Page 1 of Branded Hearts

Prologue

The sun hangs low onthe horizon, casting long shadows across our Mitchell Valley farm. The air is thick with the scent of hay and the distant hum of cicadas. It’s one of those lazy afternoons that stretch endlessly, where time seems to slow down, and the only rush is the soft shuffle of our footsteps on the dirt path.

“Oi, Brad, pass me that bucket of feed,” Xavier, my older brother by two years, grumbles.

He’s got this idea that being the eldest makes him the boss of everything. We’re out here in the fading light, tasked with the mundane chore of feeding the cows.

Buddy, our loyal dog, tails us like a shadow. I grab the bucket and hand it over to Xavier.

“You act like you’re running the show, Xav,” I grumble.

“Someone’s gotta keep things in order round here.” He smirks, a cocky expression that’s been etched on his face since pubertyhit.

I roll my eyes. The last thing I want is to be bossed around by my older brother, but today, I let it pass. Just then, the irritating sounds of giggles pierce the quiet evening air, and I glance over to find Olivia, my younger sister, and her friend, who I’ve seen around a few times, sharing some joke that’s apparently hilarious. Their laughter, like an annoyingly cheerful melody, grates on my nerves.

Olivia, four years younger than me, is the baby of the family and the golden child in Mum’s eyes. She’s always finding new and inventive ways to drive me up the wall, and bringing her friend along for the ride makes it all the more infuriating. Her friend, whose name I don’t remember, must be about the same age.

There’s something about her, though—cute in a way that makes her hard to ignore. Yet, she’s younger, so I force myself to push those thoughts aside.

I can’t wrap my head around why everything seems so amusing to them. It’s like they’re scheming to crank up the annoyance level for me and Xavier. Classic little sister traits, you know? Always finding ways to do our heads in.

Xavier starts divvying up the feed into the feeders, and I glance over at my sister’s friend, who’s shooting me a quick, shy smile. Her bright smile, accompanied by those waves of long brown hair, catches my attention for a moment, causing something to stir in my chest. It’s foreign, and I don’t quite understand it.

My brother, who is currently lifting the bucket over the wooden gate, grumbles, “Whaddya want, Liv?”

It’s evident that he’s as irritated as I am about our sister’s presence.

“Ugh, Dad sent usdown here to help. Like, seriously, as if I’m supposed to know anything about cows or whatever,” she whines, crossing her arms, a defiant expression etched across her face—the epitome of teenage rebellion. Classic Liv.

Xavier nods toward her brand new white Nike Air Forces, then mutters, “Of course, God forbid you dirty those shoes of yours.”

Liv huffs, “Can you just say we helped out to Dad when he asks?”

Xavier looks at her with disbelief. “Abso-fucking-lutely not. Get over here and be useful.”

I smirk at their bickering. My gaze then flits over to Liv’s friend, who stands with her arms crossed behind her back. Taller than my sister, with long lean legs, she’s dressed in denim shorts and a white off-the-shoulder shirt.

Our eyes meet briefly, and I catch a hint of her face flushing. I avert my gaze back to Xavier, who’s waiting for Liv’s response.

Her friend decides to break the silence, and her voice, soft and melodic, carries an air of genuine politeness. It’s calming—a stark contrast to Olivia’s usual dramatic tone. “C’mon, Liv. I’ve never fed a cow before—it sounds like fun.”

“Well, at least your friend here has some brains,” Xavier says, and she smiles.

“Ugh, fine,” Liv exclaims, clearly defeated. She turns to her friend with a look. A look that Xavier and I have been on the receiving end of all too often.

“Thanks a lot, Amelia.”

Amelia. Hm. Even in my sister’s icy tone, her name soundssweet, feminine. Just like her.

Xavier is busy giving the girls a rundown on how to feed the cows and fill the feeders. I hang back, my hands moving on autopilot as I pass over buckets when needed. Liv, predictably dramatic, lets out a squeal when a cow inches closer to the gate.

Amelia calmly tells her, “Relax, Liv, they’re harmless.”

Xavier laughs, and I can’t help but smirk.

“Easy for you to say, Amelia. That cow is so calm.” Liv almost throws the bucket into the pen.

Observing Amelia effortlessly follow Xavier’s instructions, pouring food into the feeders, I can’t help but notice how she’s a natural at this. Meanwhile, Liv—who has grown up on the farm alongside us—is more interested in playing with the cows than actually feeding them, much to Xavier’s dismay.

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