Chapter TWO-MAX

“What a fucking dump,” I growled.

I bared my teeth as a low, hiss-like sound emerged from my chest. The four-hour drive north had left me feeling antsy and restless. My skin itched for me to shift, but I couldn’t. Not yet.

Fucking Avail.

This sealed it. I was going to murder my cousin.

Okay, fine. The drive was long, but I did enjoy the scenery. North Jersey was lush and green, with forests, hills, valleys, and huge tracts of farmlands, though not as big as those in the southwestern part of the state.

My new house and lands, courtesy of a huge chunk of my trust fund, sat just beyond an enormous wrought iron gate that held a weathered sign with the letters Mi l r R n h barely visible.

I had no idea what they once said, and furthermore I did not care. This place was a mess. A veritable fucking dump even though I was pretty sure it was supposed to be a large ranch style house.

Right off the bat, the roof was sagging, the porch missing a few planks of wood in the steps. There was a broken window on the second floor, covered by plywood. And who knew when this place last saw a coat of paint?

The fences looked held together by chicken wire, and fuck me, yeah, I spied some metallic gray Duct tape, too.

My supernaturally enhanced senses allowed me to cast my sight beyond the homestead to the various tracts of land beyond the huge eyesore marked off by more wire and wood fences, most of them broken.

An unattached, two car garage sat to the left of the house, but further away, I noted a barn-like structure, a silo, or a granary and a couple of smallish cabins beside what appeared to be animal pens.

It all needed fixing.

But what surprised me most were the fresh scents of manure, fur, feed, and hay. They hit me hard in the face. I stopped and turned my head in disgust.

I was a city boy at heart. I mean, I’d attended an ivy league school, for fuck’s sake. After that, I spent a lot of my time fucking around in clubs and restaurants. Rubbing elbows with high society.

Right now, I felt like I just got slapped with my new reality. And it stunk.

Grrr.

“Are you pouting, Max?” Mrs. O’Hare asked.

“No, I’m not pouting,” I growled, but was.

Who could blame me? The fucking place looked to be one step away from total condemnation. As it stood, I wasn’t sure if I should even attempt to step inside.

I drove up the long gravel driveway and stopped in front of the somewhat collapsed porch.

“I’m going to kill my cousin,” I said out loud this time.

I could just imagine Avail laughing his ass off at my new home and country bumpkin lifestyle. I didn’t go to Princeton to end up ankles deep in mud and sniff goat shit.

Great. I own a fucking goats farm.

Fucking hell.

“Let’s go, you big baby. Get out of the car,” Mrs. O’Hare chided.

I supposed it could be worse.

Face it, Max, you haven’t found happiness no matter where you’ve looked. This could be your shot.

Fuck my inner voice. Apparently, even subconscious me was an asshole. I growled deep in my throat, annoyed at his inner voice’s logic.

Fuck.

The thing about being born to a wealthy, albeit nosy as fuck family, was that I hadn’t really been pressured or trained to do much of anything. So many things were just so easy for me.

But this time, I felt like Grandmother and Avail had set me up for failure. I mean, what the hell did I know about running a place like this?

You can learn. You can make it yours.

I stepped out of the vehicle, crouched down, and huffed an angry breath before popping back up again.

“Shit!” I yelled.

“It’s not that bad,” Mrs. O’Hare said, but it was that bad.

Truly, it was.

What the hell was I going to do here?

Aside from the deplorable state of my new home/ranch/farm, Barren County had the smallest population of any other county in New Jersey.

No people.

No women.

But it did have land.

Good, wholesome, fertile farmland. The kind that made New Jersey one of the top ten producers in the entire country of blueberries, cranberries, peaches, tomatoes, bell peppers, eggplant, cucumbers, apples, spinach, squash and asparagus.

Considering the size of the Garden State, that truly was remarkable. It was the fourth smallest state in the good old USA.

Apparently, the folks who founded this county had a sense of humor. Or maybe they just named it Barren to keep competitors away.

Fuck if I knew.

“Oh, come on, Max. Let’s see the inside,” Mrs. O’Hare said.

I paused and looked at my former nanny and current housekeeper. She just cocked her head, stuck out her tongue, then turned and took in the sprawling ranch house.

“Molly, have you been drinking this morning? Not that bad? One sneeze and the whole place will collapse!”

“Not necessarily. And of course I’ve been drinking. I added a shot of Bite to my coffee with breakfast.”

“Molly,” it was my turn to chide her.

“What? I had to get in the car with you, you demon!”

“I don’t drive that bad,” I muttered.

“And I remember when you failed your test three times in a row, thank you very much. Now, the house is likely good inside. They built these things to last back then,” she replied, and slid out of the suped up Ford F-150 Lightning Platinum pickup truck I just parked my classic cherry red Camaro for.

That fucker, Avail, better not be driving it while I was stuck here in wherever the fuck I was.

