CHAPTER 3
BLAIRE
H eat shimmered over the rows of strawberries as I stared out over the farm.
I needed this: the dirt under my fingernails, the sun turning my shoulders pink, and the sweet taste of strawberries in my mouth as I ate them straight off the vine. I craved the purpose of it, to matter again to myself and this place.
June had a few farmhands, but not enough to keep up with the sprawling acres she stubbornly refused to scale back. Work piled up everywhere, work that June wouldn’t have been handling all on her own if I hadn’t left.
I was already mapping out all the projects I would tackle, but the berries came first. I gathered them quickly, my fingers moving on autopilot and staining red from the fruit.
Pluck, drop.
Pluck, toss out the bad fruit.
I’d feared I might have forgotten how, but my hands remembered. The repetitive motion calmed me in a way nothing else had since I packed up my life. I had gone to my dad’s while I tried to sort things out this past week, but I’d known it was a bad idea.
Each berry that landed in the basket felt like a quiet act of defiance, a step away from the person I’d left behind in Raleigh. That girl had let herself be consumed by a man who looked good in a suit but couldn’t hold on to a promise, even if he stitched it into his skin.
That girl had been so desperate to be wanted, she shrank herself down into someone easier.
But here, with my knees pressed into the warm soil, my father and Grant seemed so insignificant.
If it weren’t for my phone vibrating in my pocket for the fifth time since I’d arrived at June’s, I might not have thought of them at all.
They didn’t matter. Not on this dirt.
I yanked the phone from my pocket. Seven missed calls from Grant and another two from my father’s secretary. Voice mails stacked up, but I left them to rot. I had no interest in hearing what they had to say, not anymore.
I looked up and spotted Hunter casually leaning against the newly mended section of fence on his side of the property line. He held his gloves loosely in one hand, and he watched me like he didn’t care that I caught him.
I shielded my eyes and shot him my best withering look, though it lacked bite after the last couple hours in the heat. Working on the farm did that. It bled the venom right out of me and left nothing but the soft underbelly I tried to keep hidden.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I called, and he grinned.
“If anyone asks, I’m on my break.” He turned toward the driveway as tires crunched over gravel. “You’ve only been here a couple hours, and you’re already killing yourself. Maybe you should take one too.”
I wiped my hair out of my face, tracking a blue pickup as it made its way up to the house. “I think I’ve had a long enough break.” I didn’t mean from the work. “Don’t you?”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s not—The farm isn’t going anywhere. You’ve got time.”
But I didn’t.
Time felt like a debt I owed this place, one which kept growing interest while I was off pretending to belong somewhere else, only to come crawling back when it all fell apart.
Hunter watched the truck as it got closer to the house, then he pushed off the fence. He walked through the gate separating June’s property from the Calloway’s with the casual air of someone who had all day to do nothing but bother me.
“You going to ignore those calls forever?” He nodded toward my phone, still in my hand and vibrating once again.
I quickly hit the ignore button before I shoved it back in my pocket. “It’s not important.”
The blue truck came to a stop in front of June’s house and idled in the small turnaround. The door swung open, and a woman jumped out. She bounded up the porch, her blonde hair half falling out of her messy bun.
Hunter stiffened beside me; his gaze snagged on her for a heartbeat too long before he dragged it away.
“Who is that?” I motioned to the woman as June walked out of the house to greet her.
“Huh?” Hunter muttered, looking out over the fields, avoiding her entirely.
She stood there, seemingly oblivious to our presence, her attention on June as she threw her head back and laughed.
The sun caught in her blonde hair, turning it almost white at the edges.
She was effortlessly pretty in a way that made me self-conscious of the sweat dampening my shirt and the dirt caked under my fingernails.
“That girl you won’t look at. Who is she?”
Hunter didn’t answer right away. He ran his hand over the back of his neck and tilted it from one side to the next as if trying to ease his tension.
“That’s Maggie Dawson,” he replied, before quietly clearing his throat.
I quickly cycled through my memories, searching for the name, but came up blank. “Did she go to school with us?”
Hunter made a sound between a grunt and a sigh. “No. She moved here a few years ago. Runs the bakery on Main.”
