Where It All Began

by Lucy Score

  “You could use a haircut,” Phoebe mused, startling John back to the present.

  She was staring at him over sweet Melanie’s swayback. “Before the party, I mean.”

  John shoved a hand through his thick hair. He’d meant to get it cut. He sporadically made it into the Snip Shack in town but had forgotten to schedule an appointment—as usual. “I don’t have time to get into town between now and then,” he muttered.

  “I can cut it for you,” Phoebe volunteered.

  “You cut hair?”

  “As long as you don’t want some fancy Flock of Seagulls cut or feathering. I can handle the basics.”

  This felt like a trap, John thought.

  Sure enough before dinner, she had him shirtless on the front porch, a towel draped over his shoulders and gleaming scissors in her hand as he stared at her breasts which were in his direct line of sight.

  “You sure you know what you’re doing?” he demanded as she threaded her fingers through his hair, and he felt his blood begin to simmer. Down boy. She was cutting his hair, not giving him a lap dance.

  He winced when he heard the first snip. “Don’t be such a baby,” she said, snipping another section. Deftly, she worked her way around the back, fingers stroking as she tilted his head this way and that. She smelled like sunshine and showers. When she stepped between his legs to trim the front and her breasts loomed inches in front of his face, John felt his mouth go dry. He felt like he was in danger of falling into a trance-like state.

  “Are we going to talk about that thing that happened in the kitchen last night?” she asked.

  He flinched at the glint of sunlight on the shears in her hand, and she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Relax.”

  “Do you want to talk about that thing that happened in the kitchen?” he asked, finally finding his voice.

  Her bare thigh brushed the inside of his leg, and he held his breath. She already knew what kind of an effect she had on his body. She’d seen it with her own two eyes the day before. She had to be messing with him.

  “For a non-kiss, it felt pretty intense to me,” she said conversationally.

  Intense? Intense was the feeling of metal scissors grazing his scalp while she stood between his damn legs. She had him so tied up in knots John didn’t know if he should be turned on or scared for his life.

  “It shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his tone brisk.

  “Now there you go being ridiculous again.” She sighed, and he felt her breath in his hair.

  He grabbed her wrist, moving the scissors into neutral territory. “Phoebe, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship with you.”

  She never reacted the way he thought she would. This time, instead of getting mad or hurt, she laughed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but from where I was standing in the kitchen, it looked like you were very interested.”

  John got to his feet and pushed Phoebe down on the stool. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to get involved. Better?”

  “But bad ideas are so much fun,” she pointed out.

  He closed his eyes and counted to ten, praying for patience.

  “Your eye is twitching again.”

  “I know my eye is twitching,” he snapped. “Look,” he continued in a slightly calmer voice. “Every decision I make has infinite ramifications. And I don’t think I ever got that until I started farming. If I choose the wrong fertilizer or buy the wrong seeds or choose the wrong crop, it could be disastrous.”

  “I get that. But I thought we were talking about sex?” Her pretty green eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “I’m getting around to that.”

  “Could you get there a little faster?” Phoebe asked. “I’m getting distracted by the view.” She looked at his bare chest and bit her lower lip.

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?” she asked.

  “Stop intentionally driving me insane. We both know I’m attracted to you. I don’t need to be a walking, talking hard-on to prove that.”

  “If we’re attracted to each other I don’t see the harm in exploring—”

  “You also didn’t see the harm in moving in with a stranger you’d never met for the summer. You lucked out with me. I could have been some kind of homicidal maniac farmer looking to add another pretty corpse to my cornfield cemetery.”

  Phoebe blinked those jade green eyes at him. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “Good because I’m not finished. I’m responsible for you while you’re here, and being responsible for you doesn’t mean stripping off your clothes and… and…” He tripped himself up with a blood-pumping vision of taking off her clothes until there was nothing left between them.

  “Having sex?” she finished for him.

  “You didn’t come here for sex,” he pointed out. “You came here to write your thesis. And I didn’t agree to let you stay in hopes that we’d end up in bed.”

