Chapter 6
Six
JASON
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Matthew…”
“What?” Matthew pouted and put his boots up on the hay bale next to him, looking at Jason with a petulant pout. “She’s my friend first, and I don’t know if I want you making things weird. I’m protecting Caitlin.”
“From me?”
“Yes, you grumpy buttwad… you aren’t exactly nice sometimes. Next time you bite my head off or start huffing angrily at me, I’ll point it out – oh wait – how ‘bout now?!” Matthew yelled at him, flinging his arms wide and giving him a pointed look. “Hmm? Hmm?”
“I’m not being ‘mean.’ It’s called being ‘firm’ with you because I need you to give me Caitlin’s cell phone number.”
“No,” Matthew said simply, shutting his eyes like he was going to take a nap – and Jason could feel his frustration vibrating through him. He stood up, threw down the pitchfork that he was using to put fresh hay into the stalls and took steps toward his brother who obviously thought he had the high ground – and kicked his boots off the hay bale.
“Oooow?!”
“Her number!”
“No!” Matthew snapped, jumping to his feet. “This guy – this attitude right here – is precisely why you aren’t getting her number from me. You think you are in control of everyone and everything – and surprise, surprise – YOU AIN’T.”
“Aren’t,” Jason grumbled, correcting him.
“See? I can say what I want and just because it doesn’t suit you doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It means you need to get over yourself, quit pushing yourself around, and quit pretending to like her.”
“I’m not pretending… and I don’t know if I like her or not.”
“Oh my gosh, do you even hear yourself?” Matthew shouted in disbelief, grabbing his hair like his mind was utterly blown. “Why on God’s green earth would I ever put my best friend in a situation that you weren’t sure of? If I fool around with girls, it’s because I like them, and they know it.”
“I’m not looking to do anything with Caitlin.”
“Then you definitely cannot have her cell number?”
“Because I won’t treat her like trash and sleep with her?”
“First off – I don’t treat my girls like trash… and I don’t sleep with them. That involves a morning-after that I don’t want to face. I’d rather chew my arm off…” Matthew shivered visibly. “I am not a commitment man.”
“I know.”
“Neither are you, you know!”
“Sure I am.”
“No, you aren’t – you are so focused on being in charge of everything the idea of having a partner rubs you the wrong way. It’s taken you years to let any of us help with the farm, and we’re family. She’s nobody to you.”
“Fine,” Jason said harshly, walking off. He wasn’t going to stand there and justify his interest in Caitlin to someone it shouldn’t matter to. If being his brother wasn’t enough, then maybe Matthew knew something he didn’t and was protecting the both of them. “Finish spreading the hay,” he tossed behind him to Matthew.
“No – you are the horses, remember? I’m the gorgeous face of the farm, remember? I’m in P.R., not your personal laborer!”
“P.R. doesn’t involve your overblown ego or your face.”
“Huh? Wait a second… it doesn’t?”
“No – finish the hay, and I’ll show you after dinner what your new ‘job’ entails.”
“I’m still not giving you Caitlin’s number.”
“I don’t want it.”
“I freakin’ knew it!” Matthew hollered angrily, practically throwing a tantrum as Jason turned to look at him. His brother was kicking at nothing, swinging his arms in the air, and frowning hotly, muttering under his breath before bunching his fists at his side. “That’s why I wouldn’t give it to you – you… you…”
“Buttwad?” Jason offered drolly, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting an eyebrow at him.
“Yes!”
“Get to work,” Jason muttered, pointing at the pitchfork again. “I’ve got bills to pay, and you can help out.”
“You’re leaving because you know I’m right…”
He clenched his jaw so tightly it ached, but he refused to let his brother see how much the words cut him.
Jason didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
There was no point in arguing when the damage was already done. His brother had made it clear—he wasn’t worth Caitlin’s time. Not as a friend, not as anything more. And maybe the worst part? Jason wasn’t even sure he disagreed.
Without another word, he spun on his heel and walked off, his boots crunching against the gravel driveway. Every step was fueled by frustration, the kind that burned under his skin and made his chest feel too tight. The fact that his own flesh and blood thought so little of him—that he needed to be kept at arm’s length from a woman like Caitlin—stung more than he wanted to admit.
