I gasp dramatically. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
He shrugs like he still doesn’t see the problem. “Hey, shouldn’t you be at home resting?”
He steps towards me cautiously his hands reaching out like he’s going to inspect my forehead where I know I’m sporting a nice bruise still. I jolt back before he can touch me because having Hayes rough hands on me right now would only make this a thousand times worse.
Just then, the sound of a car rumbling down the driveway pulls my attention. Mrs. Mayberry’s small sedan appears, winding through the woods toward the house. She steps out of the carlike she was watching us the entire way, a wide smile plastered across her face.
She looks frailer than I remember, her age showing as she cautiously steps out of her vehicle, but there’s a mischievous spark in her eyes as she gets closer like she’s all too pleased that Hayes and I are here together.
“Regan! So nice to see you this morning! And I see you’ve met Hayes Walker, my other offer on the property.”
Hayes’s gaze shifts from Mrs. Mayberry to me, recognition dawning slowly. He scratches at the beard on his jaw while he pieces everything together.
“Other… offer... You... you’re trying to buy this place too?” His voice softens, and I can see the moment he understands why I was so upset.
I nod firmly. “Yes, and she’s like a mother to me. If anyone’s going to get the property, it’ll be me.”
Chapter 10: Hayes
“Is this some kind of joke?” I ask, chuckling to myself as I look between one very upset Regan and a suspiciously smug Mrs. Mayberry.
“Hi Hayes. It’s so nice to see you again,” Mrs. Mayberry steps forward, and because I’m a gentleman, and I’ve enjoyed my time getting to know the older woman this past week, I offer her a hug despite feeling like I’ve been set up.
When I met with her last week, which was only a week after moving to Whitewood Creek, she had been pleasant, loveable, like the grandma I never had, showing me around the property she was selling and pointing out all the opportunities for me to expand on the stables that her late husband built.
I fell in love with the place on the spot. It’s everything I’ve been searching for to settle since I moved to North Carolina seven years ago. A huge barn in the back, underused but full of potential, with a fenced area that needs a little TLC but will beperfect for the horses I plan to buy. There’s also another, larger building on the property that I can use for boarding.
Beyond that, the existing structures on the property are a blessing. I won’t have to deal with the hassle of building new ones. Two, small cottages near the front could be used for guests who want to take private riding lessons. Not that I’m sure I want to do that yet, but I’m hoping my brother and sister, who still live in South Carolina on the family ranch, might visit now and then, and there’s a massive pond back at the main house that looks like it’ll be good for fishing in the spring and summer. Something I used to do with my siblings.
I grew up on a ranch,Walker Moon Ranch, in the swampy heart of South Carolina. A sprawling place, full of horses, and the one thing that offered me escape from my father’s angry fists. He took his frustrations out on us, mostly me and my brother, shielding our sister from the worst of it. It was far from a happy home life.
When he finally disappeared twenty years ago after he left on another bender, around the same time I left for the rodeo to make bull riding my professional career, it was like a collective sigh of relief from all of us. My brother and sister have been managing the ranch since with some help from our uncle, and while I have no interest in going back, I’m glad they’re doing it. The land will always hold fond memories for me because it’s where I fell in love with animals and first learned how to ride.
So yeah, I’ve got dreams and plans for Mayberry Manor, and this place was everything I wanted. My retirement, if you will, where I’ll come to rest after long shifts at the community hospital in Whitewood Creek and unwind while staring at the mountains.
I made an offer above asking, and when it seemed like I had her, Mrs. Mayberry smiled warmly, patted my hand like I was a childdespite being in my forties, and then told me there was just one,tinycondition she needed to discuss with me first: I had to be married for her to accept my offer.
She glanced at my bare ring finger and asked if I had a fiancé hidden away somewhere. No, of course I don’t. Because a wife… well, that requires commitment, vulnerability, and arguments, and mistakes leading to me ultimately fucking the whole thing up and hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it.
I’ve already started over once. I’m not looking to do it again. The idea of becoming a husband feels less like a dream and more like another job, one I’m not sure I’d be any good at. I know how my dad was. And honestly? I don’t see myself turning out much different. His temper, his rage, it runs in my blood, hot and reckless, like the summer heat in North Carolina. I’ve spent years keeping that side of me buried. And so far, I’ve been lucky. He hasn’t surfaced. Yet.
But that’s probably because I’ve never given him the chance. I don’t date seriously. I don’t let women get close enough to risk it. Because if I don’t let anyone in, I can’t hurt them. Simple as that.
So, I laughed Mrs. Mayberry’s suggestion off, but she said she was serious and told me to come back soon to talk over my offer. And here I am. Hoping maybe, just maybe, she has another idea that doesn’t include me getting married to my non-existent fiancé and has changed her mind.
Now I’m starting to think she doesn’t have a different idea at all.
“So, what brings you here today?” Mrs. Mayberry asks, her tone light but knowing.
My eyes narrow at her suspiciously. “You told me to come back so we could talk more about my offer. I’m willing to increase it another fifty thousand.”
Next to me, Regan lets out a gasp—a dramatic, soap-opera-worthy sound that has me biting back a smirk.
“You said that Mrs. Mayberry?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief and something close to betrayal. Her pretty features flicker with hurt for a moment before she schools them, and I catch myself wondering why that bothers me so much.
Here’s the thing: I don’t have any hard feelings toward Regan. Actually, I don’t have any feelings towards her at all. We had a fun, wild night together years ago that didn’t mean anything. Sure, it was one that had me thinking I wouldn’t mind going for round two. But if this were any other property, maybe I’d back off seeing how important it is to her.
But it’s not.
