Page 11 of Won’t Let You Get Away

“You headin’ out?” he asks, surprise lacing his voice.

“Yeah, the Jones’ invited Connor and me to dinner.”

Kenny raises his eyebrows momentarily before clearing his throat and shaking his head. “Good for you, kid.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at being called a kid, considering he’s only four years older than me. While the farmhands had fun teasing him about his ‘over the hill’ fortieth birthday last year, the only giveaway to his age is all the gray that weaves into his long black hair.

“You need somethin’ before I head out?” I ask, noticing the determination in Kenny’s eyes as he entered.

Scrubbing a hand along his scruffy jaw, he shrugs. “Yeah, Rosie was actin’ weird. Thought you might want to call AJ and have him come check on her.”

“Shit,” I grumble, glancing at my watch to see how much time I have before Connor shows up. I only have about thirty minutes to get home, take a quick shower to wash off the barn smell, and get changed.

Maybe I should let Kenny call AJ…

I remind myself that I need to trust my team to handle things. If it weren’t for the fact that it’s Rosie, letting Kenny take care of this small task might actually be easier than asking Mack to lead the fence repairs. But ever since Rosie was born five years ago, she had always been my dad’s favorite.

That mare had him wrapped around her hoofs.

An ache spreads in my chest, and I clear my throat. “I’ll text you his number. Can you see when he can come by?”

“Holy shit, Macky boy wasn’t lying, was he?” Shock coats his voice.

I lift a brow at him. “If you don’t wanna call AJ, just say so.”

His dark eyes widen. “No, fuck, I’m sorry kid. I’ll call him. I already have his number.”

He shoots me a reassuring smile and bolts for the door.

“Kenny,” I call out to him before he leaves. “Text me and let me know when he’ll be here.”

He gives me a thumbs up and exits the barn without another glance.

I stand frozen for a moment, a pit of doubt forming in my gut. This whole “trusting others” thing is easier said than done.

Needing to get out of here before I change my mind about everything, I start the five-minute walk back up to my house. By the time I’ve freshened up and changed, Connor is stomping into my house.

He lets out a low whistle, appraising me from where he stands in the entryway. “Well, look at you. Here I was thinking I’d have to hunt you down and drag you out of the barn.”

I level him with a glare, not bothering to respond, and head toward the kitchen.

Connor follows after me. “Um, Noah, the door is in the other direction.”

“I know where my front door is.”

“And yet you walked in the opposite direction of it.”

Stopping next to my refrigerator, I open the cupboard beside it and pull out the bottle of Lagavulin Scotch. Turning back to my brother, I hold it up.

“Can’t show up to dinner empty-handed,” I remind him. A shit-eating grin spreads across his face.

“You’re right. That’s why I picked up some flowers for Ma.”

“You just had to one up me, didn’t ya.”

Connor backs out of the kitchen and heads toward the front door. “Nah, it means we’ve got both hosts covered.”

The short drive to the Jones’s house is filled with Connor talking away about the people who made the two-hour trek from the city to visit his shop. I simply listen, my chest swelling with pride at his success and popularity. He might not have wantedanything to do with working on the farm, but he sure as hell took our father’s work ethic and applied it toward his business.

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