Georgia's Gamble [A Historical Fiction Novel; The Pratt Chronicles Book 1]

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Georgia Pratt

The setting sun cast a warm, golden hue over the horizon as I leaned against the porch railing, watching my brothers struggle with the gazebo tent. Benjamin had excused himself to check on Arlo after the snake incident—although, knowing him, it was probably more of an excuse to distance himself from any potential snake run-ins. I couldn't help but smile to myself, replaying the moment when Indy had found the snake and Benjamin's brave, if not slightly pale, attempt to appear unbothered. I knew the truth, though. He might have put on a calm front for Indy, but I saw the nervous glance he threw at that rat snake. Still, he held it together, never once letting on that he was uncomfortable. I had to give him credit for that; Indy would've seen right through any other grown man and teased him relentlessly.

I let out a small chuckle, shaking my head. Benjamin was... surprising. There was something about the way he handled Indy that felt natural. Most people didn't know how to deal with a twelve-year-old girl who had no fear of anything—least of all snakes—but he hadn't tried to patronize her. Instead, he'd just played along, showing respect for her confidence and curiosity. And though I teased him for it, there was a quiet admiration in me for the way he interacted with her. He was a good man—better than I gave him credit for sometimes.

"Georgia! You gonna help or just stand there staring at us all day?" Finn called out, his voice carrying over the yard as he wiped sweat from his forehead. Finn's chocolate hair stuck to his face as he pushed it out of his eyes. His olive skin glistening from the intensive job of putting up a tent. It was unique that our brother fit so perfectly with us despite no blood relation. Finley's parents worked the farm for us and he grew up with us, that was until his father passed in an accident and his mother ran, leaving Finn with us. It had been nearly 10 years, and the fifteen year old was and always would be, a Pratt. Especially with that impatience.

Quinn, the oldest of my brothers, nudged Finn in the side, his cowboy hat resting atop of his long blonde hair. He really needed to get a haircut. "You know she's just overseeing. She's the *boss* now," he said with a grin, mocking my role in today's little family project.

"Bossy, more like," JJ chimed in, his tone full of mischief. JJ always found a way to needle me, even if it was good-natured. His dimples were on show as he grinned at us.

I rolled my eyes, unable to stop the smile from spreading across my face. "I'm not bossy," I shot back. "I'm *organised.* If I left it up to you three, this tent would be upside down by now, and we'd be stuck out here all night."

Quinn raised an eyebrow as he adjusted one of the poles. "Oh, really? And where's your fancy organisational skills when it comes to actually *helping* us move this thing?"

"I am helping," I replied with a smirk. "I'm supervising, aren't I?"

JJ huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, because watching us do all the hard work counts as supervising."

I decided I'd had enough of their teasing. Picking up a crumpled-up ball of cloth from the ground—probably a dishrag someone had left outside—I launched it in JJ's direction. It sailed through the air and hit him square in the chest. "Hey!" he protested, his face lighting up in mock indignation. "You can't throw things just because we're right."

"Oh, I can and I will," I said, folding my arms and grinning.

Quinn, always the mediator, stepped in with a laugh. "Alright, let's not get distracted. The sooner we get this tent up, the sooner we can relax."

Finn, being the least patient of the group, groaned. "Yeah, and the sooner I can stop listening to Georgie boss us around."

I shot him a playful glare. "Keep talking like that, Finley, and you can put this thing up by yourself."