Under the Dusty Sky (Holloway Farms)

pulled messily on the top of my head, loose strands are stuck to my face and neck with sweat, but I don’t dare wipe at them. I untie and tuck in my work shirt after about five seconds. Dad’s right. Like always. I’m going to be scrubbing this stuff off me for weeks.
    It’s light out by the time I’m done, and sweat stings my eyes. It can’t be this hot out already. It’s barely July.
    I wipe my forehead with the only clean part of my shirt, wondering how all this liquid can be pouring from my skin but my mouth feels dry as sun-baked hay.
    I jog up to the huge wrap around porch and have to stop myself from diving into the shade. I plop down on the cool wood and lay flat on my back. Tossing my leather gloves to the side, I cross my arms over my eyes. It’s days like today I envy my best friend, Lacy, and her shaded house, air-conditioning, and in-ground pool.
    I’d bribe Asher or Archer to drive me today so I can soak all this chicken junk off me, but Lacy’s gone on her yearly family trip to the lake. Normally, Hunter drives me out to spend the last weekend with her, but not this year. My gut tightens, and I sit up. I miss Hunter so much.
    “ Graceland?” says Bentley. I know it’s him by the shiver that very distinctly crawls across my scorching skin.
    He’s standing next to where I sit, holding out a glass of iced tea, which makes me like him because iced tea is my favorite. I grab the glass and down the whole thing without breathing.
    He chuckles and sits next to me as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and gulp at the air. God, that feels amazing. Cold drinks on hot days. Nothing beats it. Then I look over. Okay, maybe a few things are better.
    “ What kind of name is that anyway?” Bentley asks.
    I always get asked this question, and I never want to answer it.
    “ What kind of name is Bentley?” I tilt my head defiantly.
    He smiles a warm smile and taps his finger on my knee.
    “ Not as odd as you might think. Definitely not as odd as Graceland.”
    My stomach clenches from missing Hunter, wanting off this farm, not wanting to talk about my name, and hoping Bentley will touch me again. Mostly, I don’t want to talk about my name.
    “ I don’t know why my mother named me Graceland. She didn’t stick around long enough to tell me.”
    Bentley’s ice eyes melt into a cool blue, and he pats my knee again. Like a brother.
    “ Sorry I brought it up.”
    He pauses while he scans my face, and he lifts his hand. Cupping my cheek, he swipes his warm thumb over my skin. The temperature gets about ten degrees hotter both inside me and in the air surrounding me. He leaves his hand there for just a second before he shifts his mouth into a full blown ear to ear smile that radiates a sureness I’ve never known. Smiles like his should be illegal.
    “ You have chicken shit on your cheek.” Dropping his hand, he laughs and pushes himself up. “Well, see ya around, Gracie.”
    Great. I have shit on my face.
    Bentley ruffles my already messy ponytail, and my heart splatters as if I dropped it from my third story window.
    I had it all planned out. This was going to be easy. Boys are always easy.
    Bentley isn’t a boy. Not like I’m used to.
    I’m going to have to step up my game.

CHAPTER 3
    Bentley
    I came here to get away. To get away from the city. From family. From women. From money. From the chess game that is my life.
    It’s Nebraska. There’s nothing but dust and corn here. Or, that’s what I had assumed.
    I’d been told Holloway had a daughter, but when I thought almost sixteen I did not picture Graceland. I didn’t think tall and sexy with a body more mature than most girls my age. I didn’t think cute country accent and what that accent might sound like whispering dirty things in my ear. But I’m thinking that now.
    This is dangerous territory. On so many levels.
    She definitely doesn’t seem her age, though. There’s something about her that makes her seem older. Something in the depth of her eyes is beyond almost sixteen. How she takes in the world around her. I don’t know. What I do know is that I shouldn’t be thinking about it.
    Someone slaps my back, and I’m torn from my thoughts. I dump the rest of my water into the sink and shift my eyes from Gracie, still sprawled outside on the porch, to her brother, who slides up onto the counter beside me.
    “ Gracie sure is somethin’ eh?” One of the twins says. I have no idea which is which.
    I have this terrified