Mud & Moxie

Chapter 1 Storm Clouds & Secrets

Storm Clouds it mirrors the chaos within me.

Every eye feels like it's seeing through my carefully constructed facade, piercing into the parts of me that are vulnerable and exposed.

***

I decide to make a quick trip to the bathroom, but I don’t get more than two steps before slamming into something solid. Not furniture. A man. My folders slip, I catch my phone before it hits the floor.

“Watch it,” a familiar, deep voice snaps. The same one that used to bark warnings when I was sixteen and sneaking into barn dances in heels.

No. Not him. Anyone but him.

“Dylan,” I breathe, the name tasting of dread and old hurt.

He stares down at me, storm-gray eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his cap. Shoulders broader, jaw sharper, but the scowl? Unchanged. “Madison.” Flat. Like an inconvenience. “Figures you’d blow in with noise.”

My pulse spikes. “Figures you’d still plant yourself in the middle of the room like you own it.” My voice cuts sharper than I intend, but I don’t regret it. Not with his disapproval radiating off him like summer heat on asphalt.

The receptionist ducks her head, pretending not to listen. Silence stretches, taut with all the words we never said. I clutch my folders tighter.

“You always this charming, or am I just lucky?” I shoot back, lifting my chin.

His mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “Lucky’s one word for it.”

“Unlucky’s another,” I mutter.

The tension hums like a live wire. Of all the rotten timing—why here, why now, why him?

Behind us, someone clears their throat. Matthew’s voice—my brother’s voice—cuts sharp.

“You two done blocking the doorway?” He must’ve swung by because I mentioned a legal appointment to him.

Typical Matthew—always protective, always wary.

He wasn’t expecting Dylan either. His eyes dart between us, confusion and warning in equal measure.

“Mad, why didn’t you tell me he’d be here?” he mutters, leaning closer. Relief and tension all at once. I don’t answer, because I didn’t know either.

The waiting room has gone still, farmers pretending to read while listening. Heat climbs my neck. Small towns never miss a show, and I’ve just handed them the opening act. Somewhere, someone is already composing the gossip version, and I guarantee it will not be flattering.

Back in the city, every move is curated. Here, one stumble in wet heels and I’m reduced to the girl who doesn’t belong. My brother glaring, his best friend aka my nemesis looming, neighbors already rewriting the tale. Online, my brand is polished. Here, it’s raw, messy, humiliating.

And Dylan? He’s smirking like the universe just handed him the world’s best punchline.

***

My brother’s best friend. The boy who once handed me marshmallows at bonfires—then told me my dreams were “fluff.” Dylan Carter. Ten years later, the sting still burns.

I adjust my bag strap, pretending the weight steadies me. It doesn’t. My gaze snags on the scar along his jaw, the mud on his boots, the way his flannel stretches across his shoulders. He shouldn’t look good. Not to me. Not after years of disdain.

“Doesn’t surprise me your brother would show,” he mutters, voice like gravel.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see you here, bud.” Matthew’s words snap, sharper than mine. Protective, skeptical.

Dylan’s eyes flick over me, lingering on my damp hair, my wrinkled skirt. His mouth twitches—amused. “Guess city life doesn’t teach you how to handle a little rain.”

“Guess farm life doesn’t teach you basic manners,” I shoot back before I can stop myself.

Matthew groans softly. “You two sound like an old married couple.”

I choke out a laugh. “Over my dead body.”

Dylan smirks. “Careful what you wish for.”

Anger bubbles hot. He never misses a chance to dismiss me. My business, my success—none of it counts in his world. To him, I’m still the girl who left town. Still not enough.

Matthew shifts beside me, hand tightening on my shoulder, a silent warning not to escalate. “Easy,” he mutters, the warning for both of us.

Before I can retort, the office door creaks open. Mr. Jenkins peers out, adjusting his glasses. “If you’re both ready,” he says carefully, “we can begin.”

Both. The word slams into me. I look at Dylan, heart thudding. What could possibly require us both here?

Matthew’s gaze cuts between us, suspicion plain. His best friend and his sister. Oil and water. Trouble waiting to boil.

The farmers by the wall trade knowing looks, already plotting how this will spread over coffee tomorrow. By sunset, half the county will know Madison Wilkes clashed with Dylan Carter at the law office.

I can already imagine the hashtags: #CityGirl, #DoesntBelong, #Drama. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. Because the more they believe I’m all gloss and filters, the harder I fight to prove I’m not.

And Dylan, infuriatingly, seems to be enjoying every second of my humiliation.

***

Dylan’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the flicker of surprise in his eyes. He masks it quickly, arms crossing over his chest, while I wear mine plain as day.

“Both?” I demand, sharper than I mean. My voice echoes in the hushed office.

Mr. Jenkins gestures us inside with a patronizing smile. “All will be explained shortly, Miss Wilkes. Mr. Carter.”

“Is it okay if my brother comes in with me?” I ask, suddenly desperate for his support.

“Certainly,” he replies.

The formality grates. Dylan uncrosses his arms, steps aside. “After you,” he says, voice dry as dust.

“Don’t strain yourself with chivalry,” I mutter as I march past him, folders pressed to my chest like armor.

The scent of cedar and rain-damp flannel trails behind me, too familiar. Dylan follows, boots thudding steady against the floor.

We sit side by side at Jenkins’s desk. His presence seeps into my skin. I shift, determined not to show it.

The office feels smaller with Matthew in the corner, arms crossed like a sentry. The steady tick of the clock is thunder in my ears. Jenkins clears his throat, papers shuffling. “Your uncle valued you both greatly. Which is why you’re here together.”

The words hit harder than the storm outside. Uncle Ray valued me? He valued Dylan? Enough to tangle us in some legal knot? My mind spins. Questions clog my throat.

Together. The word booms. Dylan’s jaw tightens, mine drops open.

Matthew’s jaw works like he’s holding back words of his own.

He looks ready to step between us, just like he did at bonfires and school hallways.

But I’m not sixteen anymore. And Dylan isn’t just his best friend.

He’s the storm I swore I’d never get caught in again.

And maybe the cruelest part? Some corner of me knows that for all my city polish, my curated feeds, my influencer deals—I’m not immune. One look from Dylan Carter and I’m back at bonfires and barns, to rejection and the pull of something I never shook.

Whatever comes next, it won’t be simple.

And for the first time since I walked in, I realize this storm is just beginning.

***