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“With all their family fighting? The pranks? That kid is going to be messed up, for sure.”
“The child will have to pick a side, that’s all I know...”
The not-so-hushed whispers of the gossiping women grated on my nerves. I couldn’t help but to imagine their shocked faces as I screamed the answers to all the whispers I’d caught happening behind my back over the past few weeks.
Yes! I am eleven weeks pregnant with Duke Sullivan’s baby! YES, THAT MEANS WE HAD SEX! Of course it was amazing. Yes, I am living with him. No, we aren’t still fucking. Yes, I wish we were!
Oh, shit.
I hadn’t allowed my mind to wander in that particular direction. I knew my pregnancy hormones were the reason I couldn’t seem to keep much food down, but I was also blaming them for the wild dreams I had been having of Duke.
Hot, naked,intensedreams.
Trouble was, I knew the reality of Duke’s gigantic, beautiful dick was evenbetterthan the dreams.
Frustrated, I turned on my heels and hit the ladies with the sweetest smile I could muster. My glance flickered to their long-empty coffee cups. “All finished, or should I give you a few more minutes to talk about people and pretend they can’t hear?” Their stunned eyes widened. “No?” I swiped the coffee cups in one motion. “Have the day that you deserve!”
Huck stared at me as I sailed past him and into the kitchen. I dumped the cups into the sink with a clatter and braced my hands against the counter. Behind me, I heard the familiar squeak of the saloon doors.
I turned to my boss and held up my hands. “I know. I’m sorry. I lost my cool.”
Huck shook his head and gestured toward the dining room. “As far as I’m concerned, you did nothing wrong. I let them know if they can’t speak kindly to my staff, they can find a new coffee shop.”
Huck crossed his arms and looked at me with kindness, not pity. Tears welled in my eyes, and I launched myself forward, wrapping him in a hug. His crossed arms stayed wedged between us as I struggled to get my arms all the way around his broad frame.
When I released him, he looked at me with pinched brows. “You good?”
A laugh slipped out.Who the hell knows how I am?“Yeah, I’m good.”
By the timemy shift was over, my feet were throbbing and my back ached. It had become my nightly ritual to slip into a hot bath, and tonight it couldn’t come soon enough.
My body couldn’t decide if it wanted to be sick or railed into next week.
Probably both.
Through Duke I had learned that the farm was 325 acres, 125 of which were the rows and rows of blueberry fields. The farm kept him busy, and he often worked long hours—he walked the fields, repaired equipment. It also appeared as though he had a close relationship with his workers. He treated them with kindness and respect, and they welcomed my presence on the farm with warm smiles and friendly waves.
In the afternoons, I liked to get a little exercise by walking in the fields. Duke let me know that while technically it was his property, he considered the section dedicated to the homes for the migrant workers their personal space. He maintained the homes when needed but for the most part allowed them to live in peace and privacy without their boss overlooking their every move.
Apart from MJ, none of my family had come to visit me on the farm. Some days it was like our own bubble of privacy and an oasis from the sidelong glances and whispers that followed me everywhere I went in town.
After work, Sloane had asked me to hang out for a while. She was taking her twins to the local park, and I used it as an opportunity to get some fresh air and shake off the annoyance from the gossipers earlier in the day. Duke had also texted me, letting me know there was an issue with a piece of farm equipment, so he likely wouldn’t be around for dinner.
Sloane and I picked up something for us and the kids, and I was reminded of how nice it was to have a friend to talk to. She was still reeling from the house fire that took everything from her, but thankfully—and to everyone’s shock—my brother Abel had agreed to give her a job at the brewery. My oldest brother could come across as callous and harsh, and he had his own darker past, but buried somewhere deep in there was a good man. It was there in the way he stepped up for my friend without hesitation.
By the time I got back to Duke’s house—I still couldn’t think of it as our home—the sun was sinking behind the tree line. I had gotten used to the way Three-Legged Ed would bark and circle my car, but it still nearly gave me a heart attack every time. When I opened the car door, I was greeted with heavy barks and sloppy dog kisses.
I bent over and squished Ed’s face between my hands and leaned down to whisper, “You’re so stupid.” He lolled his tongue and looked at me with affection. I laughed. “You are cute, though.”
In the direction of the barn I could hear movement and clanking but couldn’t see Duke. “Where’s your daddy? Huh? Where’s Dad?” Ed let out a loud, yippy bark. “Go on! Go find him.” I gestured toward the barn, but Ed took only a few steps before turning back and barking at me, as if to ask,Well, are you coming?
The house was dark, so I straightened my purse on my shoulder, grabbed the paper bag from my car, and followed Ed toward the large barn. Muttering and a string of curses got louder as we approached. I pulled my sweater tighter around my middle to ward off the late-October chill.
As we neared the barn, Ed left my side to trot over and check on Duck, who I was sure was tucked away somewhere inside the barn. The huge, boxy blueberry-picking machine was parked outside the barn’s large opening. It was clunky and silver with smooth sides. The top held a platform edged with a blue metal railing. On one end was a single seat and a panel of controls for a driver.
Duke had once explained that the machine was tall enough to drive over the rows of blueberries. Inside, soft rubber bristles would shake the bushes hard enough to drop berries onto trays, but gentle enough not to damage the plants themselves. He still preferred to handpick the berries on Sullivan Farms, but often used the machines toward the end of the season if there was a threat of frost.
Now that berry picking season was officially over, I tipped my head, wondering if this was just some kind of routine maintenance.
