maybe it wasn’t even all about the stand. Maybe this was a natural progression on the road she’d already taken. Start...dressing the part of a confident, successful young businesswoman who was possibly interested in a little male attention.
She would do this for herself, not just to compete, but to find her rightful spot in adulthood. Bolstered, Mia stepped out of the stall, head held high.
ITCOULDN’THAVE been more than thirty-five degrees this morning, but sweat poured down Dell’s back as he descended the hill in a steady jog. His entire family thought his three-mile-a-day habit was nuts, but few things were as refreshing as a morning run. Especially on cold mornings when frost danced on the grass and his breath huffed out in clouds.
He approached the small cabin at the edge of his parents’ property. It had been built for his grandparents before Grandpa died and Grandma’d moved into the assisted-living center in Millertown. Now it was Dell’s. Paid rent on it and everything.
Dell lifted a leg onto the wooden fence, stretching forward as he watched the sunrise envelop the sky behind the hill. On top of the hill was his parents’ house. Mom and Dad would be long since up. Kenzie would be snoring—loudly—in his old room.
Sometimes he missed living in the big house. Always having someone to talk to or bother. He definitely wasn’t solitary by nature, so living alone wasn’t exactly a luxury. In fact, some days it downright blew.
But he was going to prove to Dad he was a responsible adult. Living on his own, paying rent, running the farmers’ market and CSA parts of the farm, it was all supposed to show Dad that Dell was responsible and smart enough to take over, to run this place. That he wanted it for what it was.
So far, Dell had gotten a lot of skeptical looks and a reminder that he used to blow off chores to sleep off a night of partying. Or a rehash of when he’d wrecked the brand-new baler in an attempt to show off for a bunch of his buddies. Drunk.
Seven years ago. Was there a statute of limitations on blowing off chores or drunk baler-wrecking?
In Dad’s world, probably not.
Still, the old baler story was less of a problem than when Dad lectured him about being more like Charlie, getting out of farming altogether, telling him to “see the future.”
Dell inhaled the cold air, let it out, tried to blow the bitterness out with it. He’d been an idiot and a jackass for many years, for no particular reason other than he lacked direction and drive. Living up to everyone thinking he wasn’t much more than a pretty face had seemed a lot easier than proving them wrong, but when Dad told him he was thinking about selling to a developer, it had snapped Dell out of it.
He loved the farm. He loved this place and doing this work. Losing it wasn’t an option. Going into business, moving closer to Saint Louis. None of it appealed to Dell. No matter what it took, he was going to make his father see he had changed. He was going to make Dad see this place was his future.
Dell took care of the little cabin, even tried to keep it clean despite his messy nature. Occasionally he paid Kenzie to help him out in that department.
It was nice to have someplace that was his, that Dad couldn’t look down his nose at.
And it was always nice to have a place to bring a woman home to.
Mia’s image popped into his head. Such a strange intrusion he laughed into the quiet spring morning. A pig squealed in the distance and Dell jumped off the fence.
He had about fifteen minutes until Charlie would show up complaining about the early hour, and every damn thing, loading up the vegetables. It was nice to have company while he worked, but Charlie’s nonstop bitching was starting to get old and they were only into week three. Charlie was helping out to soothe Mom’s worries that his corporate lifestyle was ruining his karma. An idea she’d picked up from some corny TV show.
Dell didn’t give much of a crap about his brother’s karma, but the help was nice. If Charlie would stop complaining all the time. He wished he knew a way to make his big brother understand, to see the value of this place, to feel what it meant. So much more than just them.
On a sigh, Dell hopped into the shower. No more brooding over his family. He had work to do today.
What would Mia have up her sleeve? He doubted his turning around her Naked Farmer moniker to help himself had left her too happy. He probably hadn’t helped the situation with his “keep the change” comment.
Nope. Not happy. If Mia could shoot lasers from her pretty green eyes, he’d be deader than a doornail.
Why the thought cheered him after his depressing inner monologue earlier, he had no idea. Something about going toe-to-toe with Mia was...fun.
Whistling, Dell pulled on a pair of faded jeans, the kind loose enough at the waist to hang a little low.
He was no dummy.
He shrugged on a button-up flannel shirt, finger combed his wet hair, then grabbed his keys and wallet. Maybe if he texted Charlie to meet him at the vegetable shed, he could cut down on the amount of whining he had to listen to.
But when he stepped outside, Charlie’s sleek luxury car was already parked in front of the gate. Along with Dad’s truck. The two men leaned against poles of his fence, Charlie with a to-go coffee cup in his hand, Dad with his beat-up thermos.
They looked nothing alike. Charlie had Mom’s height, her darker shade of blond. He was lean and polished. Dell had inherited Dad’s bigger frame, light hair, dark eyes. But it seemed in terms of personality, Charlie had combined Mom and Dad to be the favorite and Dell was just...the odd man out.
He was the one following the old man’s footsteps. Charlie acted as if the old man’s footsteps were caked with manure. But of course Dad seemed to look at his own footsteps that way.
Not really the best comparison, since technically manure was a way of life around here.
Dell let out a breath and steeled himself for a round of disdain. They could keep trying this make-Dell-feel-like-an-idiot thing, but it wasn’t going to change his determination. “Morning.”
Dad and Charlie grunted in unison.
“Still doing the market thing, then?”
Dell didn’t flinch, didn’t scowl. “Yup. Told you I’d be doing it all year again. CSA stuff, too.”
“Can’t believe people pay money to come here and pick up a bunch of vegetables. What’s wrong with the grocery store?”
“People care about where their food comes from.”
Dad shook his head, muttered something about hippies. Which was hilarious. Mom had been the one to suggest he start a CSA. In her own practical way, she was the biggest hippie in New Benton. “Has he let you look at the CSA profits?” Dad said to Charlie, jerking his head toward Dell. “They’re pretty dismal if you ask me, but I’d like to know your take.”
This time Dell did scowl. He jammed his baseball cap on his head in the hopes it’d hide most of his expression. His brother might be a VP of sales, but he didn’t know a
