3. Duke
THREE
DUKE
Eight Months Later
It had been an endless loop of unremarkable days melting into one another.
Wake up. Tend the fields. Check on Dad. Watch the sun sink below the tree line. Some nights I let my brothers talk me into grabbing a beer at the Grudge.
I leave when I realize she’s not there.
As one day folded into another, only subtle differences changed the endless loop of my life.
Earlier in the day, while walking the fields, I found an abandoned duckling.
His mother was nowhere to be found, and the pathetic little squeaks were kind of cute.
Ed was standing guard as I figured out what I was going to do with the thing.
It was early for most, but I woke up before the sun and was settling in with a cup of coffee and Ed at my feet. I needed to check in with my field manager, Cisco.
Migrant workers were common in Michigan, and without them Sullivan Farms wouldn’t have been the operation it was.
Cisco acted as a liaison between me and the migrant workers employed at Sullivan Farms. Not all farmers felt the same way, but it was my duty to ensure they were treated with the respect and dignity they deserved.
I supplied housing and transportation for the workers, along with state-mandated schooling for any children in their families, while they lived and worked on the farm.
It was a relationship I took seriously.
Already June, there was a lot of work to be done before the U-pick season started in a few weeks, and we needed to be sure the fields were prepped and ready to go.
We also needed to be sure that, come July, harvest could go on without a hitch—and one of our blueberry pickers had been acting up again.
The crunch of tires on gravel pulled my attention from my phone.
I recognized Wyatt’s car a split second before Three-Legged Ed ran off to circle his car as it meandered down the driveway.
While Ed took off, I didn’t bother to leave my chair. I had already put in a long-ass morning, walking the fields and dealing with the duckling, and I could tell it was gearing up to be an insufferable June afternoon. Enjoying my coffee felt like the only fifteen minutes of solace I got in the day.
That, and getting a message from her .
My brother exited his car, draping an arm across the open driver’s-side door. “Morning,” he shouted across the yard.
I lifted my mug in salute.
Wyatt shook his head and slammed his door closed as he walked across the yard and up the steps to my porch. He was dressed in slacks and a Midwest Michigan University–branded polo, which meant he was likely on his way to the campus in St. Fowler, where he worked.
I looked him over. “What do you know?”
“Not much. I’ve got a wide receiver camp coming up, so I’m going in to make sure everything’s ready to go. Thought I’d swing by on my way out of town.”
I frowned down into my cup. I loved having my brother back in town, but the years of him being gone and our strained relationship often left me feeling unsure of what to say to him, how to connect.
I tilted my black coffee toward him. “Want a cup?”
“Nah, man, I have to hit the road.” Wyatt grinned and my stomach tightened. He’s up to something. “But I wanted to tell you, we’re going out tonight.”
I didn’t hide my annoyed sigh and eye roll.
Wyatt pointed at me. “I’m serious. You need to get out of that house, off this farm. Live a little bit.”
My deep sigh was laced with a grunt as I slowly released my breath. I didn’t need my little brother telling me how to live my life, but I also hated to admit that he was partially correct.
I wasn’t currently living much of a life at all. Grueling days of prepping the fields, managing the migrant workers, and filling orders and contracts ate up every spare minute of my time.
My phone buzzed, and I glanced down just briefly enough to see the name Daryl Hall flash across the screen.
My mouth twitched at the corner. “Okay. Fine.”
The only other reason I ever took a few minutes out of my day every morning was the quick good morning text and chat with Sylvie.
It still boggled my mind how we had somehow slipped into such an easy friendship.
She was thoughtful and funny and kind—not at all the aloof ice princess I had thought her to be.
Hell, I think most people saw her that way, and a sick part of me loved that there was a piece of her reserved only for me.
I quickly flipped my phone upside down, but Wyatt caught the guilty flicker in my eyes before I could suppress it.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
I scoffed in dismissal. “No one.”
“Bullshit.” Wyatt smirked. “We all know you’re a terrible liar.”
Which is exactly why I can never tell a soul about my friendship with Sylvie King.
Wyatt crossed his arms and looked down at me. I worked to keep my expression calm despite my heart hammering behind my ribs.
“She a tourist?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow.
I only glared at him.
“Oh shit, she’s a townie!” Wyatt laughed and clapped his hands.
