by Amy Andrews
“We’re here,” he announced, turning his head slightly so his words wouldn’t be whipped away. Even the curve of her cheek made him lightheaded.
Wyatt slowed the ATV even further and brought it to a gentle halt next to a gate. A few of the hogs grazing in the paddock looked up, but most just went about their business.
She didn’t move, even after he cut the engine, just sat there, gazing at the field, her arms around him. With the wind gone, her scent enveloped him, which was no mean feat when hogs were nearby. She smelled like coconut, and his mouth watered as he inhaled and wondered if he’d totally lost his mind.
The urge to slide his hand onto her arm rode him hard, and Wyatt’s heart beat faster trying to summon the courage. Wasn’t it a little forward? He’d known her for two hours.
His hesitation cost him as she loosened her arms, her hand sliding away. It galvanized Wyatt into moving, offering her his hand as she dismounted, letting her go as soon as she was on her feet.
“So…” She pressed her forearms to the gate and stared out over the field. “These are the hogs, huh?”
Wyatt nodded and smiled, his gaze resting on her profile, on the way her lips pressed together in pensive thought. “Sorry about the stink.”
Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air. “It’s not too bad.” She turned her head to face him, and Wyatt’s breath caught in his throat. “They look happy.”
If his hogs were a fraction of the happy that he was right now, they’d be the happiest damn pigs on the planet. “We like to think they are.”
“Could I go in? Are they…violent or something? Will they charge me?”
Wyatt gave a half laugh. The only thing in the field that was likely to charge her was him, and given his lack of experience in that department, he’d probably trip over his feet and end up facedown in a wallow.
The fact that she wanted to go in, that she hadn’t shuddered the way Roxy had when he’d suggested the tour, squeezed fingers around his heart. “Sure.”
He opened the gate and indicated she should precede him, her coconut aroma drifting to him as she passed, dizzying him further. She entered tentatively but didn’t hang back, looking around her as she walked. Not down at her feet, worried about stepping in manure, but at the field and the animals and their shelters.
“Oh…piglets,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him as she pointed at some bouncy pink babies happily following their mother.
Wyatt’s breath hitched. Jenny was smiling, and the sun was shining and the whole landscape suddenly felt like a Dalí painting—utterly surreal. Was it possible to fall for someone so quickly?
He nodded. “You want to hold one?”
Her eyes lit up, her mouth curved bigger again. “Could I?”
This woman could do whatever the hell she wanted. He was 100 percent gone on her. She could ask him to leave and go back with her to Pittsburgh—she’d told Roxy where she was from in the car—and he’d turn his back on this farm and these hogs and Credence, all of which he loved with a ferocity as deep as the dark, black soil, and do it happily.
He hoped like hell she felt the same, because when she smiled at him like that, he felt like he was the only man on the planet.
They spent half an hour puttering around the field, during which time Jenny nursed several piglets. He’d been concerned that she’d get dirty, and she’d dismissed his concerns quickly. What’s a bit of dirt? That was what she’d said. And Wyatt had fallen a little deeper.
They’d talked as they puttered. She’d asked him about the hogs and the running of the farm and the town and his parents and hadn’t mentioned Wade once. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d scored some female attention because of who his brother was, which had been monumentally wasted on a guy who clammed up whenever a woman got near.
Except for Jennifer. Wyatt didn’t think he’d ever talked to a woman so much in his life.
“So what do you do?” he asked as they wandered back to the quad bike. “Back home in Pittsburgh?”
Wyatt blinked at the words tumbling from his mouth. He was initiating conversation? He could spend all day talking about the farm ad nauseam to anyone who would listen—even a woman—the farm was his safe zone. But he couldn’t quite believe that he was venturing into the land of small talk.
Jennifer was so easy to talk to, though. Normally just being with a woman, even showing her around the farm, would have his adrenaline flowing. The fear that he’d do something or say something stupid, almost paralyzing.
It was flowing, but not because he was anxious.
“Minimum-wage stuff, mostly.”
Wyatt was so aware of her—the brush of her arm, the rasp of her breathing, the husky timbre of her voice like sandpaper against his skin.
“I didn’t finish school, so it’s mainly just waiting tables and working a cash register.”
“Do you like it there? In Pittsburgh.”
“I like it better here.”
She glanced at him, and Wyatt’s gut clenched. He knew she was feeling the same things. But…
His heart raced at the mere thought of asking the next question, but he had to know. “There’s no…” He was going to say boyfriend, but couldn’t even bring himself to say the word. Couldn’t bear the thought that there might be someone else, even though this whole weekend was supposed to be for single women. “No one special back in Pittsburgh?”
She looked away and stumbled a little, and Wyatt’s hand slid onto her elbow to steady her, his palm tingling from the contact even after he removed it. “No. There’s no man in my life.”
Wyatt grinned then, and she smiled back, and the sun was behind her, gilding her faded red hair to spun gold, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to slip his hand into hers.
Christ. When had touching a woman ever felt anything other than excruciatingly fraught?
“So, you’d seriously think about moving here?”
She nodded. “So far, so good.”