He jammed his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched as he stalked toward his truck. His mind warred with itself. He barely knew her. Caitlin. But dang, he liked the way she made him feel. Not in an obvious, punch-you-in-the-face kind of attraction—she wasn’t the kind of woman who turned heads in a room full of glitz and glamour. But there was something about her. Something real.
Her laughter.
Those frowns.
All of it.
That was what had him thinking about her long after she was gone. It was light, warm—like sunlight cutting through the storm clouds of his life. And gosh, he needed that. Needed something good, something that didn’t come with weight pressing down on his shoulders like the darn world was resting there. Every time she spoke to him, he caught himself smiling, his defenses cracking just enough to let a little light in.
It had been years since he’d laughed like that. Since he’d felt anything other than responsibility and grief clawing at his insides. Not since before his father passed. Heck, maybe not even since his mother had died. Life had been nothing but a series of hits, one after another, knocking him down before he could find his footing.
He exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away as he reached his truck and climbed in. He should go back to the house. There were bills to pay and responsibilities to handle. But instead, he found himself turning the key, the engine rumbling to life as he made a decision.
The bills could wait another day.
For once, he wanted to do something for himself.
Without hesitation, he took the familiar drive over the ridge, his truck bouncing slightly as he pulled up to the old house. His great-grandmother’s place. His place now. This was going to be his home. He’d told Caitlin about it, but he hadn’t made any attempts to move in or update things yet, and maybe it was finally time.
Jason shut off the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the worn exterior. His eyes roved over things, immediately taking note of things. The place needed work. A lot of it.
Unlocking the front door, he noticed that some of the boards on the front porch were starting to bow, and he would need to change them out. Opening the screen door, he saw a slight tear in the corner. These were things he could do over time but wouldn’t inhibit him from moving in,and he smiled.
Jason stood in the center of the room, hands braced on his hips, surveying the space with a critical eye. The house had been sitting empty for far too long, the dust and neglect settling in like an unwanted guest. But it wasn’t beyond saving. No, it still had good bones—just like the stubborn people who had lived here before him.
It wasn’t much, but it was his.
He exhaled slowly, the familiar weight of responsibility pressing against his ribs. He’d get his things from the main house and move in this weekend. It would give him space. Privacy. A place to have coffee undisturbed.
Someday with Caitlin.
Jason cursed under his breath and scrubbed a rough hand down his face. That woman. She had a way of sneaking into his thoughts, burrowing in like she belonged there. Which, of course, she didn’t.
Shouldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
“I’ve got to stop thinking about her,” he muttered to himself, the words little more than a growl as he fished his phone out of his pocket.
Distraction. That was what he needed. A list. Something practical. Something that didn’t involve Caitlin’s maddening smile or the way she beamed at him just before she laughed, and he wondered what her perfume smelled like. If she smelled like fresh-cut flowers – or pizza dough.
And he chuckled, shaking his head at his own weird thoughts.
Focusing, he started tapping out the things he needed to do. Supplies to buy. Repairs to schedule. The roof might need patching, and the front porch sagged like an old man’s shoulders, but at least the structure was still holding strong. Unlike him, apparently.
An hour later, Jason was elbow-deep in the kind of work that left his mind blessedly blank. The scent of a lemon cleaner cut through the stale air as he wiped down the counters, scrubbing away years of grime with methodical strokes. The mop glided across the hardwood, the water turning gray as he wrung it out. Cobwebs clung stubbornly to the corners of the ceiling, defiant and unyielding—just like every Baird who had ever set foot in this house.
He worked in silence, save for the occasional creak of the old floorboards beneath his boots. The lower level was almost livable now, cleared of dust and neglect, and though there was still plenty to be done, it felt possible now. Manageable.
The upper floors, however, were another story. They held remnants of the past—photo albums, framed pictures, his great-grandfather’s war medals—pieces of history, moments frozen in time, waiting for someone to remember them.
Jason leaned against the mop handle, staring up the staircase. The weight of generations pressed in around him, thick as the dust motes floating in the sunlight. He should go through it all, sort it, and decide what stayed and what went.
But not today.