Oh yeah, the lovely town of Dry Creek. Feeling beyond put out, I patted the truck, hands on my hips, and scowled.

Hard.

I had no experience ranching, farming, or whatever the fuck else I was going to have to do here.

But maybe Mrs. O’Hare wasn’t wrong.

Fine, I could see some good points. The house had character. And space. Miles of it.

Snort.

I was too used to posh estates and luxurious surroundings. But I’d been bored with that life, right?

So yeah. This could work. With a little construction and some maintenance, of course.

A fresh coat of paint.

New fences.

New gutters.

Replacement doors and windows.

Upgraded electricity and plumbing.

Yeah. I could get that done. Then the place might actually prove livable.

Of course, there were stipulations to this whole thing.

I couldn’t just throw money at the problem and hope it would go away.

Technically, the way my trust worked was that I shared it with all members of the Leeds family. The money, lands, and deeds were all divvied up amongst us by age and rank in the family.

Grandmother had the most power, of course. Which was why she was currently ruining my life.

As usual.

Avail sent the legal packet through to my email just this morning and from what I gleaned, I had to personally see to at least sixty percent of the physical labor of any repairs, maintenance, refurbishment, or any of the work required myself.

No passing on the buck, as it were. Oh no. I was expected to get my hands dirty in a not sexy fun times way. Which was another thing I was hardly experienced with.

Really, Grandmother?

I wanted to say fuck it. But the monster inside me scratched at my skin. The Devil in me was getting harder to ignore. He wanted to be set free.

But I reined in my bestial side, canted my head and sniffed the air, looking beyond the mud and muck of the scattered goats, chickens, and the few cows I’d already scented.

Wood.

Rot.

Animal scat.

Wildflowers.

End of summer rain.

Smells nice.

Shit.

I should have run when I had the chance. But then the wind changed, and I took an even deeper breath, crouching down to touch the dark, damp soil beneath the grass.

I smelled something else just then. Something that rang of potential.

Really? You think you can do this? The land is good, but do you have potential, Max?

My inner voice was such a dick sometimes.

But dick or not, I had to admit I was curious. Interested even.

And those were two things I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“Oh my God! Max, come see this stove,” Mrs. O’Hare shouted from inside the house.

I shook my head and grinned. The air buzzed with electricity and the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood straight up as I approached the front door, avoiding the broken stairs.

One foot hovered over the threshold, like I wasn’t sure if I would go inside, and that just made me mad at myself.

I wasn’t a child anymore. Wasn’t afraid of my own shadow, for fuck’s sake.

I rolled my eyes.

Whatever it was that made me feel so heavy, I was sure my Jersey Devil side could fix it.

I just needed to go for a little run or flight after dinner. If I ever made it inside, that was.

“Quit being ridiculous,” I growled to myself and slammed my foot down, taking that first step a little harder than I intended.

“Fuck!” I yelped, feeling as though I’d been hit by a lightning bolt when I finally got inside.

My chest was heaving, and stars danced in front of my eyes. What the fuck was happening to me?

I didn’t necessarily believe in fate, but I had a feeling I’d just sealed mine.

Even stronger was the feeling swimming in my gut that there was simply no getting away from this place now.

My Devil had claimed it. I looked down at my reddening skin and struggled to hold on to my human form.

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

What did this mean? What was I supposed to do here? Who was I supposed to be?

My pulse raced, and I felt out of breath, like a racehorse stuck on a never-ending track. All those questions circled my head, and about a thousand more batted at me like lashes from the whip of an unseen rider.

“I think that’s for you,” Mrs. O’Hare said, interrupting whatever panic I was stuck in.

She nodded at a large box sitting on a small wooden table against the wall. The box was apparently addressed to me.

I frowned and tugged on the simple twine and picked up the card. Gritting my teeth as I recognized Grandmother’s handwriting, I read the thing.

Thought you might need this. Wear it in good health, and remember, don’t fuck this up.

-Your loving Grandmother

Rolling my eyes, I lifted the tissue paper, my eyebrows almost disappearing under the locks of dark hair that fell across my forehead.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I murmured as I lifted the gift. “A fucking cowboy hat?”

Mrs. O’Hare barked a loud laugh, and the old Witch even snorted.

“Mount up, Boss Man. You got work to do,” Mrs. O’Hare said, still laughing as she went back to her inspection of the kitchen.

I knew she was kidding, but the second I touched that hat, I felt something zip down my spine.

Another lightning bolt, only smaller this time.

I walked to the hall mirror and placed the thing on my head.

It didn’t look bad.

It was different, of course, but it wasn’t necessarily a negative.

My formerly lax life of a millionaire had lost most of its luster, and this, well, this was new. And new had potential. New was exciting.

No, the hat didn’t look bad sitting on top of my head.

It didn’t look bad at all.