by Score, Lucy
Her hand raised to touch them before she stopped it.
Summer’s cheeks flushed and she brought her wayward hand to her hair. “Why are we stopping?” She willed herself to look only at his face and tried not to sound so out of breath.
“We’re done.”
She looked around. What had been a green field hours before was now empty. She’d been so absorbed in the labor, focusing only on the next head of romaine, that she hadn’t realized how much had been accomplished.
Beckett and Colby were loading the last of the crates into the back of the pick-up.
“We’re done,” she repeated.
Carter relieved her of her knife and work gloves. He pressed a fresh water bottle into her hands. “Drink.”
Gratefully, she obeyed.
The cool water slid down her dry throat like a deluge after a drought.
To think that he did this every damn day of his life. She stole a glance at him. Dirt and sweat streaked across his forehead and did absolutely nothing to make him less attractive. His work gloves were tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. The slight sheen of sweat that coated his chest and back made her lick her lips before she realized what she was doing.
It was clear that nothing about the work had left his body weeping the way hers was.
He waved Beckett off as the pickup pulled away heading in the direction of the little barn.
Carter flipped over an empty crate and dropped it on the ground behind her. “Sit.”
“Why?” Summer asked, even though her entire body begged her to obey.
Carter merely advanced on her until the backs of her calves met the crate and she sank down.
“I’m fine,” Summer muttered.
He crouched down to her level and his broad shoulders shrugged. “I didn’t say you weren’t.”
Annoyed, she picked at the lace of her boot. “I’m just not used to this.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Yet.” His lips quirked at her stubborn promise.
“You did a good job today. Not everyone can spend three hours harvesting lettuce.”
“It was harder than I thought it would be,” she admitted. It was harder than it should have been, she corrected herself, and that made her mad.
“Anything worthwhile is.” He tugged at the leg of her jeans. In addition to the dirt-caked knees there was another hole now, this one near the ankle.
“I missed a head and got my jeans,” she confessed.
Carter’s long fingers probed the hole looking for a wound. The line between his eyes was back.
“It’s fine,” Summer sighed. “I just got denim. No flesh.”
“No blood, no foul. You ready to go?”
“Where are we going?”
“Don’t you get tired of asking questions?”
“No,” she said primly. “Where are we going?”
“Home.” He tugged her to her feet.
“Are we done for the day?” Summer tried to sound nonchalant, but there was nothing she wanted more in the universe than to be done.
“We’re done, but we’re going out to dinner. Can you be ready by six?” He kept his hand on her lower back as they walked toward the Jeep. It still felt nice. Steadying. It gave her something else to think about besides the grating pain radiating from her back.
“What time is it now?”
He smirked. “Four.”
“That’s two hours from now. Are you being a smart ass?”
“Not entirely,” Carter grinned. “Who knows how long it takes you city girls to wash the farm off of you?” He picked a leaf out of her hair.
They had been home for twenty minutes, and Carter had yet to hear the shower upstairs. She was probably unconscious in her room. Lettuce harvesting was one of those shit jobs that no one wanted to do because it was so back breaking. He felt a little tug of guilt. If his mother found out that he let Summer spend three hours cutting lettuce, he could kiss his ass good-bye.
She had worked without complaint, and had done well. He kept waiting for her to admit exhaustion and defeat, but she soldiered on. He should have made her stop. The labor had hollowed her out. The work was hard, but it shouldn’t have hit her as hard as it did. This wasn’t just someone used to sitting at a desk all day. The exhaustion in those beautiful blues of hers came from something else.
Guilt had him tossing a sock full of rice in the microwave. While it heated, Carter poured a glass of iced tea and dug out a bottle of over-the-counter pain relievers.
He would just check on her and make sure she was okay, he thought as he took the stairs.
Her door was open and he found her facedown on the bed. Her boots were on the floor just inside the door and he saw a crop of red blisters on both feet.
“You okay?”
The quilt muffled her reply. He took it as an invitation to come in.
“Is it your back?”
“Mm-hmm.” Summer turned her head to the side. “Every time I move it feels … horrible. I don’t think I like lettuce anymore. It’s evil. Why can’t it grow taller so we don’t have to hunch over all day?”
Carter smiled. He poured out two pills. “Here. Take these and then we’ll see what we can do.” He dropped the pills into her palm and handed her the iced tea.
She eyed the tablets. “I don’t like to take drugs.”
“They’re over-the-counter. Take them.”
Summer raised up high enough to swallow the pills and collapsed back down on a groan. “Carter, I swear I’m not a wimp. I go to the gym, I work long hours, I take vitamins.”
“Honey, no one said you were a wimp.”
“You didn’t have to. I could see it in your judgmental face.”
“I don’t have a judgmental face,” he said, slightly offended.
“You frown a lot. Like you’re mad.”
“I prefer to call it being intense. Can I take a look at your back? Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t care if you rip my spine out and try to insert a new one,” Summer sighed into the pillow. “Anything has to be better than this.”
