The warm breeze blows softly as I walk up the back steps of my house. My little, small house that I bought without my parents knowing.
I press the keypad, and the door clicks open. I make my way to the couch and sit down for a second. Laying my head back, I close my eyes for just a minute. Or so I thought.
The soft alarm makes my eyes spring open as I jump off the couch and grab my phone from the coffee table. I turn the alarm off and scroll to see if anyone has texted me.
The last text I got was from Chelsea at three.
Chelsea: Mayson just got home. Fire is finally out.
I don’t bother answering her in case she’s sleeping. Instead, I close my eyes for just a couple of seconds before I roll off the couch and walk toward my bedroom. My whole body feels like it was run over by a semi. I pull my shirt over my head and throw it in the dirty laundry before starting the shower.
Slipping off my jeans, I get into the shower and put my head back. I still smell of smoke, and I was only there for a short time. I close my eyes, and all I can see is the barn again. All I can see is the fire. I can’t believe that this nightmare is my reality. I put my hands on my face as I sob into them silently.
Getting out, I dress in another pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then slide on my worn boots. I walk out of the house and see that the sun is slowly coming up. It takes me two minutes to get to the barn, and when I get there, I’m surprised to see the lights on.
The smell of coffee hits me as soon as I walk into the barn, and I almost groan. "Good morning," I say to no one in particular. I hear the sound of hay moving when I see Willow stick her head out of her horse's stall.
"Good morning," she says, looking just like I feel. "You’re here early."
I look over at the clock and see that it’s not even past five. "Couldn’t sleep," I say. "Figured I’d get here and bang out the paperwork in case I need to help with deliveries." I walk to my office and open the door. I toss my keys on the desk and turn around to go to the coffee machine.
I walk out and spot Quinn. "Hey," I say, surprised to see him. "What are you doing here?"
He chuckles, and then I hear Willow from behind him walking to us. "That is what I asked him, too," she says. I grab my coffee mug off the shelf and fill it to the rim.
"Well, for one …" Quinn says. I turn to look back at him, bringing the hot coffee to my lips. "I own this." He puts his hands on his hips. You can tell from his eyes that he hasn’t slept yet.
When we were growing up, he always had this need to help and nurture, so it was no surprise when he decided to open his own equine therapy farm. I thought he would do well. What I wasn’t expecting was for him to open seven of them. When he opened the first one, he asked me to help him with the paperwork. It was supposed to be for a month until he got up and running. Once that month was over, he asked me to stay on for a couple of months. Needless to say, five years later, I’m still here, and I love every minute of it.
"Okay, so you own this place. It doesn’t mean you can’t take a day off," Willow says from beside him. "You didn’t even sleep." She looks up at him.
"I’ll sleep tonight," he tells her and kisses her lips. "There is work to do, and I’ll just go crazy sitting at home."
"How bad is it?" I ask. When I left my grandmother’s house at midnight, they were still out there.
"The fire is out," he says, huffing out. "But the barn is ashes. There is nothing left of it."
“That is crazy,” I say, shaking my head and taking another long gulp of coffee and feeling the burn all the way down. My mind spins now, and I want to ask about Asher, but the last thing I want anyone to think is that I have a thing for him. We work together, and even though we flirt, we always do it when no one is around.
"Whatever it is, we are going to make it better," Quinn says. "From now on, we have two other barns that are going to be the headquarters." I nod and look at him.
"I’m assuming Asher is taking the day off," I say. He just looks at me, and we hear the gravel outside crunch.
"I’m going to take that as a no." Willow shakes her head and turns to walk back into her horse's stall. My eyes go to the barn door, and I watch Asher walk in.
He walks with his head down, not expecting us to be here. He stops walking when he feels eyes on him. "Hey," he says softly. "I didn’t know anyone would be here so early." He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and you can smell the smoke on him. I swallow down the lump starting to grow in my throat as I think of him alone all night long with no one to hold his hand.
"What are you doing here?" Quinn says, and Asher shrugs. "Did you even sleep?"