  “Technically you agreed to let a guy stay here,” Phoebe reminded him.

  “Look. We both made a commitment. You work here for the summer, and I put up with your interrogation. What would happen to that commitment if we did pursue a physical relationship, and it didn’t work out?”

  “We’re adults, John—”

  “Think about it. One false move, and I’m out the help I need around here for the season, and you’re back to square one with your school work. That’s not fair to either one of us. Just like with the farm, every decision we make has consequences, and I’m not willing to pay them. And having someone come in and ask me a million questions about why I did this or why I won’t do that puts me on the defensive.”

  She nodded. “Okay, I can get that. But what makes you so sure it would end badly?”

  “We can barely get through a conversation without arguing.”

  “We don’t argue,” she argued. “We have spirited discussions, and I think there’s another reason besides the whole honorable host deal. What is it?”

  She was a canny little witch. John shoved a hand through his half-trimmed hair. “It’s stupid.”

  “Well, now I have to know.” She crossed her legs and propped her chin on her hand. “Spill it.”

  John leaned against the railing and screwed up his courage. “I bought this place to start my future. It’s important to know what you want. I wanted land and crops and work that I look forward to. But more, I wanted a place to raise a family. That’s my plan, and I don’t want to detour from that. When I bring whoever the future Mrs. Pierce is here, I don’t want her facing any shadows from the past. I bought this place for her.”

  “Well, hell,” she breathed. “How am I supposed to make fun of that? That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Phoebe pouted.

  “So, you’ll give me some breathing room and maybe wear some looser, longer clothes?” John was anxious to extract a promise from her. If she wasn’t coming on to him, he could battle his attraction easier.

  Phoebe laughed. She rose and pushed John back down onto the stool. “I’m not done yet.” When she lifted the scissors, John wasn’t sure if she was talking about his hair or her pursuit of him.

  --------

  John’s wish for rain on Sunday was in vain. The day was sunny and warm just to spite him, Phoebe thought smugly. It was a beautiful damn day. A sentiment repeated over and over again by the good-natured farming families that descended on Pierce Acres like hungry hippies to a picnic.

  The front yard looked as though Woodstock and a Duran Duran concert had gone to war. There were hand crocheted vests, decades-old denim, fanny packs, and mile-high hair cut in gravity-defying layers.

  Murdock had barked at the first twelve cars to arrive before giving up and hiding in Melanie’s stall in the barn. Phoebe had wiped her damp palms on her shorts and slapped on a welcoming smile. John was determined to pretend this party thing wasn’t happening and that their almost-kiss h
adn’t happened. He had entered a hibernation from reality.

  Thankfully, Elvira’s prediction had proved correct. Throwing a party in Blue Moon required very little preparation. Parties tended to evolve naturally as long as there was enough food and beer to outlast the crowd.

  The empty tables they’d set up on the lawn an hour earlier were now buckling under the weight of side dishes, salads, and desserts.

  It seemed like a lot more than forty people had shown up, and none of them looked like they were in a hurry to get down to farm business.

  John manned the grill like a captain through a hurricane, grimly and with stalwart determination. No one would accuse him of being a social butterfly, Phoebe thought with a grin as she shoved Mrs. Murkle’s dish of potato salad in between the other two potato salads on the picnic table. Since confessing that he had no intention of acting on his attraction, he seemed to have doubled down on his commitment to remain a hermit, avoiding her like a former one-night stand he ran into in church.

  She would have thought John’s commitment admirable if she hadn’t been too busy plotting ways to destroy it. She’d carefully chosen her outfit with that exact purpose in mind. Phoebe’s denim shorts showed plenty of leg, and the scoop neck of her impossible-to-miss red tank top highlighted all the right curves. She wore her hair long and loose and was regretting it in this heat until she’d caught John’s slow, head-to-toe scan of her.

  She’d lowered her Wayfarers, winked, and strutted away as he swore ripely under his breath.