She was probably in spasm. Carter eased onto the bed and tried not to think about other activities that would end with them both in the same bed. His fingers slid her shirt up to the bra strap. Rough fingers against the silk of her skin. He watched in fascination as goose bumps appeared on her skin.
“I’m going to rub your back, okay? It should help the muscles relax.”
“Okay.” Her reply sounded slightly breathless, but he couldn’t tell if it was nerves or the fact that she was suffocating herself with bedding.
Carter gently worked his thumbs into the exposed flesh of her lower back. After a few minutes of twisting his arms this way and that it was clear the angle wasn’t working. He tried to think of a polite way to keep some distance between them, but in the end there was only one answer.
“Summer, are you okay if I uh —” He wasn’t about to say, “straddle you.”
“Whatever you have to do. Please.”
He swung a leg over her to straddle her legs. Carter felt her stiffen under him and tried to force himself to think of anything else but what he was doing.
His thumbs traced down her spine to the very top of her jeans. He applied the slightest bit of pressure and the moan that came out of her mouth had him hard in half a second.
He took a steadying breath and continued to probe the muscles. “Does it hurt here?” Now he was the one who sounded like he was halfway through a marathon.
“It’s a little lower.” Her tone was shy.
Carter dipped his thumbs into the waistband of her jeans and found the lace that he knew was the color of spring skies thanks to Clementine. He pressed firmly with both thumbs, his fingers fanning out over the gentle curves of her hips and waist.
She was thin. Almost too thin. Delicate bones wrapped in satin skin. Tight muscles demanding his attention.
Her breathy sigh had his cock straining against his zipper.
He circled his thumbs lazi
ly, trying not to apply too much pressure or rest his weight on her. He felt the knots and probed gently, searching for the release. Every time Summer moved or moaned under him another drop of sweat would appear on his forehead. It was a cruel joke. He had spent the afternoon unintentionally torturing her, and now she was returning the favor.
“How’s that?” He fought the gruffness of his tone with the gentleness of his hands.
“Much better. Thank you,” Summer murmured.
Reluctantly, Carter pulled his hands out of the waistband of her jeans and picked up the warm sock. “I’m going to put this on your back for a few minutes. The heat should help the muscles relax.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a fancy farm heating pad. A tube sock filled with rice. You microwave it and it holds the heat.”
“I need one of these at home,” she sighed.
Carter shifted off of her, trying to ignore the throbbing the movement caused for him. He ran his hand down her leg and pulled her foot up for a better look. Blisters from the new boots.
“Stay here.” He was grateful that she had her face buried and didn’t see him leave the room with a hard-on. He headed down the hallway to his bathroom where he collected a box of waterproof bandages and some antibiotic gel.
She was still facedown when he returned. Sinking down on the bed next to her, he ran a hand down her leg and pulled it back toward him.
“What are you doing?”
“Your feet are a mess,” he said, gliding gel over a blister and fastening a bandage in place.
“Are you going to say ‘I told you so’?” she asked mournfully.
“I’m not my mother.” He covered another blister and then reached for her other foot. “If she were here you would have heard it about six times already.”
“But you’re thinking it, aren’t you?”
“I’m thinking that you’re in unnecessary pain because you’re stubborn.”
“That sounds about the same as ‘I told you so,’” she mumbled. Carter smiled.
Summer’s phone rang from the nightstand. “Can you see who that is, please? I’m not ready to use my body yet.”
He picked up her phone. “Caller ID says The Wolf.”
“Crap.”
“Not a fan of the Wolf?”
“No, he’s just another one who would say ‘I told you so.’”
Carter hit Ignore and returned her phone to the nightstand. “Boyfriend?” He congratulated himself on not choking on the word. The fantasies he was having right now were not appropriate if she belonged to someone else.
Summer snorted. “Niko? No. We’re just friends. His type is more model than human being.”
Carter started on her other foot. “What’s your type?”
She laughed. “I don’t think I’ve dated anyone long enough to determine if I have a type. Smart. Someone who can carry on a conversation without mentioning how many ad campaigns they landed last year or how many hours they spend with a trainer in a week. Generous. Someone who does things for others without weighing what kind of return he’ll get out of it.”
“It sounds like you spend time with some interesting people.”
“It does, doesn’t it? But it’s not all bad. For every five underfed runway models and smarmy agents, you run into someone truly exceptional. A brilliant designer, a politician making a difference, a woman who auctioned off her entire art collection to fund disease research. What kind of people do you spend time with here?”
Carter wrapped the last bandage around her toe and lowered her leg. “Blue Moon is a microcosm of weird. It started as this tiny farming community, and then 1969 happened.”
“Woodstock?”
“The story goes that two dozen or so hippies got lost on their way home and ended up here. They liked it and made it their new home.”
“How prevalent was that culture here?” Summer asked, switching into interview mode even with a pillow in her face.
“There is no ‘was.’ Their influence was contagious. They settled down, got married, started families, opened businesses. You’ll see tonight when we go into town.” He patted her leg. “Listen, I’m going to go shower and then I’ll come back and we’ll see if we can get you up and on your feet.”
“Thank you, Carter.”
