Page 2 of Already Callin’ You Mine

Which means I’m in.

“I don’t see why not. I haven’t floated it past Cain, the leader of the Dirty Devils, or anything yet. But I think he’d be down. And it would give you content. Maybe make you go viral.”

Go viral, ha. Not really my goal.

Hayes Industries has been around since the Civil War, when my ancestors Augustus and Llewelyn, two blacksmiths, found favor with the Confederates. Their rifles started it all, and while we choose not to focus on the family history of the mid-1800s, they are still the reason Hickory Hills didn’t fade into oblivion like many other small rural towns. The whole reason that now, all these years later, the little business they founded is a Fortune 500 company, still run by my siblings and me, boasting divisions such as agriculture, lumber and paper, a brewery, and a bait and tackle shop. Oh, and my personal favorite, personal safety.

We are not a company that needs to go “viral.” Nor does my division. Hayes self-defense trainings and tools have been a staple in that arena for decades. Our market share has only grown since I took over after college. People know our name.

Then again, staying fresh and with the times is never a bad thing. I suppose.

“When you talk to him next, ask him,” I tell Owen, liking this idea more and more as I think about it. “We could make it part of Rhythm and Brews, use the big hayfield so that it’s open to the public, and maybe even make it a fundraiser for EmpowHER.”

“Consider it done.” He takes a large swig of his coffee, looking more than a little proud of himself for coming up with this idea.

Frankly, he has every right to. I’ve been struggling to come up with something for more than a month now, and it feels like Bronwyn brings it up every time I see her. Which has only made the inspiration block that much worse.

Leave it to my best friend, though, to come up with something this unique. Guess I’ll have to keep him.

“Well, now that we’ve solved that problem, what else is going on?” Owen asks, an impish glint to his eye.

It’s a generic enough question, but I know what he’s really getting at. And I’m not taking the bait.

“I just finished this really good friends-to-lovers book by Emily Silver. Breakaway. It’s about⁠—”

“Haven’t read it, won’t be reading it,” he cuts me off.

I laugh, grabbing the rest of my burrito to finish it off. I read my first romance novel in college, on a dare from Owen, and found that I liked it a lot more than I thought I would. Like, a lot more. And not for the reasons people think. Sure, the spicy scenes are great—I’ve learned quite a bit from them, actually—but more than that, the plots are fun and interesting, spanning every subgenre you can think of. Plus, this not-so-guilty pleasure of mine always catches people off guard.

And if there is something I love doing, it’s keeping people on their toes.

My siblings don’t refer to me as the family wild card for nothing.

“Might help you find a girl.”

Owen scoffs. “Like you have room to talk.”

Fair point.

“Speaking of,” he continues.

Fuuuuck…

No, Owen. I don’t want to talk about it. So don’t fucking bring it up.

There is more than enough gossip going on in this town for us to chat about. In fact, where’s Mrs. Burch or Mrs. Chamberlain, the two old ladies who keep the rumor mill running strong, when you need them?

“Let me grab the check and we can head over to the farmers’ market,” I say, desperately trying to change the subject. I twist in my seat, trying to find Dolly, but she’s nowhere to be found.

Of course.

Owen laughs, his deep bellowing chuckle one of his most distinct features, the sound surrounding me like a playground taunt. To be fair, it’s the same shit I would pull with him if he were in this situation. And dude should know that payback is a bitch, so he better be careful.

Still, I expect nothing less from him as he continues to push the issue.

“Has she started? When’s her first day?”

I spot the new waitress—whose name I can’t remember to save my life—and wave at her, hoping she understands my mimed message. The deer in the headlights look she gives me makes me question if I’m not being clear or if she’s simply not cut out for the job. The more seconds that tick away, the more I’m leaning toward the latter. Looks like Dolly will be hiring again soon.