I couldn’t help laughing, then immediately started thinking about tossing Brody over a counter somewhere and fucking him. I mean, it wasn’t my feud. What did I care? “Sounds like you have this all figured out.”
“I do. I have an active imagination. Want me to set you up with a Brody fantasy too? I think you guys will both battle for dominance. It’s so fucking hot when that happens.”
My head started throbbing—both of them, to be honest—but I concentrated on the one on my shoulders, and rubbed my temples. “This isn’t what we’re supposed to be here for. This shit is stressing me out.” More than I would likely admit. As much as I didn’t want to be involved in anything that had to do with a father who’d thrown me away, I wasn’t sure I had it in me to walk away. I’d spent my life telling myself I didn’t care about him, but now that I was here, it was screwing with my head.
Isaac sighed. “I know, baby.” He reached over and squeezed my thigh in support. “I’d pretend I didn’t know what’s going on inside that head of yours, but we both know that would be a lie. Your dad, whatever his reasoning was for everything he did…that doesn’t say anything bad about you. Maybe he had a reason for doing the things he did—not being involved in your life and all that. Maybe he didn’t. Still, that’s his shit, not yours. I love you. Go take a break. I’ll be in charge of all this stuff. I’ll organize the paperwork, and we’ll start getting it transferred to electronic files and all.”
There was a reason Isaac and I had been friends for so long. We teased each other relentlessly and drove each other crazy sometimes, but we knew each other better than anyone else did. We were always there for each other and shared the same work ethic, wanting to do something with our lives on our own. “Thank you.” I lifted his hand and kissed it, then pushed to my feet. I grabbed the keys off the desk. “I’m gonna go check out the distillery.”
“I’ll be here, drowning in paperwork and thinking about sleeping with your sworn enemy.” He winked, and I chuckled and walked out.
It was hot as balls outside, the Southern humidity nearly choking me. Seriously, how in the fuck did anyone live here? I already felt like I needed another shower.
I’d just stepped off the porch when a pair of long jean-covered legs walked around the corner of the house. The sun was behind him, shining off his reddish-brown hair, and yeah, wasn’t going to pretend I didn’t want this guy.
“Oh, hey,” he said when he noticed me. “I come in peace. And bearing gifts.” Brody held up a jug of unsweetened vanilla almond milk. “You gotta go to A Step Ahead. It’s on the opposite side of town as Murray’s. Lauren’s mama owns it, and she’s into all that healthy, New Agey stuff.”
“Almond milk is New Age?” I asked with a cocked brow, and he gave me this sexy little half smirk.
“To the folks in this town? Yeah. It’s right up there with astrology and dream catchers. Just so ya know, it’s probably already all over town that Cohen Mitchell went into Murray’s lookin’ for this stuff, and then Brody O’Ralley went to A Step Ahead to buy it. Big Daddy’ll know by dinner.”
Which meant he would get shit for bringing it to me. I didn’t think that was why Brody told me, but it was the truth.
“But I guess I owe ya since I kissed you and all—well, that and Dwain.”
“Your brother could use some social skills, but you sure as shit don’t owe me for the kiss.” I hadn’t planned to say it, but the words had sneaked out, and the pink now dotting his cheeks made it worth it. So I was flirting with my family’s enemy.
“That was, um… I—”
“I’m not here, I swear!” Isaac cut Brody off. He jogged toward me, pulled the milk out of my hands, and took off for inside again.
“He’s an interesting fella,” Brody said, and it shouldn’t have been so cute the way he said it. At all.
“You don’t know the half of it,” I replied, then nodded toward the back of the house. “Wanna head out to the distillery with me?” He’d brought milk over and all. It was the least I could do.
“A Mitchell inviting an O’Ralley into his inner sanctum. Be still my heart.” He winked, and oh yeah, I definitely wanted to bone him.
“Don’t really consider myself a Mitchell—not in that sense, I mean. Obviously, it’s my last name, but I don’t feel a tie to all this.”
Brody frowned. “Yeah, I didn’t really know for sure if there were any Mitchells left. There was a rumor Harris had a kid, but you never know what’s true.”
Which I sure as shit didn’t want to talk about. “How’d you get here?” I asked instead.
“Parked down the driveway, of course. If your daddy were still around, stepping foot on Mitchell property was likely to get me a bullet in the ass. I was planning on leaving the milk on your porch.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I said as we continued to walk. “Are you shitting me? This whole feud thing is real?”
“Crazy, right? Try growin’ up with it.”
Nope. I had zero interest in that.
“Our properties butt up against each other, but there’s a fence in between. Wasn’t cheap, and it’s not even like we can see each other’s houses with all the land, but they had to have something to separate us. There’s one on each side with about a foot in between just ’cuz the O’Ralleys and Mitchells couldn’t share a fence.”
I stumbled, and Brody’s hand shot out and wrapped around my bicep. There was a zing of, fuck, I didn’t know, something between us before he pulled his arm back. “This is some crazy shit. Hell, I didn’t even know I had any part of Mitchell Creek, and now it’s left to me, along with a family feud I know nothing about, and it’s a little fucking nuts, if you ask me.”
“Oh shit. You didn’t know?” Brody asked.
I shook my head.
“So you planning on stayin’?”
“No comment.”
We were in front of the distillery now, and he stopped and grinned. “I see how you’re playing this. Trying to give me as little information as possible.” Brody crossed his arms, and I didn’t look at the way his T-shirt stretched across his broad chest and muscular arms…or maybe I did. “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t tell anyone over at the Buckridge Bugle.”
“Please tell me you just made that up.”
“No, but I really wish I had.”
I couldn’t help laughing, which based on his satisfied expression, made me think that was exactly what he’d hoped for.
“Okay, so what’s the feud about?”
“No comment.”
“Fucking O’Ralleys,” I replied, half serious, half playful. I didn’t know what it was about Brody, but I already liked him.
“Fucking Mitchells,” he countered.
Then we stood there, watching each other, neither of us willing to back down, and damned if it wasn’t kind of fun.
CHAPTER SIX
Brody
I’d met plenty of green-eyed folks in my life, but there was something different about Cohen’s. They were strangely lighter in the center and darkened toward the edges. Although, just as soon as I thought I was obsessed with his eyes, there was that face…that sexy-as-sin stubble.