Page 27 of Forbidden Hearts
Rowan snorts. “And yet, you’re the least fun Whitlock out of all of us. Well, maybe Grady is less fun than you, but just marginally.”
I shake my head. “And you’re the least responsible.” Rowan is the youngest brother. He’s thirty-three, but he acts like he’s eighteen most days.
“Fuck off. I run this farm, I work my damn ass off to make it profitable, and still manage to have fun. You’re just pissed you never got to live like me.”
He’s not wrong. I am pissed, but I wouldn’t change my life either. I came home and stepped up with Brynn, which is something I will never regret. Then, once I could have fun, I got Sara pregnant, so once again, I did exactly what any real man should do—step the fuck up.
“You think your life is better than mine?” I ask.
“Hell yeah it is.”
I look at my daughter, who is casting her line into the creek, and shake my head. “Nah, man. See her? She’s what makes my life better.”
“I won’t argue because Livvy is the best, but I mean, don’t you wish you could come and go as you wish?”
My brother has never really had to do much. He dropped out of college because he drank too much and was failing every class. Instead of him having to rough it, he took over the farm, which suits him. His competitive nature had the farm profitable in a year, and he’s looking into buying another plot of land to expand, but his nemesis, Charlotte Perry, is doing the same. God knows it’ll be a bloodbath if it goes to auction.
I glance over at my brother. “I’m happy with my life.”
“Well, better you than me.”
It definitely is. I can’t even imagine what Livvy’s life would’ve been like had Rowan been her father.
“How are things going with the cows?”
“They’re mooing and making milk.”
“That’s . . . good. And what about the land up for sale?”
“I’m working on it. I just need to make Charlotte think I’m not interested. That woman will do anything to piss me off.”
“You really think she wants the land just to make you mad?”
He raises one brow. “Yup, but I’m two steps ahead of her.”
“Sure you are.”
“Hey, I meant to tell you . . . guess who I ran into yesterday?”
“No idea.”
He pushes my shoulder. “Come on, guess.”
“For fuck’s sake, just tell me.”
“You’re a shitty guesser.”
“You’re a fucking annoying prick.”
Rowan drains his beer. “I give zero fucks about that, but, since you’re a dick and won’t guess, I’ll tell you. I saw Phoebe Bettencourt at Peakness.”
Her name causes my jaw to lock. She is the only chink in my otherwise great life. She walks around in those shorts, which I swear are meant to kill me, and I have to remind myself I really don’t desire her. I’m just . . . lonely. That’s all.
“Good for you,” I say, keeping my voice even, refusing to care she was at the same bar as he was.
“Yeah, she looks—” He blows out an exaggerated breath and shakes his head. “She’s fucking hot.”
“I haven’t noticed.” As soon as I say it, I realize my mistake. I’d have to be blind not to notice how beautiful she is, and he’s going to see through that line of bullshit.