"Nah," he says, coming to the coffee machine. I move aside so he can get his coffee. "Need a refill?" he asks me softly with the coffee pot still in his hand. I shake my head, and he puts the pot back and takes a deep gulp of coffee. I look over at him as he leans back on the counter next to me. I would normally go to my office now, but the need to stay beside him is strong.
"I thought I heard my father tell you that if you came in today, you would be fired," Quinn says, and I laugh and roll my eyes. My uncle Casey has fired me at least once a week for working longer than I should.
"Well, I’ll make sure to stay clear of him," Asher says, and I throw my head back and laugh.
“You know he gets live videos from the farms, right?” Quinn tells him, and Asher just looks at him, not at all bothered by this news. “You haven’t even taken a shower,” Quinn points out to him.
"I can attest to that," I say, and Asher looks over at me and glares. His brown eyes look almost black. The redness of his eyes is also very apparent. "You stink."
"I have a bag of clothes," Quinn says, "that Willow packed for you. It’s in the office. Go to my house and take a shower."
"I’m not going to your house," Asher says, shaking his head. "I’m not going to intrude like that."
"Then take my keys," I say the words before I can stop them. "You can stay with me. I live alone and have two spare bedrooms." Fuck, fuck, fuck, my head thinks when I hear the words that have just come out of them. It’s one thing to be friendly and everything at work, but it’s another thing to have him under my roof. I mean, it’s not like I’m home often. Between here and the bar, I only go home to sleep.
"Um," Asher says.
I know I should just take it as a no and walk to my office and shut my mouth. My brain knows this but my mouth, not so much. "I won’t take no for an answer, and if you push me, I’ll call my grandfather." I smirk. "Casey you can say no to, but you have never ever said no to my grandfather." Just shut up already, I groan inwardly. I’m ready to duct-tape my own mouth to stop shit from coming out of it.
"I don’t need to stay with you," Asher says. "I can get a room at the motel."
“Then I’ll tell my grandmother,” I counter. “Not sure which one you want me to tell.” If I don’t do this, I’ll feel guilty about him staying alone, I tell myself.
“You’re a bully,” he says, and I shrug.
“I’ve been called worse,” I joke. “Last week, you called me a raging lunatic.”
“You told me that you hoped bees ate my junk.” He shakes his head. He lets go of a deep breath, and I want to rub his back, but instead, I clutch my mug tighter. “But I really need a shower.”
"Keys are on my desk. Why don’t you sleep for a bit and then come in at noon?" I suggest, and he looks at the clock and then back at Quinn.
"Or come back tomorrow," Quinn says. "Tomorrow will be good."
"Are you going to ride my ass all day if I don’t leave?" He looks at me.
I tilt my head to the side and smirk. "I don’t know what you mean by that," I say innocently, "but if you mean, will I tell every single family member who calls me today that you are here and haven’t showered or slept?" I stop at the entrance of my office. "The answer to that would be a big fat yes."
He groans, and I walk to my desk to grab the keys I just tossed there. I stop and pick up the black bag that
Willow put there and bring it out to him. "Here." I walk to him and hand him the keys and the bag.
"Fine," he says, huffing out. "I’ll see you later." He puts his mug in the sink and then walks out.
I watch him walk out of the barn and then feel eyes on me. "Are we going to talk about this?" Quinn says, and I just stare at him.
"Nothing to talk about. The man is homeless," I say, ignoring the thumping of my heart against my chest. "What would you expect me to do?"
"We could have set him up at an empty house," Quinn says, and I fold my arms over my chest and roll my eyes, shaking my head.
"You think that man"—I point at the door Asher just walked out of—"would have taken you up on an offer to stay in a house that has been sitting empty for the past six months?" I don’t give him a chance to answer me. "Tell me, did you not offer him that house instead of sleeping in a barn?" Quinn just glares at me. "I thought so."
"Whatever," Quinn says, turning and walking away. "I’m telling your father you are living with a boy."
