A beat passed. The horse came over and began eating the hay.
Maisie finally spoke, her voice tight. “Fine. You’re right. I’m stuck under a keg and need your help.”
Hayes leaned his arm against the top of the coarse wooded fence. “Say that again?” He had to have heard her wrong.
She sighed heavily. “Please don’t make me repeat it.”
He grinned. “Sorry, I’m going to need you to.”
Another sigh, even more exaggerated this time. “I’m stuck under a beer keg in the storage area and need you to come help me.”
Unsure if this was serious or not, since on any given day, Maisie always seemed to get herself in unusual situations, he decided not to drag this along. “I’ll be there in ten.”
“Thank you. Oh, and Hayes?”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t say anything about this to Clara or Amelia.”
Hayes chuckled. “Mum’s the word.” He ended the call and approached his black RAM truck.
Maisie was the most accident-prone person he’d ever met. If something went wrong, she was usually involved. Hayes had tried to distance himself from Maisie after Laurel’s funeral. Hell, he’d tried to distance himself from everyone. Only Maisie and Beckett hadn’t allowed it. Hayes was pretty sure he’d be lost or dead without them.
The drive to the brewery took him eight minutes, and when he reached the farm, he drove up the long driveway, pulling in next to Maisie’s MINI. A beautiful landscape painting sat on the passenger seat. Maisie had more natural talent than Hayes had ever seen. He, for one, thought she wasted it working in a brewery, but who was he to argue with her life choices? He certainly had no idea where his life was headed anymore.
When he entered through the side door, he caught Amelia’s curses. She was bent over in the tank, looking like she belonged in a chemical lab. “What’s the brew this time?” he asked.
Amelia jerked up in surprise, covered in spent grain. She smiled when she realized who stood before her. “It’s a fruity beer I’m playing around with. You’d hate it.”
“Then I won’t ask for sample,” he said. Playing cool, he asked, “I’m here to see Maisie. She in the back?”
Amelia wiped the sweat off her forehead with her arm. “Yeah, she’s getting ready for some festivals.”
“Nice.” He gave an easy smile, hoping to hell Amelia didn’t pick up on his urgency, and gestured at the tanks. “Hope your day gets better.”
“You and me both.” She laughed.
Hayes loosed the breath he didn’t know he was holding as he left her behind. Luckily, Clara wasn’t in her office when he strode by. She was the toughest sister, and he really didn’t want to lie to her. When he passed the last rows of tanks, he lengthened his stride. The second he walked into the open storage area, he called, “Maisie.”
“Shh,” she said to his right. “Close the door.”
He shut the door gently and followed her voice, stopping short when he saw her. He didn’t initially see the problem. She was lying on her back, like she was waiting for him. His body temperature rose, his groin filling with heat. That wildly inappropriate reaction to her had started happening a few months ago. It was the day he remembered he was a man. Maisie had come to see him at the farm and wore a sexy, short dress. The hard-on that followed, and every single one after it when she came near him, told him how truly fucked up he was. She was his friend, not his to lust over. But when he finally spotted her hand stuck under a keg, he rushed forward. “Shit, Maisie. What happened?”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “I tried to move the keg. It didn’t like that.”
He circled her, getting a good look at the keg. “How hurt is your hand?”
“It’s fine,” she said. “Not hurting one bit. Get this off me.”
He doubted she wasn’t hurt but settled in front of the keg to free her. “I think there’s only one thing to say now.”
“What’s that?”
He grabbed the top handle of the keg. “This might sting a little.” As fast as he could, he yanked the keg up until she could pull her arm out.
Her eyes shut, lips parted in a silent scream, and her skin lost all of its color. “I’m okay,” she gasped, breathing deep. “I’m okay.”
He set the keg down and took one look at her hand. “Hate to break it to you, Maisie, but you’re definitely not okay.”
She slowly opened her eyes and looked at her finger that was bent in the wrong direction. Her eyes flicked to his and became distant. “Uh-oh.” Then she cried out in pain, those same eyes rolling into the back of her head.
He dropped to his knees, placing a hand on her head.
The door whisked open and Amelia rushed in, breathless. “Oh my God, what’s wrong?”
“It’s safe to say that no matter how bad you think your day is, Maisie’s is worse.”
2
“You’re fired.”
Maisie balked at Clara, trying to ignore the dinging alarm coming from the hospital room across the hallway. She’d been in the hospital for six terribly long hours now. After she’d been knocked out, and an orthopedic surgeon realigned the fracture fragments, they’d given her a horribly ugly splint. While that all sucked, the worst part was that she had hurt her dominant hand. No painting. No drawing. No creating. For…weeks? That was bad. But this? “You can’t fire me,” she implored.
“You and Amelia gave me full control of running the business, so I obviously can,” Clara said, placing her hands on her hips. “Even before your accident, I seriously doubted you could do this. Now? Maisie, let’s be real here, you can’t handle the festivals.”
Defeat sank in, and even Maisie doubted herself, but yet, she still asked, “Who says I can’t?”
Clara waved at the saline bag attached to Maisie’s hand and then pointed at Maisie’s broken finger. “I’d say today is evidence enough this isn’t working out.” Her sister’s expression softened, and she took Maisie’s uninjured hand and squeezed tight. “I know you wanted to do something more for the brewery than the logos and signage, and you tried. We’re proud of you.”
Amelia nodded and gave a soft smile. “So proud.”
Clara added, “But you’ve been struggling at this before you even hit the ground running. We’ll just have to find you something else to do within the company.”
But there wasn’t anything else for Maisie to do, and they all knew it. Clara was the brains of the operation. Amelia was creator of the beer. Even, Penelope, their cousin, had taken over the brewery tours since Maisie, well…sucked at that too. Maisie was the painter, the dreamer, the woman trying desperately to fit into the box that she didn’t fit in. “Okay, I know having the keg fall on my hand wasn’t my finest moment,” she hedged, “but I can fix this.”
Clara’s brows rose. “How?”
“I’ll figure that out soon,” Maisie said with a smile.
Clara frowned. “That sugary sweet smile has gotten you many, many chances, but I’m afraid you’re out of them.”