a farmer, Dusty. I’m not moving out to Silver Bend, and I have no desire to manage a farm.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have to. You already have a farm manager.”

“You?”

I don’t miss the scorn in her voice. That cuts deeper than I’d like to admit, but I carry on. “Or you could sell a few properties and rent the others.”

“Yeah, but then I’d have to fuck around with taxes and all that. I’ve already got my hands full trying to get my own business back upright.”

“The bakery?”

She tilts her head, slowing down. “Yeah. You knew about that?”

“Carl mentioned it.”

“That it burned down?”

I nod.

Her lips flatten. “Then you know why I need straight cash. None of the headaches. None of the bullshit.”

Bullshit. This land. Working with me. That’s bullshit?

I can feel every tiny muscle in my neck and shoulders coil up. “This isn’t what Gus had in mind.”

She rears back, narrowing her eyes at me. “You know what Uncle Gus wanted for me?”

“As a matter of a fact, I do. He talked about it every once in a while.”

“And what was that, Dusty? He wanted me to rent out to you?”

I stare at her, tilting my chin up.

She shakes her head. “I’m not letting some kid farm for me.”

“You didn’t think I was a kid about an hour ago.”

Her nostrils flare and before she responds, a souped up Dodge pickup tears into my drive, spitting gravel.

Ed starts kicking up a fuss, barking like a maniac.

I know whose truck that is. And I have half a mind to let Ed out.

With a little twist of my lips, I turn back to the truck door and fling it open.