Page 53 of Falling for Autumn Again

Chapter Twenty-Four

Autumn

Ezra pulls right upto my little green house. And while I may not admit it to the big lug who scooped me up against my will, I’m thankful I didn’t have to walk the rest of the way.

“I think I’ve got it from here,” I say, my words purposefully clipped. Because I’m not supposed to like him anymore. My heart can’t handle losing Ezra a second time.

Ezra doesn’t answer. He climbs off the four-wheeler, grabbing my boots from the cart on the back. I’m grateful he’s remembered those too—but I’m not telling him that.

“Hey, Miss Green!” calls a strange voice not all that far away.

Three teenage boys and one girl stand watching as I enter my house, no shoes, frizzy hair, and a blanket for my clothes.

Great, my hired help has arrived.

I clear my throat and throw on my best fabricated smile. Who cares that I’m in charge of these kids and this is the first time they’re seeing me since Dessie hired them? Not me. Not at all. I gulp down each and every one of those lies and bare all my teeth to seventeen-year-old Brady Hale.

“Hi, Brady.” My head circles, not really a nod or a shake. “Uh, heyeveryone. Dessie and Don areat the south end of the farm, next to the supply shed. You can get instructions from them there.”

Tammy gives me a crooked grin—or maybe she's giving it to Ezra because the knucklehead is still following me. She lifts her hand in a half wave while the boy next to her starts to chuckle.

“Awesome,” I mutter under my breath. Yep, they’ll for sure respect and listen to me now. Boss of the year—that’s me.

Ezra steps up onto my small porch and I turn to face him.

“Why are you following me?” I growl out a whisper.

“I want to check out your foot.”

“My foot is fine,” I say, attempting to look fiercer than my five-foot-four self often allows. I set a hand to my hip, but that only creates a wide gap in my blanket dress, showing off my tank top, a strip of spotted undies, and one bare leg. Somehow the image isn’t all that fierce. So, I drop my arm to my side and glare—I’ve always been good at glaring.

“Polka dots?” Ezra says, referring to the glimpse he just got. He grins and raises one brow. One brow that I’ll be shaving off in the middle of the night.

“Shut up.” I reign in my urge to shove the man right off my porch step. I’ve never been violent—but all those old memories taunting me, reminding me what I’ve lost, what I’m not allowed to have, just make me want to hit something. Preferablysomeone… someone tall and dark, with an annoyingly sexy beard.

Most of our memories are pretty great—except for that time in tenth grade when Ezra thought I was going to prom with someone else, so he asked Emily Andrews to prom and I was left going stag. But that was all miscommunication by very stupid young people who kind of liked each other and only kind of knew it. Somehow the good memories hurt the most.

He moves toward my front door and I swat his shoulder with the back of my hand. Just a little swat. Nothing damaging. A completely deservedEmily-Andrews-had-a-date-to-prom-and-I-didn’t-because-of-youswat.

“You aren’t coming in here,” I tell him, standing my ground. I wish I had pants on. My attempt to be taken seriously and feared would be much more effective if pants were involved.

“I am,” he says. “Don’t make me pick you up in front of the help.”

I glance past him to the four high schoolers still watching us. Why are they lingering? Why aren’t they headed to the south end of the field yet? There’s work to do.Chop-chop!

I limp inside, caring more about escaping our audience than Ezra following me.

“Sit,” he tells me. “Put your foot up.”

I groan. But I’m home and all at once way too tired to argue.

I plop onto the couch and lift my foot to the coffee table. It really is killing me. That’s what I get for walking around rocks and pine trees without shoes. Not my brightest decision in life.

“Well, you’re filthy,” he says, lifting my foot by the ankle.

“Genius observation.”

He snickers, sets my foot down, and wanders into my kitchen. I hear him shuffling and I’m about to get up when he comes back with a clean, damp dish rag.

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