I watch his retreating back. "Snitches get stitches!"
Chapter 5
Asher
I get back into the truck, and even with the windows open, I smell the smoke. I knew I should have just gone to a motel after I left the barn at three a.m., but instead, I sat on the hood of the truck and watched the empty space where the barn used to sit.
My head spun with regret the whole time. The dark sky was slowly turning a soft pink when I finally got off the truck while my head screamed at me that I needed to stop dwelling and get over it. I walked into the barn, making a mental list of the things I had to do. I wasn’t expecting Quinn to be there or to see Amelia standing there with him. I should have taken Quinn up on his offer to use his place, but I didn’t know how Willow would feel. She just started getting comfortable around me, and I didn’t want to ruin that.
I pull up to Amelia's house and turn off the truck. Her house is a perfect size, and I’ve even thought about buying one like hers. I just didn’t know if I wanted to call this place home. Grabbing the black bag, I get out of the truck, looking toward the front of the house.
I walk up the path past the garden in the front with perfect flowers. I know that this is all Amelia. Unlike her other cousins who love to cook, she is a more get your hands dirty to relax kind of person. Three steps lead me to the blue door, and when I unlock it, the cold air escapes like I just opened the freezer.
I kick off my boots at the front door and place the keys on the hook right beside the light switch. I take a second to look around. I have been in here a total of two times. Both times were with Quinn—one was to move her bed and the other was to help hook up her television on the brick wall to my left.
I walk past the living room and the L- shaped couch facing the brick wall with the television. The living room spills into the dining room, and I know the spare bedrooms are on the right side, and her bedroom is on the left. I feel like I’m intruding on her privacy by being here by myself. I look at the pictures on the wall when I turn toward the spare bedroom. There are three pictures on the wall, one on top of the other.
The top one is a picture of Amelia with her grandfather, her smile huge as she hugs him. I don’t care what he says; she’s his favorite. The middle one is of her with Quinn and Chelsea. The three of them are laughing at something only they understand or some inside joke. Then the last one is of her and Chelsea with her head thrown back laughing. The candid shots look like they were taken not too long ago.
I walk toward the first bedroom and stop in my tracks. This has to be the nicest spare bedroom I’ve seen in my life. Usually, a spare bedroom is just a bed, but not here. A king-size bed fills the room with a cast-iron bed frame. The white cover on the bed looks too nice to even touch. A checkered black-and-white cover is folded at the end of the bed with matching pillows.
Turning, I walk to the next room, which is the bathroom. After dumping the bag on the floor, I push the shower curtain to the side and turn on the water. I strip out of the smoke-soaked clothes and toss them in a pile on the floor.
I step under the hot water and close my eyes, stopping the burning for just a minute. I put my hands on the white tiles on the wall, and when I open my hands, I see that the black is coming off it. The water is turning gray at my feet. I hang my head down, letting the hot water seep into my skin. I spend more time in the shower than I ever have, washing twice to make sure I get the smoke off my skin. When I step out, I grab a white towel and wipe my face to see if anything black comes off.
Opening the black bag, I grab the shorts and slip them on. Walking out of the bathroom, I go back to the bedroom. I think about slipping under the covers, but instead, I walk out and go lie on the couch. It takes me less than thirty seconds to fall asleep.
I hear walking, and my eyes open slowly, and it takes me a minute to figure out where I’m at. Looking to the left, I see the brick wall, and then I hear movement coming from the kitchen. The house is darker, and I look to see that someone has closed the drapes. I sit up and look at Amelia in the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as she can. "Hey," I say, my voice groggy as I get up.
"I’m so sorry. I tried to be quiet," she says. I see that she’s tied her hair up on top of her head, and she’s wearing shorts. "Why are you on the couch?" she asks, reaching into the cupboard to pull out another plate.
I walk past her wooden dining table with two long benches and a vase of fresh roses in the middle. "The bed looked too clean to sleep on," I say and run my hand through my hair.
