by J. M. Adele
Thank you!
Read on for an excerpt from Finding Home.
Chapter One
Hard Decisions
2006
Greyson’s lungs convulsed from sucking down too much dust, diesel fumes, and cow stench, as he tossed another hay bale onto the truck. Bending forward, he spat the grit from his mouth, watching his shadow jerk as he returned a little piece of Mississippi to its rightful place.
“Fuck this shit.”
The muffled protest came out of his mouth once a week, probably closer to daily in the last few weeks, as his desperation became a palpable force driving him to crazy town.
Wiping his mouth on his shoulder, he walked behind the rumbling truck, inching its way around the loose bales in the field.
“Shut up before Papà hears you.”
Turning his head, Grey leveled a sneer at his brother for daring to scold him. “He won’t hear, he’s driving the truck. Besides, I don’t give a shit if he hears. I hate this job and he knows it.”
“He might know it, but he won’t accept it.”
Antonio threw another bale and straightened with a groan. Removing one worn leather glove and his hat, he scrubbed a hand over his sweaty buzz cut. It was clear they were brothers in the same dark shade of their hair, their slate gray eyes, and strong chins. A legacy from their father and his Italian heritage. But their differing hair styles were the clearest indicator of their personalities. Antonio was happy to conform, while Grey’s hair hadn’t seen the clippers for four years. He had no interest in fitting into anyone’s regulations. The ponytail he wore was a big fuck you to conformity.
“He’ll have to accept it soon enough.”
Removing his cowboy hat, Grey tugged on the ends of his hair, dislodging the piece of hay that was scratching under his collar.
“What are you talkin’ about?” Anton flicked his eyes sidelong, taking a swig from his water bottle.
Plonking his hat back on his head, Greyson grabbed his own bottle. “I’m leavin’.” He stared down his brother, challenge marking his face and his stance.
“What are you talkin’ about? Where are you goin’?” The water bottle dangled from lax fingers, all but forgotten, as Anton gaped at his older brother.
“You repeat yourself a lot. You know that?” Grey smirked.
“Cut the shit, Grey. Where are you going? Does Mama know?”
“She’s been supportive.”
He bent, heaving another bale through the air to be caught and stacked on the truck by the ranch hands. His two sisters were taking turns walking beside the vehicle, guiding Papà when to stop or slow down.
“She wants me to follow my heart.”
“Where to?” Shock lifted the pitch of Antonio’s voice.
“The kitchen. A real kitchen where I can learn to cook from the best.”
“You’re not serious?” Capping his bottle and letting out a shrill whistle, Anton threw it to one of the ranch hands on the truck. “He’ll never speak to you again. You know what happened to our uncle.”
Yeah, success happened. If his father couldn’t support that, then… Grey didn’t give a fuck.
The bitter fallout from Uncle Matteo’s escape still lingered in the old farmhouse. A constant pollution of ash in the air, cloying every conversation or family gathering where his absence was glaringly obvious.
Greyson clenched gloved fists, holding his body in check. He didn’t want to antagonize his brother. Antonio was built for ranch life. Grey wasn’t.
“I’m aware, and I’m willing to take the chance. It’s worth it. I can’t rot away on this ranch. It’s not the life I want.”
“What about the family?” Anton’s arms flailed, emphasizing his point. “What about your friends? Lory?”
“Lory would want me to be happy.”
His younger brother took off his hat, slapped it on his thigh, and whistled a long, low note. He eyeballed Grey under heavy brows, shaking his head. “You haven’t told her. You’re a chicken shit.”
Grey’s muscles tightened, gathering for a fight.
One side of Anton’s mouth tipped up in a mocking smile. “Well… I’ll miss ya. I’d say make sure you visit, but I don’t know if you’ll be welcome.”
The tension seeped out a little, but Grey knew it wouldn’t disappear until he was in his pickup on the interstate.
“I’ll visit anyway. He can’t stop me from coming to town.”
“Basta!” The brothers whipped their heads toward the truck where their father was leaning out of the window, motioning with his arm. “When you’re done with your women’s meeting, maybe you could load the truck.”
“Sì, Papà.” Antonio tipped his chin in acknowledgement before turning back to Grey. “Come on. Let’s get this done so we can enjoy some of Nonna’s pasta.”
Eyeing the back of his papà’s head through narrowed slits, the muscles in Grey’s jaw worked out his annoyance. He’d grind his teeth to stumps if he stayed here any longer. Shifting his gaze, he watched his brother diligently working at clearing all the bales. He didn’t seem all that concerned about Grey leaving. Or maybe he didn’t believe that Grey would go through with it.
His determination solidified. He could no longer spend his life doing something he didn’t care for. He was already half packed. It was only a matter of days. All he had to do was tell his papà.
They finally finished loading the last of about two thousand bales. Garlic wafted down the dust track and over their makeshift seats of hay, as they made their way back to the hay barn. He could see the old white farmhouse in the distance, with its dormer windows marking the second story bedrooms, and the long veranda where he’d often sit listening to the sounds of the night.
Grey’s nose twitched, capturing the alluring scent. Way better than cow shit, or almost anything he could think of. He rubbed his callused palms together, thinking about going into the kitchen after they off-loaded the bales. It was a distraction from the nerves rampaging in his stomach at the thought of the conversation that had to happen soon. If he was smart, he’d let it wait until his father was full-bellied after a hearty meal.
Grey jumped down, listening to his papà’s barrage of instructions, as if they all didn’t know how to operate the bale elevator, or stack hay. They’d been doing this for years, for Christ’s sake. Every word from that man’s mouth was gasoline on the fire in Grey’s belly to get the hell out. Every muscle ache, every creak in his bones, every scratch or cut on his skin, drove the flames higher.
He stretched his neck, pinched his mouth shut, and took up his position at the elevator, ready to unload his last bales of hay. If he never saw hay again, he’d be as happy as… a chef in a kitchen.
Want to keep reading the rest of the story? Find it HERE.
Author of smart, sexy characters, J.M. Adele loves to flit between the dark and light sides of romance. Somewhere along the way an almost constant procession of imaginary characters settled into her thoughts and she picked up a pen to share their stories.
She lives in Queensland with her three greatest loves, her children. When she’s not writing or being a mum, you might find her hiking up a mountain, singing in the car when nobody is looking, or curled up with a good book.
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