14 | Mendin fences
COLTON
I’m elbow-deep in the damn baler when Mama shows up. “Boy, why aren’t you answerin’ your phone? Had to drag my old bones all the way out here just to get your attention.”
I pull my hands out, grease up to the elbows, and wipe off on a rag. “Sorry, Mama. Must’ve missed it. Head ain’t exactly in the game today.”
Her brows lift. “Might Clementine Holliday have somethin’ to do with that?”
I huff a laugh with no humor in it. “You know she does.”
“Mhm.” She sets a container of food on the tractor hood, leanin’ on it like she’s got all day to wait me out.
I squint at her. “I reckon you didn’t come all the way out here just to feed me lunch.”
“Clementine called.”
That hits me like a live wire. “What’d she want?”
Mama’s smirk says she knows exactly what she’s stirrin’ up. “Needs somethin’ welded. A fence, I think.”
The fire in my chest flickers out quick. “She’s workin’ with a contractor. Bet he can handle it.”
Mama swats at me like I’m twelve again. “You quit sulkin’. If that girl’s got a contractor on the payroll and still asked for you, then she wants you. Don’t be thick.”
I grunt, grab my wrench, and go back to tightening bolts. “Tell her I’m too busy playin’ country boy.”
“Colton Matthew.” Mama’s voice goes sharp, and I snap upright like she pulled a rein. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but it ain’t worth another seven years of you mopin’ around like some half-broke steer. You just got her back.”
“She ain’t stayin’, Mama. City’s in her bones. She don’t want a small life, and she sure as hell don’t want me tyin’ her down. Still blames me for not runnin’ after her last time.”
“And you think the answer is lettin’ her go again?” Mama shakes her head. “Boy, you’re my son, but sometimes I wonder if you’ve got rocks rattlin’ around in that skull of yours.”
“I can’t make her change her mind. And I ain’t leavin’ the ranch. This is my life. Pa’s legacy.”
Mama’s eyes soften, but her tone stays firm. “Your daddy was a good man, Colton. He wanted you boys to take over because it made you happy. Not because you’re shackled to his ghost.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “Clem’s leavin’. And I ain’t built for city livin’. We don’t fit. I can’t be in her world, she can’t be in mine.”
Mama steps in, cups my jaw like I’m still her boy, then smooths my collar with her free hand.
“You keep tellin’ yourself that, maybe one day you’ll believe it.”
She taps her palm against my chest, right over the ache I don’t want her seeing.
“She’ll be at Marg’s all day. Go mend what needs mendin’, my boy.”
***
I pull up to Marg’s farm thirty minutes later. The screen door creaks open and Clementine steps out, like she’s been waiting for me.
She takes her time walking down the porch steps, still wearing my damn flannel, and I hate how it undoes me. That’s all I ever wanted—Clem, barefoot in my shirt, running out to meet me.
And now it just feels wrong.
“Thank you for coming,” she says when she’s close enough. “I didn’t know if you still would, after—”
“Hell, it’s what I do, right? Pitchin’ hay and mendin’ fences.”
Her gaze drops to the dirt, shame rolling off her.
I sigh. “It’s alright, Clementine. You can still call when you need me.”
She won’t meet my eyes. “It’s the north pasture gate. Something about a hinge.”
I smack the side of the truck. “Got everythin’ I need right here. You ridin’ along, or stayin’ put?”
Her eyes flick to the truck bed, to where my generator sits. “I’d like to see, actually.”
I jerk my chin at the passenger side. “Hop in, darlin’.”
We drive in silence, but I feel her eyes on me the whole way. I make a point of keeping mine locked on the road.
At the pasture, I park close to the gate, get out of the car and round the hood to help Clem out. She doesn’t protest this time, just quietly trails after me when I start setting up at the back of the truck.
I shrug on my welding coat and gloves, don my mask, and haul the leads out of the truck bed.
“Looks like the hinge pin snapped clean off,” I mutter, crouching low to inspect the gate. “Ain’t nothin’ I can’t burn back in place.”
