Page 7 of Peaches & Pistols

“Shut the fuck up. You want help or not?”

“Get on with it,” Reid says, bemused.

I grab a pitchfork and go a stall down from him to muck it out. Together, we move down the row of stalls, getting them clean for the day.

“Harper with Mom?”

“Yea. I hate asking her for so much help. Who knew finding a competent fucking nanny would be this hard.”

It’s been damn near a year since I had reliable childcare. At this point, it seems like I’ve interviewed every Swiftwater resident over the age of eighteen for the job. Not one’s worked out.

“You had it made with Ms. Junie, that’s for sure.” I grunt in agreement.

Ms. Junie was a retired teacher from my days in school. The town gossip-mill spread that Vanessa had bolted, and she showed up at the hardware store ready to help. She swept baby Harper from the bassinet I had behind the counter, snagged my house keys from the till, and carried her like a precious treasure to the apartment above the store.

She and Harper were thick as thieves until she passed away last summer. Harper was devastated. Ms. Junie was the closest to a mother figure she’d ever had. So on top of my little girl grieving her nanny, she’s been shuffled around between everyone in the family for childcare and school drop-offs and pick-ups for a fucking year.

“Don’t bite my head off, but remind me why Meredith’s not an option?” he asks, damn well knowing why.

I don’t bother answering.

I lost both of my parents when Dad died. My mother, Meredith, fell into a deep depression after Dad’s accident. That depression quickly morphed into complete and utter disdain for me—his doppelgänger. She couldn’t bear even the sight of me, let alone my dedication to the store, which she blamed for everything wrong with her life.

Thank god my grandparents had the foresight to make the necessary arrangements to protect the store and keep it in their bloodline. The day I turned eighteen, I had full rights and control of Clark’s Hardware.

I was eleven when Dad died. I took care of myself after that. Meredith remarried a year after she was widowed and started a brand-new family. Olivia’s birth was one of the best days of my life. My little sister became my world, despite Meredith and her new husband pretending I didn’t exist.

Why the hell would I let the woman who abandoned me at eleven, have a relationship with my innocent daughter? Fuck that. She’s begged me over the years for a chance at being a grandmother. I’m not a forgiving person.

“Alright, alright. Damn, you don’t have to burn a hole through the side of my head,” Reid huffs, moving to the next stall.

James and I grew up thick as thieves, causing trouble all over town. Reid wasn’t far behind in age and tagged along 90 percent of the time. We got into so much fucking trouble.

The Andersens ranch became my second home after Dad died. I’d already spent a ton of time here growing up, but they went above and beyond for a snot-nosed grieving pre-teen.

Soon as we were old enough, Walter had us tacking up on our own and taking over regular ranch chores. He taught me alongside his three sons and didn’t treat me any different. I’ll never be able to pay them back for everything they did for me.

If they noticed my pants were ready for a flood, there’d be a stack of jeans waiting for me to take home. I never complained. I kept my head down and worked hard, grateful to be part of the ranch, but sometimes in weak moments I’d wince when my feet were killing me because I’d outgrown my boots again. A new pair of boots would be waiting for me before I ever would’ve dared to ask.

Soon enough, when Cecelia shopped for clothes for the boys, I was included equally. I got new school clothes, ranch gear, sports equipment, hell, school supplies just like James, Reid, and Sam. The whole family jokes I’m the fourth Andersen brother. The youngest, Sam, was the best of all of us. The reminder of his untimely passing stabs at my gut.

Cecelia and Walter saved me. The ranch saved me. I owe this family everything.

“You know we don’t mind pitching in to watch Harper. She’s family.”

Being the “fourth” Andersen brother made Harper an honorary Andersen as well. She has amazing pseudo-grandparents, two uncles, James and Reid, and two aunts, Olivia, and Reid’s wife, Izzy.

“I know, and I appreciate y’all. But the instability’s taking a toll on Harper. Not knowing who’s picking her up or taking her home’s uncomfortable for her, even if she’ll never admit it. She needs consistency. She’s coming up on her tenth birthday, she needs stability,” I explain.

I stab my pitchfork into the pile of soiled shavings and wipe my brow with the sleeve of my T-shirt.

“You just want to limit James’s access to sniffing around Liv,” Reid says. I growl in reply.

“Fuck off with that. He knows I keep my pistol loaded. I’ll kill him if he touches my sister.”

James might be a jokester, but he’s my best friend. He’d never actually make a move on Olivia, especially being thirteen years older than her.

Reid’s making a show of not looking at me. I don’t have capacity for this shit right now.