  Torturing the man was as satisfying as surprising him, Phoebe decided as he fumbled a plate of hot dogs.

  She made herself useful playing hostess to the crowd and introducing herself to every stranger there.

  Phoebe was rearranging the three, five, and seven bean salads in order of bean count when a woman in striped culottes and a black tank top approached. Her hair was dark and huge like a soap star’s. A peace sign charm bracelet jingled on her wrist. She walked with the confidence of a person who knew absolutely everything about everyone.

  “Phoebe, darling! How wonderful to finally meet you,” she said, opening her arms.

  “Okay. Hugging when we meet.” Phoebe was wrapped in a death grip.

  The woman pulled back. “I’m Mrs. Jillian Nordemann, first lady of Blue Moon,” she announced grandly. “Your cousin Gwendolyn and I were college roommates.”

  It made sense that Gwendolyn and Mrs. Nordemann had connected. They each wore their own badges of weird. Phoebe’s weirdo second-cousin Gwendolyn played the tuba at great-uncle Art’s funeral and collected cat ceramics. Mrs. Nordemann had turned scheming and meddling into a full-time profession.

  “Mrs. Nordemann, it’s so lovely to finally meet you.” Phoebe greeted the woman who had successfully manipulated John into believing Phoebe was a he.

  “Now, I want to hear all about your stay so far. Has John been welcoming?” Mrs. Nordemann hooked her arm through Phoebe’s and began a slow turn around the yard. John spotted them and glared at Phoebe as she smiled sweetly in his direction.

  “He’s been absolutely lovely. I couldn’t have asked for a better mentor this summer,” Phoebe declared.

  “I am so happy to hear that,” Mrs. Nordemann said hiding her smugness behind a satisfied smile. “How has he been entertaining you all the way out here?” She gestured broadly at the fields and hills.

  Phoebe kept her responses guarded and left out all mention of any brewing sexual attraction. She also took great pleasure in seeing every ounce of color drain out of John’s face when he spotted them walking arm in arm. The burger he’d been about to slide onto Hazel’s bun landed in the dirt. She winked at him and went back to her conversation.

  Phoebe filled Mrs. Nordemann in on second-cousin Gwendolyn’s latest news—she was now breeding miniature pigs in the backyard of her duplex in Scranton, much to the dismay of her neighbors—and Mrs. Nordemann fed her the gossip on every person they passed.

  Farmer Carson? He owned twelve pairs of overalls so he only had to do laundry once a month.

  Betty and Linus Fitzsimmons? Rumor had it they were growing a special “crop” in their basement.

  Minnie Murkle? She took a part-time job at the Snip Shack answering phones and sweeping up hair and spreading gossip without her husband knowing. Mr. Murkle preferred wives that stayed home and had dinner on the table every night.

  “How does the whole town except for her husband know?” Phoebe asked.

  “Blue Moon is good at keeping secrets from one or two people at a time as long as it’s for a good cause,” Mrs. Nordemann winked. “Now, what are your plans after summer?”

  “Thanks to John, I should be able to graduate this summer. I’ve already had an interview with the USDA before I came up here. They’ve got a few openings to fill in August, and I’m hoping I get one.”

  Mrs. Nordemann stopped in her tracks. “The USDA? Where would you be working?”

  “Oh, it could be anywhere. Washington, D.C. to start most likely.”

  “But why not stay here, dear?”

  Phoebe laughed until she realized Mrs. Nordemann was not pulling her leg. “Here? I went to school for six years for this degree. I need to use it or my parents will brutally murder me.”

  “Well, why don’t you just marry a farmer? I’m sure a good husband would appreciate his wife’s education,” Mrs. Nordemann suggested brightly.

  Phoebe tripped over her own feet nearly taking a header into a fence post. “Uh. Um. Married?” she squeaked.

  “Marriage is wonderful, and just think what an asset you’d be to your husband’s farm! Look at John, for instance. Why you and your education could do him a world of good what with him living out here all by himself.”

