Page 23 of Fairground

We loop back around toward the parking lot and by the time we reach the edge of the grounds, my legs are aching, and my lower back is threatening mutiny. The sun’s set lower now but I’m a hot, sweating mess in his coat and my feel are aching.

Cash glances down. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” I say, because I’d rather die than admit defeat in front of him. “I just didn’t plan on walking a mile and a half across rocky terrain.”

He laughs, slow and warm. “You’ll learn. Rule number one of the Marshall family businesses: always wear good shoes because you never know where you’ll need to walk.”

I shake my head with a smile. “So, what’s the plan? I feel a little out of my depth here since I’ve never planned a state fair, or any fair for that matter, before. Lydia said you were on the committee last year and know what they are expecting?”

Cash leans back, crossing his arms, his smile turning into something more serious. “Yeah. Don’t worry—I’ll show you the ropes for this first meeting. I’ve been on it for the past decade.”

Geez, I’m screwed. No pressure or anything. Maybe people want fresh ideas? Or maybe they’ll just laugh and give him all the work since he clear knows how this all works.

“All right,” Cash says, pulling me back to the present with his steady voice. “We usually start by picking a theme for the week. We’re a little behind on that—and the advertising—since the mayor was supposed to start pushing it months ago. But the good news? We don’t need much promotion. Everyone in the state already knows when the fair is, and they show up no matter what.”

“Okay…” I pause, narrowing my eyes. “What happened with the last mayor, anyway?”

Cash rubs his beard, staring out over the fairgrounds like he’s deep in thought. “He got in trouble for hiding evidence during my younger brother’s trial. Evidence that would’ve changed the verdict from guilty to not guilty; or at least lowered his sentence. That, and he was caught gambling with one of our town’s more… infamous illegal gambling ringleaders.”

“Wow. That’s… a lot.”

“Yeah.” He glances at me, lips twitching in a grim smile. “Probably doesn’t help that the mother of my older brother’s Lawson’s son is the mayor’s daughter.”

“Whoa.”

He nods. “Small-town drama. But yeah. I don’t think the mayor ever got over the fact that Lawson and his daughter didn’t want to get married when she accidentally got pregnant. He’s been holding a grudge against our family ever since.”

“What a tangled web…” I mutter, my mind spinning. “So, one of your brother’s went to prison?”

“For almost five years,” Cash says, his voice quieter now. “Until he got out on parole a couple months early.”

“That’s…” I trail off because I’m not sure what to say to that.

“Yeah. It was tough on all of us, but we pulled together. Troy really stepped up for him, though.”

“Troy?” I tilt my head.

Cash raises a brow. “My oldest brother. Troy Marshall.”

The name tickles something in my brain, a faint bell ringing in the distance. And then it hits me. “Wait. Like, the governor of North Carolina?”

Cash grins as my eyes go wide. “That’s the one.”

“Shit. That’s why the name sounded familiar.”

He throws his head back and laughs, the deep sound carrying over the quiet, empty fairgrounds. “Hope you voted for him.”

“Actually,” I admit sheepishly, “I think I did.”

His smile softens into something warm, that effortless, down-home charm I can’t seem to shake that follows him everywhere. Right when I think he’s starting to get on my nerves or going to be a dick, he turns all cinnamon roll sweet on me. What is it about him? The guy’s always so damn… happy.

“How many Marshalls are there, exactly?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. The motion tugs his jacket tighter around me, the collar brushing against my neck—and just like that,I catch another hit of his cologne. It’s strong, masculine, way too good. And ugh, why does it have to smell like that? It’s distracting.

“Five of us,” he says. “But Troy’s got two kids now, and Lawson has one. I figure it’s only a matter of time before Colt and Molly pop out a rugrat to join the rest of our gang.”

“What about you?” I ask before I can stop myself. He glances over; a brow raised.

“What about me?”

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