Already Callin’ You Mine (Hayes Family #6)

Chapter 1

JACE

“So, don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

I stop, breakfast burrito halfway to my mouth, my best friend’s words more than a little concerning. And leaving me with lots of questions—some I allegedly may or may not want the answer to.

Lowering my food back down to my plate, I sit back, lifting a brow to quietly prompt him to continue. Truthfully, I have no idea what the hell is going to come out of his mouth next, and I’m intrigued.

Let’s hope I don’t end up regretting this.

“But I kinda know the leader of this motorcycle club. And I was thinking it might be cool if we did a self-defense event with them.”

Owen Meyer shrugs one of his shoulders, as if what he just suggested was perfectly normal.

That I, Jace Hayes, vice president of personal safety and security at Hayes Industries, the Fortune 500 company that my family still owns and operates out of our rural Georgia town, host a self-defense event with a motorcycle club.

A motorcycle club. Of all the things in the world.

Not to be stereotypical, but isn’t that who people generally think they need self-defense skills to fight off?

“Before you say it, I know what you’re thinking,” Owen says, cutting off my thoughts. “Isn’t a motorcycle club the kind of group people think they are going to need to defend themselves against?”

Damn, he really did know what I was thinking…

Might as well have pulled the words straight from my brain.

“But that’s the point. Because these guys aren’t what you think.”

“So they aren’t questionable characters that ride around leaving nothing but chaos in their wake?” I joke, busting out the most stereotypical thing I can think of.

Owen makes a face, one that tells me I’m not entirely off track. But I leave it be. He did warn me not to ask questions I didn’t want the answer to.

At the end of the day, it’s not a bad idea. And what I really need is an idea, period. So this at least puts me on a track.

I sit back, the old chair wobbling underneath me from the movement.

Dolly really needs to get some new furniture in here.

Of all the things I’m not going to do, telling my sister-in-law how to decorate her diner—the one she took over from her grandmother, who both she and the diner are named after—ranks high on the list. I’d rather this chair completely give way and land me flat on my ass than mess with her. Especially in said diner.

I do want to still be able to have breakfast here.

I also value my ability to walk, and there’s little doubt in my mind that my older brother Hux would kick my ass if he felt like I upset his bride in some way.

Dolly is far from a wilting flower, and she can both dish it out and take it as well as anyone I’ve ever met.

But that doesn’t mean Hux would stand for it.

Closing my eyes, I push all the air from my lungs, letting the burn settle in before I inhale again. The question isn’t really if hosting such an event is a good idea—it’s more if I can translate the idea to social media. Because apparently I need to start doing such a thing.

Despite the fact that I feel that it’s a complete waste of time.

“Is that social media worthy though?”

Owen shrugs again. “I dunno. I’m a cop; what do I know about that stuff?”

Fair point.

“Wait, the Georgia State Patrol isn’t doing all of those ridiculous coordinated dance videos?”

Owen scoffs. “Nope. And don’t give anyone any ideas.”

I laugh, trying to imagine Owen all dressed up in his uniform, trying to do a line dance. We’ve been friends since we were kids, so I’ve seen him attempt to dance plenty. And I do mean attempt—because when it comes to Owen, it’s not that the music doesn’t move him, it just moves him ugly.

“I like the idea.” I grab my burrito and take a big bite. “You think they’d do it?”

Even if I don’t use it for the social media push that Bronwyn Ainsworth-Keller, Hayes’s director of marketing, is forcing me to do, it would be something different.

Something no one would expect. Something that would get under the skin and annoy the hell out of some of the more uptight residents of Hickory Hills.

Which means I’m in.

“I don’t see why not. I haven’t floated it past Cain, the leader of the Dirty Devils, or anything yet. But I think he’d be down. And it would give you content. Maybe make you go viral.”

Go viral, ha. Not really my goal.

Hayes Industries has been around since the Civil War, when my ancestors Augustus and Llewelyn, two blacksmiths, found favor with the Confederates.

Their rifles started it all, and while we choose not to focus on the family history of the mid-1800s, they are still the reason Hickory Hills didn’t fade into oblivion like many other small rural towns.