Wyatt squeezed her hand as his heart just about leapt out of his chest. “And you could just pick up and leave? From Pittsburgh?”
She looked away again. “Sure.”
“There’s a talk tomorrow at the civic center about how Credence can help any of the women who want to move to town.”
“Yes. I saw that. I’m very interested in learning more.”
They got to the gate and paused at the barrier. Wyatt knew it’d be the perfect spot to dip his head and kiss her, even though he’d only known her for a few hours. The sun was shining, and the air was sweet with grass and coconut, and she was looking up at him again like maybe she was expecting it, and he didn’t think he’d read the signals wrong, and he wanted to kiss her so fucking bad.
A jungle drum beat inside his head and his chest as he stared at her mouth, but a spurt of the old anxiety jettisoned into his system and he lost his nerve. He’d kissed only four women in his life. The last had been over three years ago.
What if he screwed it up?
“Ladies first,” he said, his hand slipping from hers as he reached for the gate and unlatched it, silently castigating himself for his hesitation. He felt like an idiot and awkward as all fuck again, the guy who couldn’t get laid in two decades because he let his nerves get in the way of getting close to a woman.
But she smiled so sweetly at him as she brushed past, like it didn’t matter, like they had all the time in the world, like he hadn’t just committed the biggest fucking faux pas of his life, and the voices of reprimand inside his head settled.
Wyatt held out his hand, and she took it, swinging her leg over to mount the ATV. He slid in front of her, and this time when she put her arms around him, he slid his hands on top of hers. She responded by settling her cheek against his back and sighing, and Wyatt knew, as long as he lived, he’d never forget this afternoon in the field with Jenny.
Chapter Twelve
Wade was impressed with how well the street party organizers had transformed the main street. He’d been tucked away writing all afternoon and had joined the festivities a short time ago. CC had been in the thick of it, which was annoying because he missed having her in the same room to bounce things off on a whim. But she’d been swept up in one of his mother’s mad missions, and no one got in the way of Veronica Carter on a mission.
A section of the street had been closed off using bales of hay as dividers. They also doubled for seating. Party lights had been strung from one side of the street to the other, criss-crossing to form a colorful canopy currently filtering the gilded pink clouds and purple haze of dusk.
Trestle tables were set up within the perimeter, laden with food and depressingly non-alcoholic drinks. One of the county’s finest country bands was set up in a corner, punching out tunes to which a mass of people were all dancing.
It seemed like just about everyone in the town had turned up in their finery to meet and greet and dance to the lively fiddle beat.
The party, as they say, was going off.
“Now, you boys all have something to drink, right?”
Drew, Arlo, and Tucker, seated on hay bales, nodded dutifully, raised their red Solo cups of lemonade, and said, “Yes, Mrs. Carter.”
Wade smiled. No matter how many times she insisted they call her Ronnie these days, the three of them resisted.
“I hope you’re dancing, there are a lot of women here tonight wantin’ to dance with our hottie Credence bachelors.”
Hottie? Wade winced a little at the word coming from his mother’s mouth.
But she needn’t have worried. The guys had rarely been on their asses. Except for Wade. As far as Wade was concerned, he was here to show his mother support and that was it. An hour tops. He was wearing his old Stetson pulled low on his forehead and putting out stay the hell away vibes. His plan this weekend was to lay low—the last thing he wanted was to be recognized.
Before they could confirm or deny, Wade’s mother had switched track. “Wade, don’t forget to ask Cecilia to dance, will you?”
Her request startled Wade. He and CC didn’t dance. “Why?”
His mother looked scandalized at the question. “Wade William Rhett Carter, that girl has worked her patootie off these past two weeks, the least you can do is show off some of those good Southern manners I know I taught you and not leave her sittin’ around like a wallflower.”
Wade blinked. A wallflower? If CC danced any more, she’d wear out the heels on those very distracting red cowgirl boots she was sporting. Every damn time he’d looked up, she’d been jigging away with some guy or other. It was making him pretty fucking tense, actually.
But he knew better than to get into it with his mother when Southern manners were at stake. He just nodded and said, “Yes ma’am.”
“Thank you, darlin’,” Ronnie said, smiling indulgently before fluttering away to the next thing. She hadn’t sat still all night, between all the schmoozing and introducing and generally doing her thing. She’d even managed a dance or two with her husband.
“There is something mighty rewarding about seeing a rich-ass, six-foot-two quarterback being put in his place by a little old five-two Texan lady,” Tucker said.
Arlo started to laugh, Drew did too, and Tucker followed. Wade shook his head at them. “I’m going to tell my mother you called her little and old.”
Tucker’s laughter cut off as if he’d been garroted, and Wade grinned with a certain satisfaction.
“I can’t believe your momma just called us hotties,” Drew said, which caused more laughter.
“Yes, thank you. I’m trying not to think about that.” Wade downed his current drink, wishing it was whiskey. “Christ, can’t you go and grab us a bottle of something a little stronger from that bar of yours?” he griped. “I think I’m turning into a goddamn lemon.”
“Public drinking is against the law,” Arlo said mildly, his gaze glued to the dance floor. “I’d have to arrest you.”
