I nod, pulling my hat off and dragging a hand through my hair. The sweat at my temples is drying sticky in the breeze.
“Definitely arson. Ridge found a gas canister about a mile out past the south pasture. Right next to fresh tire tracks in the mud. But nothing we can track ’em by. Whoever it was, they knew how to cover their trail.”
Which pisses me the fuck off.
Some insurance money came through and we’ve been replacing what we lost, but it’s not fast enough, and we’re losing valuable time that could make or break things on a farm like this.
Georgia steps closer, placing a gentle kiss on my cheek like she doesn’t give a damn about how filthy I am. “I’m sorry. I know how much this land means to your family,—your dad.”
My throat tightens. I look out across the field, my heart stuck somewhere between anger and memory.
“Every post I drive, I hear him,” I say after a minute. “Not his voice exactly. Just... that look he used to give me. Quiet pride when I got something right. When I followed his lessons without reminders.”
Georgia doesn’t move. Just waits and listens. Like she always does.
“I messed it up,” I admit. “He wanted me home years ago. Told me to stop runnin’, to let it hurt, to heal here. I didn’t listen. And then...”
“You didn’t know he’d go,” she says gently. “You didn’t know he’d pass. No one thinks their loved ones' time with them is temporary.”
“No, but I stayed gone a hell of a lot longer than I should have.” I pause, swallowing hard, the truth of it sinking in deep. “I was pissed. At him. At myself. At everything.”
She wraps her arms around my waist. I fold mine over her shoulders and drop my chin to the top of her head. She smells like flowers and sunlight, and home.
“You’re here now,” she whispers. “You’re back, and you’re helping out the best you can. You’re breaking yourself, Kade. Running ragged.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It is.” She kisses my throat. “You’re enough for them. I promise.”
Her phone buzzes, breaking the moment. She pulls back, checks the screen, then lights up.
“Oh my God. Thank fuck!” she says, grinning wide.
“What’s up, darlin’?” I ask, smiling already just from her joy.
She bounces on the balls of her feet. “Okay, don’t laugh—but I’ve been working on something in secret.”
My heart pounds but I lean on the fresh post and gesture for her to continue.
“Okay, so… you know how your mom doesn’t think the Honey Bea Bash can happen this year? She thinks there’s not enough money, not enough time, not enough help. Especially with everything you guys lost.” Georgia waves her phone, curls bouncing around her. “Well, I’ve been messaging local vendors, business owners, friends of friends—seeing if they’d be willing to donate food, time, services. Like a full-town collaboration.”
My brows rise, stomach flipping with…
Fuck, I don’t know.
Excitement? Not at what she’s planning, not really.
But her commitment to help my family, my mom, like she’s already a part of this place. Like she’s finally digging in roots of her own. All I can do is pray like hell they’re deep and the permanent kind and she doesn’t rip them out and run, taking my whole world with her.
“That’s awesome, baby,” I murmur, voice thick. “Tell me more.”
She beams. “I’ve got almost twenty vendors confirmed. Two food trucks. Three bands and someone who can set up a little stage here. Craft booths. The works. If I can keep pulling it together, we can make the Bash happen without your mom spending a dime, and it’ll be bigger and better than ever.”
I blink, stunned. “You serious?”
“Dead serious. This town needs something to celebrate after everything that’s happened. And your mom needs to see that she’s not alone.”
My heart kicks, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. I just stare at her—this woman who walked into my life with fire in her chest and hope in her hands, and decided we were worth saving.