The whole reason that now, all these years later, the little business they founded is a Fortune 500 company, still run by my siblings and me, boasting divisions such as agriculture, lumber and paper, a brewery, and a bait and tackle shop.

Oh, and my personal favorite, personal safety.

We are not a company that needs to go “viral.” Nor does my division. Hayes self-defense trainings and tools have been a staple in that arena for decades. Our market share has only grown since I took over after college. People know our name.

Then again, staying fresh and with the times is never a bad thing. I suppose.

“When you talk to him next, ask him,” I tell Owen, liking this idea more and more as I think about it. “We could make it part of Rhythm and Brews, use the big hayfield so that it’s open to the public, and maybe even make it a fundraiser for EmpowHER.”

“Consider it done.” He takes a large swig of his coffee, looking more than a little proud of himself for coming up with this idea.

Frankly, he has every right to. I’ve been struggling to come up with something for more than a month now, and it feels like Bronwyn brings it up every time I see her. Which has only made the inspiration block that much worse.

Leave it to my best friend, though, to come up with something this unique. Guess I’ll have to keep him.

“Well, now that we’ve solved that problem, what else is going on?” Owen asks, an impish glint to his eye.

It’s a generic enough question, but I know what he’s really getting at. And I’m not taking the bait.

“I just finished this really good friends-to-lovers book by Emily Silver. Breakaway. It’s about—”

“Haven’t read it, won’t be reading it,” he cuts me off.

I laugh, grabbing the rest of my burrito to finish it off.

I read my first romance novel in college, on a dare from Owen, and found that I liked it a lot more than I thought I would.

Like, a lot more. And not for the reasons people think.

Sure, the spicy scenes are great—I’ve learned quite a bit from them, actually—but more than that, the plots are fun and interesting, spanning every subgenre you can think of.

Plus, this not-so-guilty pleasure of mine always catches people off guard.

And if there is something I love doing, it’s keeping people on their toes.

My siblings don’t refer to me as the family wild card for nothing.

“Might help you find a girl.”

Owen scoffs. “Like you have room to talk.”

Fair point.

“Speaking of,” he continues.

Fuuuuck…

No, Owen. I don’t want to talk about it. So don’t fucking bring it up.

There is more than enough gossip going on in this town for us to chat about. In fact, where’s Mrs. Burch or Mrs. Chamberlain, the two old ladies who keep the rumor mill running strong, when you need them?

“Let me grab the check and we can head over to the farmers’ market,” I say, desperately trying to change the subject. I twist in my seat, trying to find Dolly, but she’s nowhere to be found.

Of course.

Owen laughs, his deep bellowing chuckle one of his most distinct features, the sound surrounding me like a playground taunt. To be fair, it’s the same shit I would pull with him if he were in this situation. And dude should know that payback is a bitch, so he better be careful.

Still, I expect nothing less from him as he continues to push the issue.

“Has she started? When’s her first day?”

I spot the new waitress—whose name I can’t remember to save my life—and wave at her, hoping she understands my mimed message.

The deer in the headlights look she gives me makes me question if I’m not being clear or if she’s simply not cut out for the job.

The more seconds that tick away, the more I’m leaning toward the latter.

Looks like Dolly will be hiring again soon.

“I got you, Jace!” Dolly hollers from the other side of the diner.

Thank goodness…

A moment later, Dolly is at our table, thrusting her new fancy handheld device for taking payments right at the table toward me.

“Whatcha boys up to today?” she asks sweetly, as if she doesn’t somehow already know.

It’s the last Saturday in September in Hickory Hills, Georgia. There is only one thing—attend the last Farmers’ Market of the season.

“Farmers’ market,” I answer without thinking. Right at the same time as Owen offers up, “Jace is dodging the question.”

Unfortunately for me, Dolly zones in on only one of our answers.

“What question are you dodging?”

Her question is both inquiry and accusation.

Something I think she picked up from our other sister-in-law, Dr. Sawyer Brown, my older brother Anton’s fiancée.

I like both my sisters-in-law—actually, as the only one of my siblings who isn’t in a relationship, I have five at this point, plus a brother-in-law, all of whom are great—but the innate ability to see through us Hayes men is a little unsettling.

“Nothing.”

“So, it’s something big.”