His gaze drifted to the sitting room, where the old wallpaper still clung stubbornly to the walls. Faded florals in a delicate pattern, peeling at the edges, whispering of a time when homes were built to last, love was meant to endure, and family was everything.
Jason ran a hand over the wallpaper, fingers tracing the pattern absently.
It reminded him of home.
Not just the place, but the feeling—the deep, aching sense of belonging that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing until now.
His jaw tightened.
Maybe, just maybe, he could find that again.
But first, he had to stop thinking about Caitlin – and get his own act together. Oh, and show Matthew what a PR manager actually did for a living.
“Sheesh,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and trying not to let that overwhelming stress bring him down again.
* * *
Two weeks later, Jason was finally getting settled into his new—yet old—home. He hadn’t moved his office from the main house yet, mainly because walking across the property to work made him feel like he was actually going to work. The thought amused him. Like a commute really made that much of a difference when his boots barely had time to scuff the dirt between one house and the other.
Toni and Derek had been baffled when he gave up his place at the main house, but it was Matthew’s reaction that had surprised him the most. His brother had followed suit, moving into a little frame house in town near the church. Jason didn’t ask why, but he had a feeling they were both searching for something more than just space.
As for him?
He loved this house.
It had been sitting empty for as long as he could remember, nothing more than a shadow on the edge of the property. But now, with the windows open and the scent of fresh paint in the air, it felt alive again. At night, when he sat in his recliner—his one and only piece of living room furniture currently—he could almost hear the echoes of the past. He remembered running across these very floors as a boy, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by the creak of old wood. His parents had shut up the house when he was young, and now, sitting in the quiet, he wondered why.
He loved the sound of the crickets, the fireflies in the bushes on the edge of the property, and the sense of comfort that came with it. The night air carried the distant growl of a bobcat, and a sharp pulse of memory struck him. His palm itched, and before he even realized it, he was flexing his hand, tracing the old scar. It was instinct—a habit ingrained by time.
Caitlin.
The thought of her lingered, unwelcome yet persistent. A part of him wondered if he should’ve reached out differently and handled things another way. Then again, what good would it have done? Matthew had drawn the line—no Caitlin. Not that Jason had any claim to her, but out of respect for his brother, he wasn’t about to test that boundary.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder.
Matthew and Caitlin had been inseparable as kids, thick as thieves. Had it been the same when she was in the Navy? Or had the distance forced a wedge between them? Maybe that was why Matthew had gotten into trouble back then—maybe he’d been acting out, missing her in ways he never said out loud.
Jason exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. Thinking about Caitlin wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Instead, he turned his focus to the house—the one thing he could control .
His bedroom was nothing special, just a bed and a dresser. He didn’t need much. He wasn’t the kind of guy who cared about fluffy pillows or cozy touches. The kitchen, though? That was where he put in the effort.
The weathered cabinets had gotten a fresh coat of paint instead of being ripped out. The butcher block countertops? They stayed, scars and all. Every knife mark, every scorch, every stain was history, proof that this house had been lived in . He liked that. Instead of tossing it all away for something brand new, he chose to honor it.
The old sink had been swapped for a deeper farmhouse one, complete with a garbage disposal that made him feel like a giant in his own kitchen. The counters were too low for his height, so he added a row of cabinets, creating a waist-high prep station. A compromise.
The gas water heater was new, the fridge too, but what he liked most was the hidden cabinet he’d found. Inside, a row of hooks held an old rag, stiff from time, and in the corner sat his great-grandmother’s straw broom.
Jason ran his fingers over the rough handle before carefully placing it back in its spot. I see you. It felt right to keep it, a nod to the past that had shaped him.
He leaned against the counter, staring out the window, imagining the changes he’d make. A garden along the side of the house. A row of pumpkins lining the porch in the fall. Corn husks on the door at Thanksgiving.
He huffed out a breath, shaking his head. Yeah, real homey, Baird.
And yet, as much as he liked this place, something was missing. The idea of coming home to an empty house night after night left a dull ache in his chest.
Maybe it was time to do something about that.
Maybe if Caitlin was off-limits, it was time to put himself out there again.
Jason clenched his jaw and pushed away from the counter.
Easier said than done.
