Chapter 5
Asher
I sit behind my desk with my sleeves pushed up and a legal pad covered in notes I don’t need anymore but can’t seem to throw away. Logan takes the leather chair opposite me, leaning back with his ankle braced over his knee like this is just another quiet afternoon.
It isn’t.
I drag a hand over my mouth and look at the clock on my laptop, then back at the file open in front of me.
“He filed it Friday,” I say.
Logan’s jaw tightens. “While we were there.”
“Yeah.” I nod once. “While she was showing us the east pasture and talking about fencing quotes, he was filing paperwork to tell a court she can’t be trusted with her own money.”
Logan mutters something under his breath that sounds like a promise, not a word.
“Monday, I spent half the day on the phone,” I go on. “Clerk’s office, his attorney, our attorney. He’s not backing down. He thinks if he makes it complicated enough, expensive enough, she’ll get tired and take whatever scraps he offers.”
Logan’s foot drops to the floor. He leans forward, forearms on his thighs. “He doesn’t know her.”
“He knows exactly who she is,” I say quietly. “He just thinks the system will side with the man in the suit over the woman with a barn full of broken boards.”
Logan’s mouth goes flat.
I turn the screen toward him. “Our lawyer filed the response yesterday. We’re asking the court to deny the motion outright.”
“In Kansas City,” Logan says.
“Yeah. That’s where it landed.” I shrug one shoulder. “We don’t know the judge. Lawyer says that’s not a bad thing. Clean slate. No history with either firm.”
“She have to go?” Logan asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “Not for this stage. It’s all briefs and filings. Paper fight. She stays here. Works. Sleeps. Eats. Let us worry about the courtroom.”
Logan exhales slowly, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “Good.”
I glance at the clock again. “Lawyer also pulled her academic record into the response. Transcripts. Certifications. Those accounting and marketing courses she took.”
Logan huffs a breath that almost passes for a laugh. “So much for ‘she can’t manage money.’”
“Yeah.” I lean back in my chair. “On paper, she looks like exactly what she is. Capable. Prepared. Serious.”
Logan studies me for a second. “You sure?”
“I am.” I hold his gaze. “He’s stalling. Trying to rattle her. But this argument doesn’t hold. Not long term.”
Logan nods once, slowly. Then his eyes drift toward the front of the house, like he can already hear her truck in the drive.
“She sounded tired this morning,” he says.
“I know.” My voice softens without my permission. “That’s why she’s coming here tonight.”
His mouth curves, not quite a smile. “We feeding her?”
“We’re feeding her. And if she’s open to it, we’ll tire her out so much in bed, she’ll sleep like a baby.”
Logan's grin flashed.
I glanced at the stack of paperwork sitting beside my laptop. "Before any of that, we need Dylan."
Logan groaned. "Don't remind me."
I turned the screen toward him. Richard's motion sat open on the monitor. "If anybody can rip apart a financial argument, it's Dylan."
"True."
I reached for my phone. "And if Richard thinks Josie's irresponsible with money, I'd like to see him explain that theory to a man who built a company worth more than some countries."
Logan barked out a laugh. "Now that I'd pay to watch."
Josie
I pull up in front of the house at five fifty-five and sit there for a second with my hands still on the steering wheel. My stomach won’t settle. It feels like the moment before stepping onstage, that fluttery, too-bright hum under my ribs.
The front door opens before I even make it to the porch.
Logan doesn’t wave. He just comes down the steps like he’s been watching for me, like he knew the exact second my car turned onto the street. The evening air is cool enough that I tuck my hands into the sleeves of my sweater, shoulders tight, braced without meaning to be.
He doesn’t say hello first.
Logan steps into my space like the distance between us has always been optional.
His hand slides around my waist, drawing me in, and I’m suddenly aware of him everywhere we touch.
I relish in the firm line of his chest, the strength in the arm at my back, all that male solidity against my softer curves, including a healthy bulge pressing against my belly.
My breath slips out before I can catch it.
His mouth meets mine with just the right amount of pressure.
He fits our mouths together and gives me time to adjust. My lips part on instinct, and I trace the shape of his mouth with my tongue, enjoying the clean, warm taste of him and something that is just Logan.
The faint rasp of stubble brushes my skin, and I revel in the steady exhale through his nose, the tiny shudder in it telling me I’m not the only one feeling this fire between us.
My fingers curl into his shirt and pull, needing him closer without thinking through the why of it. My chest presses to his, and the heat of him seeps through the thin fabric between us.
He answers the invitation of my mouth, angling his head, deepening the kiss by a fraction. Enough to make my stomach tighten and heat bloom low in my belly. My knees soften, and I lean into him, letting his body take a little more of my weight.
His thumb moves along my jaw, a slow glide that leaves a trail of awareness in its wake. My skin wakes up under his touch, every place he brushes suddenly too sensitive, too alive.
The kiss stretches, breaths mingling, and mouths moving together in a natural rhythm of give and take. When he finally eases back, his lips graze mine once more, softer this time, and I follow without meaning to, chasing the warmth he leaves behind.
A low chuckle on my left brings my attention to the other brother. Still in Logan’s arms, I half turn, wanting Asher to be part of this embrace.
“Hey, you.” I smile and hold out my hand.
Logan’s arms are still around me when I turn, his hand warm and steady at the small of my back, anchoring me there. Asher steps in close, crowding my other side, his palm settling at my hip like it belongs there.
His mouth finds mine without hurry.
Where Logan’s kiss was heat and gravity, Asher’s is a slow pull, his lips brushing mine once, twice, as if he’s mapping me with touch instead of sight. I lean into him on a soft breath, and his thumb shifts at my waist, a small stroke that makes my skin prickle under my sweater.
He tilts his head and our mouths fit, gentler, but no less certain. I part for him, and he takes his time, tasting instead of claiming. My fingers bunch in the front of his shirt as everything inside me loosens enough to make my head spin.
His lips move with mine in an unhurried rhythm that makes my thoughts blur at the edges. I feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek, the faint scrape of his jaw, the way he exhales through his nose when I press closer.
Logan’s hand slides up my spine, slow and possessive, and I’m caught between them—one mouth leaving me soft, the other touch keeping me upright.
Asher deepens the kiss by degrees, just enough to make my knees feel unreliable. His thumb presses into the curve of my hip, holding me there while his lips linger, easing, returning, as if he’s not ready to let the moment go.
When he finally lifts his mouth from mine, it’s not far. His forehead brushes my temple, his breath still warm against my skin, and I stay right where I am, held between them, pulse fluttering, body buzzing with the quiet aftermath of being kissed like I matter.