Page 64 of Already Callin’ You Mine

As a family…where did that thought come from?

I shake it off, turning to Presley and wrapping an arm around her, drawing her into me.

“So much for always holding one of our hands and not talking to strangers.”

“He’s a runner,” she replies, sinking into me. The weight of her against my chest feels good, so I tighten my grip. “And like I’ve said, he’s really been testing his independence lately. That’s why the whole stranger danger thing is so important. I want him to be confident and independent, and not afraid of the world and the people in it. But at the same time, I want him to be smart about it. Figuring out who you can trust is hard, no matter how old you are.”

I press a kiss to her temple, letting her words sink in. I want her to be able to trust me. For Otis to be able to trust me. We might have gotten off to a rough start, but nothing is going to stand in my way from showing her that I’m not that guy.

“You can trust me,” I tell her. Twisting, she looks up at me, those blue-gray eyes full of hope. “Promise.”

“I know,” she whispers in return.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Milo and Otis coming back to us, so I loosen my hold on her, turning my attention to the new dynamic duo.

“You can also trust this joker. Despite his willingness to pick up random children and feed them snacks.”

Milo scoffs. “I’m not the one not watching their kid. But it’s okay, because I’m pretty sure my new buddy here is going to teach you all sorts of lessons.”

His shit-eating grin grows, earning a laugh from Presley.

Turning back to me, Milo winks. “Fuck around and find out, Jace.”

Milo! Language!

“That’s a bad word. I’m only supposed to use bad words with strangers,” Otis says.

We all laugh, his response so perfectly timed, like it was planned, lightening the mood. Presley reaches over the table, still laughing as Milo hands him over.

“Okay, now that you’ve got popcorn, how about we go see the big trucks?” she asks him, calmer than I would be in this situation.

“Yes!”

“Anton’s over there with some of their equipment,” Milo says. “Including the tree spade and an old tree shaker.”

“They aren’t out using the shaker today?” I ask, confused.

It’s October, meaning pecan season has already started. Anton lives and breathes the precious three Ps—peaches, peanuts, and pecans—Hayes’s biggest agriculture endeavors. Pecan season isn’t as labor-intensive as peach season, but it’s still a big deal in his world, and I wouldn’t have figured that he’d be able to spare equipment.

Milo shrugs. “Dunno. Didn’t question it when they rolled in with them this morning. I had other priorities.”

I flip him the bird as discreetly as I can so Little Man doesn’t see, and then turn us to go. Otis waves goodbye, munching away on his snack as we make our way across the recreation area toward the large hayfield where all the trucks and farming equipment are set up. It’s an impressive turnout, with everything from police and fire trucks, an excavator and backhoe, to an ambulance and even a couple of tractors.

Parked right up front is Anton, a massive Hayes agriculture banner off to one side, standing proudly in front of both the tree spade and shaker that Milo mentioned, but also one of his smaller harvesters.

“What that?” Otis asks, pointing at the tree spade.

It’s a good question. The four large blades on the end of the long arm are joined together currently, forming what looks like a bucket. First time I saw one, I probably wasn’t much older than Otis, out in the field with Auggie, watching as Mr. Adler—grandpa to Hayes’s current chief horticulturist Cary Adler, who is also Anton’s best friend—dig up some of the peach tree saplings to safely transport them to another part of the grove.

“That thing is used to help safely dig up a tree,” I answer, then point to the shaker. “And that one is used to help get the pecans out of the tree. Then the last one there is used to help pick them up.”

That’s about where my knowledge of these things begins and ends. Agriculture might be one of the oldest industries in the family portfolio, but it’s never been a major interest of mine.

“Wanna see if you fit in the spade?” Anton asks, looking directly at Otis.

Otis lights up, like Santa personally asked him to drive his sleigh, wiggling in Presley’s arms. She tries to set him down gently, but it’s like trying to wrestle a chicken.

“Is that safe?” I ask, unable to hold back.