He glanced back in her direction for a few long seconds, his jaw clenched before he tore his gaze away.
“What’s going on there?” I circled my finger between them, like I was connecting invisible dots in the air.
“There’s nothing going on.”
I raised a brow as I studied him. “You just stare at everyone like that?”
He let out a low whistle and shook his head. “What about you, Blaire?” His voice dropped low enough to land the jab. “Should we talk about your love life next?”
I laughed, but even I knew how hollow it sounded. “What love life?” I turned, moving down the row of strawberries.
“I’ve heard some things through the grapevine.” His footsteps crunched behind me as he followed. “You’ve been gone, what? Ten years now?”
I kept my eyes fixed on the berries nestled among their thick leaves. “Shouldn’t you be doing something?” I nodded toward his chestnut mare, who stood tethered to the fence post, watching us with liquid eyes that missed nothing. “Your horse looks thirsty.”
“I’m just saying,” he continued, his voice more careful now. “It’s a little wild seeing you after all this time. Especially after the way you left, after you and Colt?—”
“Don’t.” The word came out sharper than I intended.
Hunter stiffened, his hands stilling at his sides.
I turned to face him fully, tension crawling up my spine. “You want to talk about Colt?” I forced his name past my lips, the syllable catching in my throat. “Then do it over there on your property. Not mine.”
Hunter blinked, taken aback, and for the first time, he looked like he regretted opening his mouth.
“You’re gonna see him, you know?” The way he said it, resigned like he already saw the collision coming, made something hot twist beneath my ribs. “I don’t know how long you’re planning on staying, but there’s no way around it.”
“I’m not worried about him.” The lie tasted bitter on my tongue as my pulse thrummed against my neck. “I’m back here for June and for this farm.”
Hunter shifted, like he might say something else, but then Maggie’s laugh rang out from the porch again and we both turned toward the sound.
June lifted a hand, beckoning us toward the porch. “Y’all going to stand out there all day? Blaire, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
I didn’t move at first. Not until Hunter opened the gate that led out of the strawberry fields and held it, waiting. I slipped past him without a word, but he cleared his throat. “I’m going to get back to work.”
But June ruined his plans. “Hunter, turn off Maggie’s truck on your way up here, will ya?”
“Shit,” Hunter mumbled under his breath, his shoulders tensing.
I snickered as he trudged toward the idling truck, kicking up little puffs of dust with each reluctant step.
I headed up the worn path to meet the girl who had reduced the always charming Hunter Calloway to a tense, distracted mess.
Maggie sat in one of the rocking chairs, long legs crossed and a glass of tea sweating in her hands. She glanced up as I made my way onto the porch, and the smile that spread across her face was warm and genuine.
“There she is.” June wrapped her arm around mine, drawing me closer to the woman. “This is my granddaughter, Blaire. The one I’ve told you about.”
Maggie stood and extended her hand. “I was beginning to think you were a myth.”
I shook her hand, even as I winced. “More like a cautionary tale.”
“Aren’t we all?” Maggie laughed. “It’s so nice to finally meet you after everything June’s told me.”
“Please don’t believe everything she says.” I dropped her hand and leaned back against the porch railing.
“Ms. June would never lie,” Hunter huffed, shifting his weight onto the first step, his dusty boot scuffing against the weathered wood. His eyes darted from the porch to the fields beyond, then to Maggie for a fleeting second before fixing on some invisible point in the distance.
June dropped my arm and moved to him so she could pat his cheek. “That’s because you’re a sweet boy, Hunter.”
Maggie scoffed, an unladylike sound that she immediately tried to muffle with her palm pressed against her lips, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Or he’s full of shit.” I shrugged. “Either one.”
Maggie’s laughter bubbled up. “I see you’ve met him before.”
“Nice to see you too, Mags.” Hunter clapped his hand across the porch post, rattling the lattice beneath.
“Always a pleasure, Calloway,” Maggie quipped, though the glint in her eye suggested otherwise.
June gave Hunter’s cheek one last pat before turning toward the door. “Let me grab your berries, darlin’. I’ve got them boxed and labeled in the cooler.”
