Risky Romance (Wolf Security #4)

2. Cody

CHAPTER 2

Cody

The early morning sun beat down on my arms as I guided the tractor down the bumpy track toward the far eastern paddock. The humidity was already cranked up; it was going to be a stinker. Good for my crop, though.

I didn’t get out to this paddock very often. This was Bruce’s zone, and the bastard liked to remind me to stay away. I had no idea why he wanted anything to do with the crops. His domain was the canning factory. Maybe he liked to keep some connection with his grassroots . . . farming.

I understood that. Although I had been forced to live on this property when I was eleven years old, I now loved it. Working with nature was part of my DNA, which was a fuck load better than the makeup of my real DNA.

Rows upon rows of corn stretched before me like an endless sea. The strong stalks swayed gently in the breeze and their tassels were just beginning to emerge. The flowering stage was my second favorite phase in the crop cycle. The best was when the first two leaves pushed through the soil, like open arms welcoming the sunshine. This season was shaping up to be a bumper crop, perhaps even surpassing last year’s.

A sense of pride washed through me, and I wished I had someone to share it with.

That thought came out of nowhere, and my gaze skidded to the empty seat beside me where my dogs Rusty and Bluey would normally sit. My chest caved.

Goddammit.

I clenched my jaw and forced my attention back to the crops, eager to escape the grip of grief. The thought of another night alone in my converted shipping container made the decision easy – I’d share a beer with Uncle John instead. At least John understood the dedication it took to coax a successful crop from the earth, and for a few hours, I wouldn’t have to face my empty home.

I frowned as I spotted ragged holes dotting the corn ears nearest to me.

“What the hell?”

I stomped on the brake, jumped off the tractor, and raced over to inspect the row of corn. Tiny caterpillars were feasting on the plants.

I tore open the leaves and found larvae inside.

“No, no, no!” I yanked back another leaf, and tiny caterpillars tumbled out.

Fall Armyworm. The devastating pest I’d hoped never to see on our land.

My stomach churned with rage and dread as I stormed from plant to plant. Officers from Australian Biosecurity visited last year to warn Uncle John and me about outbreaks in the southern states, but I never thought it would happen on this farm.

How did they get here?

And why the fuck hadn’t Bruce noticed this?

Swiping off my hat, I brushed sweat off my brow as I scanned the leaves. Every single one had holes. The Fall Armyworms hadn’t just begun their destructive march across the paddock; they were entrenched. And they wouldn’t stop until every last plant was decimated.

Anger blazed through me. I should have checked this paddock sooner.

I yanked my phone from my back pocket, and beads of sweat trickled down my forehead as I snapped photos of the infested corn, bugs, and the larvae. I grabbed my sample kit from the tractor and collected a few bugs and eggs. These little bastards could destroy the entire crop in weeks.

Panic clawed at my chest as I marched deeper into the field to check more plants.

“Damn it, Bruce!” Lazy bastard probably hadn’t been out to this field in weeks, even though his house was right on the border of the paddock.

I screwed the jar lids tight, climbed onto the tractor, stomped on the accelerator, and the engine roared beneath me as I raced to the far end of the paddock. The wind licked sweat off my temples as dread tightened in my chest. As I reached the farthest corner, horror sank in my stomach. Holes were punched into nearly every leaf.

The scope of the infestation was overwhelming. They could be in the entire plantation.

“Dammit!” I slammed my fist against the tractor’s wheel.

We had to burn it all. The entire crop. Months of work, gone. And the financial hit . . . I didn’t even want to think about that. Uncle John would be devastated.

I pulled out my phone, desperate to reach him, but as usual, the signal was non-existent. Damn infrastructure never worked when I needed it.

John had gone into town for the day and wasn’t expected back until late afternoon. I gunned the tractor back toward the main farmhouse. Even if I had a signal, Uncle John probably wouldn’t answer my call. He was mentally stuck in the nineties and hated technology. It was one of the reasons we had a barn full of rusty equipment. He never wanted to update anything except for the equipment in the giant cannery factory ahead of me. It pissed me off that Bruce could get any new equipment he wanted, but I had to fight for every dollar I wanted to spend.

Bruce and Uncle John went back a long way, further than my arrival on this farm. But I was Uncle John’s only living relative. That should count for something.

It didn’t.

Ahead of me stood three buildings. . . the old shed, Uncle John’s house and the cannery factory which was the biggest. Although Uncle John’s truck wasn’t parked out the front of his place, I aimed for his home anyway. Bruce spent just as much time in the crumbling homestead as my uncle did. But he wasn’t in there either.