Wade snorted. He could try.
“Hey, is that—” Arlo leaned forward at the hips. “Is that Wyatt?”
Another snort from Wade. “Wyatt doesn’t dance.” But they all looked in the direction of Arlo’s finger, the crowd parting enough at the right time to identify Wade’s brother.
“Well,” Drew said. “I’d call that more ass-grabbing and feet shuffling but yeah, I think you’re right.”
“Since when does Wyatt dance?” Tucker asked.
“Since when does Wyatt ever get that close to a woman he doesn’t know without breaking out in hives?” Drew clarified.
They were close. Wade could just make out a sliver of light between the two bodies.
“They seem kinda into each other,” Tucker said.
Wade nodded. “They do, don’t they?”
Good for Wyatt. If anyone deserved a bit of recreation in his life, it was his brother. He just hoped he didn’t get his heart broken come Sunday.
The crowd moved then, obscuring Wyatt and his dance partner from view but revealing someone Wade wished wasn’t getting quite as much recreation.
CC.
She was currently dancing with Don Randall, whose fashion choice of mayoral chains was as idiotic as usual, but Wade barely noticed, distracted as he was by her fringed skirt playing around her knees and those red cowgirl boots. Honest-to-God boots that came to mid-calf and looked, even at a distance, the real, hand-tooled, deal. She had on a blouse that sat wide on her neckline, almost falling off her shoulders, and she had some kind of flower in her hair.
No jeans. No baseball cap. No stripy shirt. It was about as far from Where’s Waldo as was possible.
Also hot as fuck. Christ…he’d never had indecent thoughts about his PA, but hell if he wasn’t tonight.
“CC looks good in a skirt,” Arlo mused.
CC looked incredible in a skirt. It was something else Wade was trying not to think about. A little bit of hard liquor would really go down well about now.
“She’ll want to watch Don,” Tucker said. “He’s been known to get grabby.”
Wade snorted. “Don’t worry about CC. She can hold her own.”
“Yeah.” Drew nodded. “Guess a girl with five brothers knows how to look after herself.”
Wade raised an eyebrow at Drew. “How in hell do you know that?”
Drew shrugged. “She told me.”
“See, this is your problem, Drew,” Tucker said, clapping him on the back. “Chicks see you as a big brother and tell you their life story.”
Drew sighed as he watched the movement on the dance floor. “This is true.”
Arlo nodded. “You’re a good-looking guy, but women bench you because they can’t see past the whole dead-people thing.”
“I prefer the term mortally challenged.”
Arlo and Tucker laughed. Wade rolled his eyes. “When did she tell you?” He clung precariously to his patience as he tried to bring the subject back to CC. And her skirt.
Actually no, fuck, not her skirt. Her brothers.
“At Annie’s last week.”
Wade shook his head. “She’d been working for me for months before she said anything about her brothers.”
Drew shot him a pitying look. “It’s called conversation, dude, you should try it sometime.”
The criticism stung even though Wade knew Drew was just yanking his chain. CC had wanted things kept strictly business, and that was the way he’d kept them. Until recently, anyway.
“I wasn’t aware she was hanging out at Annie’s conversating.” Wade was pretty sure that wasn’t a word, but it worked for him at the moment.
“You think she stays in that ridiculous meringue of a house you live in all morning while you’re at the farm? She gets around. You don’t kee
p her under lock and key.”
No. But he was beginning to think he should, with this many hottie bachelors around.
“Speaking of which.” Arlo rose and tossed his cup in a nearby trash can. “I promised her a dance.”
Oh no. No, no, hell no. “Don’t even think about it.” Wade stood, scowling at his friend. Watching Don dance with CC had put his guts in a tangle. Watching Arlo limp around heroically was about more than he could stand now.
“Yeah, Arlo,” Drew said. “Wade’s gotta dance with her. His momma told him to.”
Wade flipped Drew the bird. “Bite me.”
The guys laughed some more. Their amusement at his expense tonight was becoming irritating.
Peachy. Fucking peachy.
“Thought you were keeping a low profile,” Arlo said, taking his seat again, not remotely concerned by being usurped.
Most of the media had snapped their pictures and taken off for the night, but there were a couple still hanging around. Wade pulled his Stetson lower on his forehead.
“Oh yeah,” Tucker said drily, “now you look completely different.”
Wade ignored them, a strange itch in his blood obliterating his normal sense of caution as the fringe of CC’s skirt flared and showed off her knees. Christ, since when were knees sexy? Was this how dudes back in the dark ages had felt? When a glimpse of ankle was enough to give them a hard-on?
“Good luck, honey,” Arlo called after him as he strode away. “Remember, no spaghetti arms.”
And one of his jackass, so-called friends whistled the Love Boat theme song.
The itch in Wade’s blood intensified as his legs shortened the distance between them. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, this feeling of…uncertainty. Normally, he approached women with absolute certainty of the outcome. He knew how this went down. He was practiced and pretty damn perfect at it, even if he did say so himself.
But then, CC wasn’t a woman. She was his PA. And they didn’t dance.