  “You think I should marry John?” Phoebe wasn’t feeling so well anymore. The potato salads that she’d sampled sat like bricks in her stomach.

  Mrs. Nordemann giggled and then proceeded to flatten Phoebe like a steam roller. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want you to marry him if you didn’t have feelings for him. You do, don’t you? I mean, of course you do. I can tell by how you two look at each other. Married women can see such things. The smoldering glances, the whispered words of love.” She sighed dramatically. “It is terribly romantic, isn’t it? Young love. And he’s so ready to settle down. It’s just perfect timing.”

  If John had shot her smoldering looks, it was because he was pissed at her. And as far as whispered words of love, their communication was more akin to half-shouted insults. Yes, they had sparks. And those sparks would most likely ignite the sheets they lay on if he’d just give them a chance to get naked and enjoy each other. But marriage? That was a ridiculous idea. That was years off for Phoebe. First was graduation, then a job and paying her parents back. Then probably some travel. And then, maybe, if she found the right guy, she’d think about marriage. But it would be someone who supported her career, not tied her to a chunk of land.

  Phoebe’s panic level rose to new heights, and she felt like she was teetering at the top of a hill on a rollercoaster. Holy crap. What if they did have sex? Would John start sizing her up for marriage? Would she have to crush him like a bug if he gave her his heart?

  She felt sick. She’d been enjoying her little plan to seduce John so much that she hadn’t really looked at the possible consequences. Sure, he’d expressed his concerns over consequences, but the idea that things would spontaneously combust between them leaving grudges and simmering anger? It was laughable. John Pierce was too good a man to allow something like that to happen.

  She’d imagined a summer fling and a romantic goodbye, providing them both with sweet memories to treasure. But she hadn’t considered what would happen if one of them wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

  Having to crush his dreams if things went too well between the sheets? To her, that was far more likely than an icy breakup leaving both partners without what they needed most this summer. And it was just like her to have not co
nsidered that in her pursuit of him.

  Shit. Double shit.

  Oblivious to Phoebe’s internal turmoil, Mrs. Nordemann chattered on and on about fall weddings and the joys of life in Blue Moon.

  “Oh, would you look at the time?” Phoebe held up her bare wrist to check the watch that wasn’t there. “I’d better go see if the toilet paper roll needs changed.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You got yourself a real fine roommate there, John,” Alfie Cofax said between bites of his third hot dog. Alfie was scrawny as a scarecrow with tufts of red hair standing up on end and a face full of freckles. He looked to be about fourteen but had a few years on John. He also had a wife and three kids.

  John hmmed noncommittally.

  “Yep. I wouldn’t mind chasing that around the corn fields,” Alfie whooped in appreciation as Phoebe strolled by, hips swaying, hair swinging, this time with someone’s distraught toddler in her arms.

  “Isn’t that your kid?” Michael Cardona asked, elbowing Alfie in the gut and nodding at Phoebe.

  “Ah, crap. I forgot I was supposed to be watchin’ him.” Alfie chased after Phoebe leaving John and Michael alone at the grill.

  “He’s not wrong, you know,” Michael said, admiring Phoebe’s long legs.

  “Don’t start, Cardona,” John growled a warning.

  “I’m just stating a fact. She’s a good-looking woman. People are going to notice. Unless of course they’re brain dead.” Michael sent John a pointed look that he ignored. John slapped another row of burgers on the grill and pretended it was Michael’s face.

  “You know what I think?” John picked up his beer.

  “What?”

  “I think I need a new beer,” he said, wiggling the empty can.

  “Dude, seriously. Why aren’t you moving on that?” Michael asked, exasperated. “It’s like Hot Girl Heaven delivered an angel straight to you, and you’re too dumb to make a move.”

  “I’m not too dumb to make a move. I’m not looking for a good time with no potential. End of summer comes, and she’s out of here. Or worse, things blow up mid-summer, and I’m left without the help I need around here. Besides, I’m starting to think about permanent.”