Calling Bruce’s name, I strode from the farmhouse toward the barn. Along the way, I dodged around the rusted machinery that was waiting its turn to be resurrected by me when I actually had time, that is, but it seemed I was always running behind.

I hated that barn. Every time I stepped inside, I was yanked back to when I’d found Bluey and Rusty writhing in pain and frothing at the mouth. Prior to that, they’d been with me all morning in the back paddock running around, full of life. Their eyes, which were usually so alert, had been glazed over with pain.

Clenching my fists, I called out for Bruce with hatred brimming in my mind. Bruce’s feigned sympathy over the death of my dogs never reached his eyes. I had no proof, but deep in my gut, I knew that bastard was responsible. If I ever found evidence, I’d make him pay for poisoning my dogs.

I marched from the barn, aiming for the canning factory, and finally spotted Bruce overseeing the loading of a semi-trailer with crates of canned corn. I hated this place, too. The noise of the machines pierced right into my brain. Give me a paddock full of crops any day.

I strode beside a conveyor belt that shunted cans of corn that I’d grown toward the labelling machine and the rhythmic clank seemed to match my strides.

The forklift reversed away from the rear of the semi, and the beeping added to the chaos.

“Bruce,” I yelled over the noise.

He either couldn’t hear me, or he ignored me . . . which wouldn’t be the first time.

The air had a sickly smell of warm, sweet corn mixed with the metallic tang of machinery adding to my loathing of this shed.

Crossing the final section of concrete toward Bruce coincided with a hiss of pressurized air that blocked out any chance of me calling out to him again.

As I strode toward him, a young man near the front of the truck stepped back as if trying to hide in the shadows near the far wall. I didn’t recognize him, but that wasn’t unusual. Bruce was an asshole and a horrendous boss. Staff never lasted long. The young man’s face was pale, and his gaze snapped between Bruce and me like he was caught in a crossfire.

“Bruce,” I yelled as I neared.

He spun to me, and the ugly scowl that never left his face deepened. His hands clenched into fists as he stepped back from the trailer. “What the fuck do you want?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

His gaze darted from the back of the semi to the mysterious young man and back to me. “What?”

He took a couple of steps back as if luring me away from the truck.

“I found Fall Armyworm in your paddock. You’re meant to look after it. Now we need to burn the crop before?—”

“What?” His face contorted with rage, but I caught a hint of something else. Maybe fear. Or panic. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“We don’t have a choice,” I yelled over the beeping of the forklift. Beyond Bruce’s shoulder, the young man’s eyes widened, and he looked like he was ready to bolt out of there.

“Don’t you dare burn anything!” Bruce aimed a fat finger at me.

“We have to. Do you know how fast those bugs spread? We need to?—”

“Use pesticides,” Bruce said, cutting me off. “Poison the whole damn lot.”

His comment was a punch to my gut, slamming me back to that horrible day three months ago when I found Rusty and Bluey whimpering in the barn. During my frantic drive to the vet, I prayed I’d make it in time, but I was too late. My incredible cattle dogs that I’d raised from pups didn’t make it. The vet was adamant my dogs had ingested poison.

“I am not using pesticide.” I glared at him. “This farm is organic. You know that.”

“Who gives a shit about organic?” Bruce roared, stepping toward me, using his height and build as intimidation like I’d seen him do with many of the farm hands.

I was not a farm hand. I was the owner’s nephew, and I was in charge of the crops.

“I do.” In the days following my dogs’ deaths, Bruce had acted weird, offering sympathy that was as hollow as a termite-eaten log. The coldness in his eyes had remained, and his expressions of condolences were shrouded in hints of satisfaction that he couldn’t mask. Bruce was a smug bastard who always got his way.

Except with me. I never backed down, and I used my bloodline whenever necessary.

Bruce hated that.

“I am not ruining our integrity or the trust of our customers.” I hated that my voice trembled with my barely contained rage. Bruce’s disregard for my organic standards mirrored the hatred he’d always had for my dogs. “We built this farm on principles, not just profit.”

He spat on the concrete. “Don’t give me that bullshit. Without profit, you don’t have a fucking farm.”

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to punch the evil brute. The grief and anger I’d bottled up for months threatened to explode. If I had proof that Bruce was behind my dogs’ deaths, I wouldn’t be able to control myself. But I had to focus on saving the farm, and unfortunately, I needed his help to contain the fire.

