Under the Dusty Sky (Holloway Farms)

don’t trust myself to say anything so I don’t. I don’t need this right now. It’s my birthday, and I’m just getting shit on from every direction.
    “ I would ask you to sit down, but this whole place is just filthy. Dust everywhere.” Sasha laughs a sweet laugh like she said something funny, not offensive.
    “ Where is Bentley?” I finally say, crossing my arms over my stomach.
    “ He’s out checking that machine thing that cuts the round grass stuff.” She waves her hand around as if what he’s doing isn’t important.
    “ You mean the swather?” I can’t hide the irritation in my voice. This is my life, and she dismisses it with a wave of her manicured, artificially nailed hand. Like she has no idea that I’m the one who grows the soy for her veggie burgers and double espresso non-fat lattes. How can Bentley belong to this world?
    “ Whatever.”
    My shaking is no longer due to nervousness. A strange urge to defend my farm, my family...my tractors...to this girl who burst into my life just to tell me how the world works. I push forward, stepping around her.
    “ Not whatever. Are you done insulting my entire existence or was there a point to this? Here to warn me to stay away from your brother’s money? Well here’s a thought: not everyone is only after money.”
    Sasha laughs, and my skin crawls with hot prickly anger. I’ve never wanted to punch someone who wasn’t my brother before. Especially with that amused smile on her over painted face.
    “ I like you, Gracie. You would definitely have the fire my brother needs. But no, I came to warn you. I am taking Ben back to California next week. I want to warn you that while he likes you, he always falls too fast and too hard. It’s always been his way. He doesn’t see things for what they are. I am not saying you’re after his money, but back home, most were. So he’d immerse himself in his girls and get in so deep that the only way out was to cut and run.”
    I turn slowly to face Sasha.
    “ What does that even mean?”
    “ It means that my brother can’t commit. He’ll think he can, but he won’t. He’ll run. He always does. The thing is, he can’t fall for you. We need him home in the fall. He can’t stay here with you. It would never work. You’re from different universes, and you know it. It’s doomed, and I’m just ending it faster than it would end naturally.”
    “ I, uh.” But I don’t know how to process it.
    “ I’m not saying or doing this to be a bitch to you, Gracie. I helped him plan his surprise for you this morning, along with your plain little friend there. Then I hear that you just ran out on him. I’m protecting my brother from himself before he invests in you. He needs to come home. But he won’t leave if he thinks you’re together, or has a chance. But eventually I promise he’ll run. I am begging you to see this for what it is. I’m asking for your help in getting him home.”
    My mouth hangs open, and I am breathing fast and shallow. There are so many things in there that I have questions about. The thing that sticks out is, before he invests in you .
    We stand in the shaded grass by the old run down barn and watch each other while I try to process. Eventually, she sighs and shrugs.
    “ Just think about it, okay? I know he won’t leave until he helps with this bale thing, but I’m leaving and I want him with me.”
    She walks away, and I plop into the grass, all the strength being sucked from my body as soon as she’s out of sight.
    This is supposed to be the best birthday of my life, but so far it’s definitely the worst.

CHAPTER 22
    Bentley
    The hard work is rewarding. It takes my mind off things, and by things I mean Gracie. I should be around the house. Say Happy Birthday or something, but I just can’t be around it her.
    The barbecue’s going to be awkward, and I need to stop thinking about it. I’m embarrassed that I put myself out there like that. But it usually works. Finding out exactly what a girl needs and giving it to her is kind of my specialty. I like Gracie. That is the truth. That’s the worst part of it. I actually legitimately care.
    I drop the wrench I’m holding and wipe my hands on my work jeans that are steadily turning black from all the machine oil. My fingernails are caked, my skin is baked, and everything on my body aches. I’ve never worked this hard in my life, but I’ve also never felt this productive. To build your life with your hands, like my dad