“Thanks, June.” Maggie set her glass down with a soft clink on the porch railing as the screen door clicked shut behind my grandmother. Then she turned to me. “So, what brought you back to Tennessee?”
I hesitated, feeling the weight of Hunter’s gaze on me. “Needed a change,” I finally answered. That was the understatement of the year . “City life was getting old, and I missed this place.”
Maggie didn’t push me for more. She nodded as her fingers absentmindedly traced the fraying edge of her shorts. So I wasn’t sure why I felt compelled to continue, but the words tumbled out.
“And there might’ve been a guy,” I said, the admission lingering in the hot afternoon air.
A guy who turned out to be the opposite of what I should have wanted.
She laughed, and her nose scrunched. “Isn’t there always?”
“Unfortunately.” I looked over at Hunter and finally met his familiar brown eyes that had witnessed the rise and fall of Colt and me from the bleachers at football games to the late-night bonfires on the lake bank where our properties met.
Hunter had been there through it all, a kid with a front-row seat to our tangled history.
“Well, we’re glad you’re here. June’s been needing the help.” Maggie’s voice was warm and kind, but it made guilt dig its claws deeper into my chest. “And I know she’s been dying to have you home. She talks about you like you hung the moon and stars over this farm.”
“I’m glad I’m here too,” I told her honestly. “I’ve been gone too long. I think the country air might do me some good.”
“A girl needs time to remember who she is.” She laughed as she crossed her arms, fingers digging into her elbows, and her gaze flickered to Hunter.
I recognized the look in her eyes, and I pitied her. I knew how easy it was to fall for a Calloway brother, how their slow smiles and calloused hands could undo a girl piece by piece, but I also knew how it felt to have your heart broken by them as well.
“What are you doing tonight?”
I blinked, surprised by her question. “Uh, probably unpacking.”
“I’ll make you a deal.” She smiled at me, but her fingers tapped nervously against her thigh. “I’ll help you unpack if you come with me to meet a few friends at The Dusty Spur.”
I opened my mouth to decline, the refusal already forming on my tongue, but Hunter let out a dry snort.
Maggie tilted her head toward him. “Problem, Calloway?”
He leaned one broad shoulder against the porch post, arms folded loosely across his chest. “No problem. But there’s no way you’re going to convince this one to go to The Dusty Spur. She left the cowboy bars behind a long time ago.”
I could feel something hot and rebellious stir inside me at his words, and I caught my reflection in the window. My hair was a mess of curls that Grant would never approve of, my shoulders were already a little red from the sun, and I looked more like myself than I had in a very long time.
“I’ll go,” I said, because I wanted to.
“Hell yeah.” Maggie grinned and rubbed her hands together. “This is going to be so much fun.”
I deserved to have fun.
“All right, let’s get you unpacked, then get ready to go find you a cowboy to dance with.” Maggie looked genuinely excited about this plan. “I’ll run the strawberries by the bakery after. My apartment is right above it, and I can get ready in no time.”
“I have no interest in any cowboys. I’ve sworn them off.”
Hunter laughed again, but we both ignored him.
“Me too,” Maggie said around her soft laughter. “But then they keep making more cowboys and I keep drinking tequila. It’s exhausting.”
I laughed, a little of my tension easing, and I decided right then and there that I liked this girl. I liked her enough that I was going back to The Dusty Spur with her when it was the last thing I should do.
Because the last time I’d stepped foot in The Dusty Spur I was still a teenager, and I was drunk on the feel of Colt and the shot of vodka he’d talked one of the men at the table next to us into buying.
But so much had changed since that night.
The neon beer signs of The Dusty Spur belonged to a different lifetime, one where my lips tasted of cherry ChapStick and him .
Hunter was right.
I had left cowboy bars behind, but I was tired of letting men like Grant with his control, my father with his disapproving frown, and even Colt Calloway with his broken promises decide who I got to be.
I would walk into that bar tonight and try not to flinch when every head turned. There would be whispers and questions I didn’t want to answer, but for the first time in a long time, I couldn’t bring myself to care.
I brushed the dirt off my jeans, squared my shoulders, and let the smallest smile curve along my lips as I met Maggie’s eyes.
“I can’t make any promises on the cowboys but count me in for the tequila.”