CHAPTER SIX
Summer took a hot, steamy shower, spending most of it thinking about shirtless Carter and back rub Carter. By the time the water went cold, she felt mostly human again.
She straightened her hair into a sleek bob that made her feel put together. Her cheeks were still a little too pale, so she added a healthy brush of blush for color. She changed into her only pair of non-distressed jeans and a crisp white button down. Driving moccasins covered most of the bandages.
She turned her back on the bed that was calling her name and gave her reflection one last check before heading downstairs.
She found Carter sorting mail in the kitchen. He had changed into clean jeans and a black lightweight sweater. She handed over the rice sock. “Thanks for … everything.”
Sterling eyes scanned her head to toe before returning to her face. “You sure you’re up for dinner?”
“As long as there’s no manual labor after dinner.” Oh, God. “There isn’t, is there?”
Carter’s lips quirked. “I think we’re done for the day.” He glanced at the watch on his left wrist. “And since you’re ready early, we can make a stop before dinner.”
Summer’s aching body was grateful when Carter guided her to the large pick-up truck in the garage instead of the Jeep. She settled back in her leather seat and sighed. Dinner was sounding better and better. And when they got back, she’d do some work on the blog and then pass out in bed.
Carter turned right out of the driveway and headed south. In five minutes, the fields gave way to Blue Moon Bend. Tradition was evident in the tidy brick two-stories with wraparound porches. Other influences could be seen in the unusual color choices for the Victorian trim on otherwise stately manors.
Summer blinked at a canary yellow three-story with purple scallop trim. The house number was carved in a peace sign.
As they drove further into the heart of town, homes gave way to smart storefronts. Carter turned down a block and then up a side street where he pulled into a small parking lot. It was the first floor of a three-story brick building. The window displays highlighted footwear of the cowboy persuasion.
Blue Moon Boots.
“What are we doing here?”
“Getting you a pair of boots that won’t destroy your feet,” Carter said, unfastening his seatbelt and getting out of the truck.
Summer met him on the sidewalk. “Cowboy boots?”
“They’re comfortable and heavy duty. A pair of these will last you years longer than those hikers. Plus you can ride in them.”
He held the door for her and instead of the typical bell that announced visitors, a digital yee-haw sounded from a speaker above the door.
“Carter Pierce!” A woman with blond hair wrapped in a long, thick braid greeted them. “I know you’re not coming back to find a replacement for your boots already.”
“Hey, Willa.” Carter laid a hand on Summer’s shoulder. “This is Summer. We’re looking for a pair of boots that will get her by for a week on the farm.”
Willa made her way out from behind the desk. She was wearing an ankle-length skirt and a dozen silver bangles on her wrist.
“Welcome, Summer.” She reached out both hands to her, sending the bangles jingling. “Any friend of the Pierce family is a friend of mine. I’m sure we can find the perfect match.” She paused, her lavender eyes glazing over. “Something strong and sturdy that will protect you, but with a little give.” Willa flitted off, leaving Summer frowning after her.
She shot Carter a sidelong look. “Is she talking about boots or men?”
“You never know with Willa. Her mom was the town psychic for a few decades until she retired and moved to Boca. Willa claims that she �
��sees’ things, too.”
The clever displays of boots and barbed wire and wooden crates drew Summer deeper into the store. She had taken a few design courses over the past two years and could tell that a lot of thought as well as a natural knack had played a hand in the creative visuals.
Willa returned in a cloud of sandalwood with a white box in her hand. “These should do,” she said. The front door yee-haw sounded as a couple in their fifties entered the store. He was balding and wearing a Grateful Dead tee. The woman was wearing a conservative navy pantsuit and had her rich brown hair pinned back in a sleek bun.
“Rainbow! Gordon! I’ll be right with you,” Willa called to her visitors. “Carter, do you mind helping Summer with these while I take care of Rainbow and Gordon?”
“Sure.” Carter took the box from Willa and shot a suspicious glance at the visitors.
“What? What is it?” Summer whispered.
“The Berkowiczes,” Carter said, guiding her to a chair.
“Rainbow Berkowicz? You’re just screwing with me now, aren’t you?” She sat and slipped off her shoes.
“She’s the president of the bank next door. Gordon’s her husband. He runs the seasonal garden shop just outside of town.” Carter flipped the lid off the box and pulled out a cowboy boot in a rich chocolate tone. Thin turquoise stitches wove a pattern around the supple material.
Summer snatched the other boot out of the box. “These are incredible! Why are you glaring at the Berkowiczes?”
Carter yanked the boot out of her grip and grabbed her foot. “I’m not glaring. I’m trying to figure out their game. You need socks.” He glanced around and grabbed a pair off of a rotating display.
“Here, put these on.” He ripped off the tag and handed them over, continuing to frown at Willa and her visitors at the front of the store.
The knee socks were the same blue as the stitching on the boots with candy pink hearts. They were kind of adorable. Summer pulled them on over her bandaged feet. “Why are they looking at us and whispering? Is it because we’re looking at them and whispering?”