She stops moving and just looks at me. "What bed?"
I look at her and point toward the bedroom. "The one with the white bedspread and the black-and-white-checkered blanket."
She puts her head back and laughs. "Chelsea threw up on that bed two weeks ago."
"Gross," I say, shaking my head. "Can I get a glass of water?"
"Help yourself," she says. "Cups are there"—she points at a door—"and drinks are in there"—she points at the fridge. "You can also help yourself to some chicken pot pie."
"You cooked?" I ask, going over to the cupboard and pulling it open to grab a glass. I look over at her as she grabs her plate and goes toward the dining room table. I walk over to the stainless-steel fridge and grab the water she has in the glass container. I look around her white kitchen with a big white and gray island. The rustic brown cupboards under the island make it seem like a farmhouse.
"My grandmother has enough food to feed the whole state," she says, sitting down with her back toward me.
I look over and see that it’s just past two. "I slept six hours straight."
"Lucky," she says as she chews. "I got four hours."
"When did you get home?" I ask, grabbing a serving of pie and walking over to the dining room table.
"Quinn kicked me out at eight," she says while I sit down in front of her.
"Quinn?" I ask, surprised.
"My grandmother and grandfather came," she says, and I laugh. "They threatened us all." She rolls her eyes. "Willow got scared that they would ‘die.’" She uses air quotes. I look at her confused. "According to them, they worry about us so much they could die."
I shake my head. "Thank you," I say while I eat, "for feeling sorry for me."
"Oh, I didn’t feel sorry for you. I felt sorry for anyone who had to smell you." She scrunches her nose as she finishes eating. She gets up. "I’m going to go and see if I can get another couple of hours before I go to the bar."
I try not to watch her walk toward the kitchen, but my eyes deceive me, the shorts tight enough to mold to her ass. My cock springs to action, and when she turns around, my eyes fly to my plate as my heart speeds up at being caught by her. It’s not the first time my cock has sprung for her. It’s literally an everyday occurrence at this point, and no matter how many times I tell myself to get over her, my body fights with me.
"I’ll let myself out," I say, raising my head.
"Take your time," she says, walking back
to her bedroom and closing the door behind her. I finish my plate and clean up before I walk back to the bedroom and look in the bag. I grab the boxers and then slip on the jeans next with a T-shirt that fits me just a touch too tight. I turn and see that the jeans are tight on my ass. I squat down, hoping to stretch them, but nothing happens.
I grab the bag and stuff my old clothes in my hand. I slip on my boots and softly close the door behind me.
I take my phone out and see that I have a couple of texts checking up on me and another couple of phone calls from Billy and Charlotte. Never in my life have I had someone worry about if I was okay, but this family has taken me in with open arms. Not once have they looked down on me. When I first came into town, I had five dollars left. I was one day away from eating from the dumpster when Ethan not only gave me a job but also gave me shelter.
I toss the bag on the seat and throw the clothes in the garbage can. I get into the truck and make my way back over to the barn. The sun’s shining high, and the heat hits my arms right away.
Parking the truck on the side of the road, I spot Jacob’s sheriff truck at the entrance. I make my way toward the barn, ducking under the yellow tape. Even though I knew there was no barn there, seeing it again in the sunlight makes me stop in my tracks. Knowing that it’s gone and seeing it with my own eyes knocks me on my ass. The lump in my throat grows when I see that everything is dust. Jacob and Ethan both walk around, looking down at the ground around the barn.
Ethan must sense someone is here because he looks up and starts laughing. "What the fuck are you wearing?" he asks, making Jacob look in my direction.
"I borrowed clothes from Quinn," I tell them, walking toward them.
Jacob laughs when I finally stand in front of him. "If you lather yourself in oil, you might pass for one of those calendar boys." I shake my head.
"I’m going to buy clothes after this," I tell them, looking around.
"I can’t believe nothing is left." I walk, stepping on some of the debris, picking up a piece of tin. "When do we start cleanup?"
Southern Secrets Page 3