* * *
Weeks later
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and early morning dew, the mist still clinging stubbornly to the grass like a secret it wasn’t ready to let go of. Jason exhaled, his breath barely visible in the cool morning air, as he secured the last wooden crate onto the trailer hitched to his truck. The rhythmic creak of the trailer settling under the weight was oddly satisfying—a sound that meant things were getting done.
He glanced up just in time to catch Matthew practically strutting across the gravel driveway, adjusting the cuffs of his Western dress shirt like he was preparing for a magazine shoot instead of a farmers’ gathering. He’d seen peacocks less proud than his brother at that moment.
Jason smirked.
“These are expensive duds, you know…” Matthew drawled, turning slightly to give them all a full view of his ‘ensemble.’ His shaggy hair brushed against the collar of his shirt, the same darn shirt Jason had put his foot down on—only for Matthew to dig his heels in deeper.
Jason had told him no.
A hard, unequivocal no .
But apparently, Matthew had made an executive decision on behalf of the entire family.
“They’re for promotion,” Matthew had argued, insisting that all the men wear them – including Toni’s husband, Derek.
And so, here they were—each of them outfitted in crisp Western dress shirts with pearl buttons, the Baird Farm logo embroidered over the breast pocket. The ‘Bar-B’ insignia had been stitched onto the collar points and cuffs, a small but significant mark of their legacy. Most of them had already rolled up their sleeves, but not Matthew. No, Matthew’s cuffs were buttoned in place, pressed to perfection, like he was about to step into a boardroom instead of a Founder’s Day gathering.
Jason shook his head and adjusted the brim of his hat, letting his gaze drift toward the horizon where the mist was slowly lifting, revealing the rolling acres of land that had been in their family for generations. Today was going to be a hot one—he could feel it in his bones. The humidity was already thick, promising a long, sticky day ahead.
A warm chuckle broke through his thoughts.
“Oh my gosh, you are so vain,” Toni said, shaking her head as she shot a look at Matthew.
Jason huffed a quiet laugh, shifting the weight of another crate into place beside Derek. It was barely six in the morning, and already Matthew was putting on a show.
"Hey—you wanted PR for the farm,” Matthew countered, unfazed. “Well, I'm making sure people see us and know. I'm PR-ing to the best of my ability right now." His grin was darn near blinding, full of self-satisfaction.
Jason rolled his eyes.
Typical.
The scent of freshly turned soil mingled with the faint aroma of hickory-smoked meat as he turned his attention back to the trailer. Today was Founder’s Day—a tradition as old as Yonder itself. Farmers from all over gathered like a pop-up marketplace, a place where neighbors became customers and strangers left as friends. It wasn’t just about selling goods—it was about the community, about showing up, about standing shoulder to shoulder with the people who understood the struggle of working the land.
The Ember Creek Orphanage would have a charity table, as always, and the beekeepers would be there with jars of golden honey that caught the light just right. There’d be loaves of warm bread from the old Carson family, braided placemats woven by the Thompsons, wind chimes crafted from recycled bits of metal that somehow turned rust into art.
For the Bairds, it was about more than just profit. They’d be selling baby chicks, slabs of smoked ham, and the secret meat rub their father had perfected years ago—the one that turned ordinary barbecue into something memorable. None of them particularly liked making money off their dad’s memory, but this was a way to share a piece of him with the community, to keep his name alive in the laughter and the stories told around dinner tables.
Luke had designed the stickers for the jars—clean, simple, with the farm’s logo in bold print. They didn’t have many calves this year, and Jason wasn’t willing to part with any of the horses, so this was their best bet at bringing in a little extra without sacrificing too much.
More than anything, though, Jason wanted a day without that constant, gnawing pressure to sell, sell, sell. He wanted to talk with people, shake hands, and feel like part of something bigger than a bottom line.
He let out a slow breath, scanning the setup one last time.
Today wasn’t about survival or struggle.
It was about belonging… and family.
And if Matthew had to strut around like a show pony to make sure people noticed them? Well, Jason supposed there were worse things.
He cast his brother a sideways glance, smirking. “Just try not to blind the customers with all that shine, will ya?”
Matthew scoffed. “No promises.”
Jason chuckled, shaking his head as he climbed into the truck. Today was going to be interesting.