Annoyed, I stood, swiping my coffee mug off the side table hard enough for it to splash over the rim. I had him beat in height, but only by a half inch or so. Still, I was just petty enough to use it to my advantage. “It’s nothing.”
He narrowed his eyes, and his mouth hooked into a smirk. “If you say so, man.”
When I turned to walk back into my house and dump my cold coffee, mood soured, Wyatt stopped me. “Hey, I’m serious about going out tonight.”
With my back to him, I sighed, and my shoulder slumped.
“We miss you.” His words brought a fresh ache to my chest. “You’re getting out of this house, and we’re going out tonight. One beer. That’s all I’m asking for.”
He wasn’t asking for much. Just two brothers spending time together. Years ago I had wished for that exact thing, but I’d convinced myself that our family was too broken to ever have that. Now he was offering it to me on a silver fucking platter, and I was being a dick about it.
Over my shoulder I nodded.
“Yeah? All right.” Laughter laced through his words as he bounded down the stairs back toward his car. “I’ll pick you up—that way you can’t Houdini on us. Be ready at eight.”
I offered my brother a halfhearted salute, knowing I would have to spend the better part of the day thinking of an excuse to bring my own truck so that I could fulfill my one-beer obligation and make my silent exit, like I normally did.
Inside, I dumped the cold coffee and glanced at the clock. Wyatt’s impromptu visit had interrupted my morning routine, and I wasn’t happy about it.
Hurrying, I picked up my phone and unlocked it.
Daryl Hall
Morning.
Along with her good morning text was a picture of Sylvie dressed in tight running gear. With sunglasses perched on her nose, her face scrunched up, and her flashing a peace sign. A riot of oranges, pinks, and deep plum swirled over her shoulder as the summer sun rose behind her.
She was so stunning it stole my breath.
Sylvie didn’t often send pictures, but when she did, I saved every single one. I would venture a guess she would stop sending them if she knew they had become my only spank bank material in the last eight months.
I dragged a hand over my face.
Jesus Christ. I am a creep.
I quickly typed back.
Morning? I’ve already been up for four hours. The day’s wasting.
Daryl Hall
Well, not all of us are built like machines. Some of us need our beauty sleep.
Looks to me like you’ve been getting plenty of that.
My breath caught in my chest, as it always did when our conversations casually morphed into subtle flirting. I lived for it, but part of me worried it was too much, too aggressive. I know Sylvie didn’t think of me that way, but she also didn’t seem to mind either.
Daryl Hall
Ha. You’re sweet, but a liar. I wish I could say I was glistening. But in reality, I’m sweating like a pig. Why is it so hot this early?
My blood ran hot with thoughts of Sylvie sweating in a different scenario. One with her pinned beneath me as I drove my cock into her. My jaw clenched as I typed out a response.
Humidity’s up. They’re calling for rain overnight.
I inwardly rolled my eyes at myself. The world’s most gorgeous woman was taking time out of her day to text me, and I was talking about the fucking weather.
What are you up to?
Daryl Hall
Just work, but then I think MJ and I might head up to the Grudge tonight. The band that’s playing is supposed to be good. She says we’re celebrating.
I perked up at the news that Sylvie would also be at the Grudge tonight.
Guess I would be staying for more than one beer after all.
Celebrating?
Daryl Hall
The date auction remix happened, so I am no longer paired up with Stumpy Larson. The rest of the dates will be with Charles. Definitely celebrating.
Outtatowner had recently held the annual Matchmaker’s Gala. It was a charity ball and an opportunity for the women in town to play matchmaker, pairing off the singles in town through a ridiculous date auction disguised as fun.
Fuck that .
It was no surprise to anyone that I refused to go. I didn’t care that it made me look like a prick for not attending a charity auction, even if it was for a good cause.
But I was glad Sylvie wasn’t paired with Stumpy Larson anymore, because that guy was a fucking weirdo. Had it not been for her overbearing brothers, I may have been forced to step in myself.
Thankfully it hadn’t come to that. Though I wasn’t sure Charles Attwater was much better.
He was a nice enough guy, I guess. New in town and had opened up some fancy wine bar that the tourists couldn’t get enough of, but there was something that just didn’t sit right with me.
Charles didn’t pay any mind to the King–Sullivan feud, and the women of either side of that feud seemed to flock to him.
He had even set his sights on Annie Crane, who’d grown up so close with us she was practically another sister. I thought my brother Lee was going to pop a blood vessel when Charles started giving Annie his attention.