Clem hovers a few feet behind me, arms folded tight like she doesn’t know what to do with ’em.
“Don’t just stand there,” I tell her, tipping my head toward the gate. “Put your hand here. Hold it steady for me.”
She hesitates, but steps in close, wrapping her palm around the rusted metal where I point.
“That’s it,” I say, low. My voice comes out rougher than I intend, because now she’s close enough I can feel the heat of her body beside me and it’s taking me right back to when I had her under me, her legs trembling with pleasure.
I flip my mask down and drag the stinger across the steel, arc flaring to life with a crackle. Sparks spit and dance at our feet. The sizzle of molten metal fills the quiet, and Clem recoils.
“Easy,” I murmur, bracing one hand flat against the gate right above hers, caging her in. “Just keep holdin’ it. I got the rest.”
Her breath hitches. I keep my focus locked on the bead I’m laying down, but I’m too damn aware of how she’s pressed against that gate, the way her shoulders tense, the flush crawling up her neck.
When I finish the pass, I kill the arc and lift my mask. Sweat runs down my temple, catching in the dust. I blow out a breath, peel off my gloves, and toss them on the truck’s bumper.
“All right, darlin’, let’s see if she swings.”
I grab the gate and pull. It groans, then glides clean, hinge solid again.
“Good as new,” I say, grinning at my handiwork.
“Thanks, Colton.” She watches me strip off the coat, my shirt clinging damp to my back. “I suppose you could use a drink?”
I shrug. “I’ll last ’til I’m home. Got that cooler in the truck, y’know.”
“Right.” She stares at her sneakers.
“But,” I add, leaning her way, “I’ll come back to the house with you, if you’re offerin’.”
Her pretty eyes flick up, wide. “I’m offering.”
I pull open her door. “Then hop in, girl.”
I peel out of the ditch, dirt spitting up behind the tires.
Clementine clutches the grab handle like her life depends on it as the truck bucks back onto the dirt road. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she says softly, despite all the shaking. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
I bump her knee with mine. “You weren’t wrong. It is what I do.”
She shakes her head. “I made it sound like it wasn’t something to be proud of. I know how hard you’ve worked, Colton—the ranch looks amazing. Raymond would’ve been so proud.”
My throat goes tight. “Thanks, Tiny. Means more than you know.”
We pull up to the house. She heads in first, and I follow her inside, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table. I hook my hat onto the backrest, brace my forearms on the table, and look around.
It’s a classic farmhouse, the kind that feels familiar the second you step inside, even if I don’t recall spending any time here. It’s got all the original details, but it would definitely benefit from some updating. Makes me wonder what Clementine’s got in mind for it.
A jug of lemonade hits the table, the liquid sloshing against the glass as it slides my way. “It’s not Mama’s sweet tea, but it’ll do.”
I smirk. It’ll quench one thirst, maybe not the other.
Clementine sets a glass down in front of me and sinks into a chair. I fill up her glass, then pour myself one and sip, holding her gaze over the rim.
She squirms. “Stop making eyes at me, McGraw.”
“Hard to do any different when it’s you sittin’ across from me, Clementine.”
Color rises in her cheeks and her chest heaves, betraying her. She tries to hide it by taking a sip of lemonade.
A drop of condensation trails off her glass and lands on the swell of her breast, and it takes all I have not to crawl across this table and lick it off.
“It’s not that I don’t like you,” she whispers. “It’s just—I spent years tryin’ to get over you.”
I ball my hands into fists, knuckles blanching. My cock strains against my jeans. “I never got over you, Tiny.”
She bites her lip. “I’m not staying, Colton. I’ve got a life to get back to. I’m only here for the summer.”
“If another summer’s all I get, I’ll take it, sweetheart.”
She stares at me for a long moment, then sighs. She pushes her chair back. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Hope sparks hot in my chest. I grin, triumphant. “Sure would. What can I make you, sugar?”
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Ugh, AND he cooks? Who wants a Colton for themselves? ???♀?????? Next chapter drops Friday at 9:30 AM PST / 12:30 PM EST / 18:30 CET ??