I met his glare. “I’m burning that crop.” I kept my voice low and lethal. “End of discussion.”

“You can’t make that decision. John does.”

“John was here when the Biosecurity team came last year, so he’ll know we don’t have a choice.”

“You can’t even stand on your own two feet, can ya? You’re always riding on your uncle’s fucking back. But I’m telling ya, if it wasn’t for him, I’d have kicked your ass outta here years ago.” He jabbed his finger into my chest.

I slapped his hand away. “Get out of my face, you bastard.” I shoved him back, and clenching my jaw, I strode away.

“Don’t you touch that crop, Cody.” His voice boomed off the machinery.

I stormed out of the noisy shed, and the peace outside was cut short by the sudden whump-whump of helicopter blades.

“Fucking great!” I growled as the sleek black chopper lowered onto the grass near the main homestead.

The chopper pilot was Grant Hughes, the farm’s accountant.

“What the hell is he doing here?” I muttered.

He wasn’t due until the end of the month.

I don’t have time for his bullshit.

I pulled my phone from my back pocket and checked the signal.

Goddammit. Just one bar. I tried Uncle John again, and although the call went through this time, he didn’t answer. I jammed the phone back into my pocket and glared at the chopper.

As the rotor blades slowed, Grant climbed out of the pilot seat, flashing his usual fake smile. He walked toward me with a swagger like he owned the fucking place. He was the other bastard I had to deal with far too often.

I’d tried to convince Uncle John to get a new accountant, but he wouldn’t listen. He’d been furious when I voiced my concerns about Grant’s overbearing bullshit and constantly turning up unannounced like he wanted to catch us out . . . like now. But Uncle John had shut me down so hard that I couldn’t shake the feeling something deeper was going on—like Grant held some kind of leverage over him that Uncle John couldn’t escape from.

“Cody, how you doing?” Grant called as he approached, his friendly tone as fake as his bleached hair. “Saw you out in the back paddock earlier. Everything all right?”

My blood boiled. Why was he watching me?

“We’ve got a bug problem,” I snapped. “It’s bad.”

Grant’s eyebrows shot up as he stopped two feet from me with his hands on his hips. “How bad?”

“Fall Armyworm has taken over the whole crop. I’ll have to burn the entire paddock.”

His jaw dropped, then he burst into laughter, revealing a gold tooth gleaming in the sunlight. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m deadly serious. That infestation will wipe us out if I don’t act fast.”

Grant’s expression morphed into a scowl. “You can’t just destroy the entire crop. What did John say?”

“I can’t get him because our signal is shit.”

“You need to talk to John first.”

What the fuck?

I clenched my fists, my anger flaring. “I don’t need your input, Grant. The corn is my responsibility, and I make decisions on crop management.”

Grant raised his hands and backed up a step. “Let’s not be hasty, Cody. You might want to consider the financial implications before you resort to such drastic measures.”

His condescending tone riled me even more.

“Financial implications? That bug will wipe out this entire farm within weeks.” I swept my hands to the fields of corn. “The whole lot gone. Who will suffer the fallout from that? Me! Now get out of my way.”

Grant’s gaze shifted to over my shoulder, and sensing Bruce’s presence behind me, I turned around. Bruce stormed toward us with his fists swinging at his sides and his face dark with fury.

“You hear what he wants to do?” Bruce barked with his eyes drilling into me.

“He told me.” Grant’s voice was calm and patronizing. “I told him to wait for John’s opinion first.”

Bruce’s expression hardened, and he and Grant shared a glance that confirmed they had formed an alliance against me. Assholes!

“Stupid bastard won’t listen to me.” Bruce crossed his arms. “We can just poison the fucking bugs.”

I glared at Bruce. “The same way you poisoned my dogs?”

“Here we go. I didn’t touch your fucking dogs.”

I clenched my fists so hard I felt every knuckle.

“Listen.” Grant stepped between us. “John will be back soon. We’ll wait until?—”

“No,” I said. “This is my decision, and I need to act fast.”

Bruce lunged forward, shoving me hard. “You listen here, you little shit.” He snarled, his face inches from mine. “You’re not burning that paddock. End of story.”

Grant stepped between us, hands raised. “Gentlemen, please. Just wait for John. That’s all we’re asking, Cody.”

Why the hell are they so confident John will side with them?

Grant looked at Bruce and the pair nodded.

What the hell?

I thought finding those bugs was bad, but those two working together against me was a fuck load worse.

What the hell are they up to?