by Grouse, Lili
“Couldn’t stay away, could you?”
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for pumpkins,” she shrugged.
“Want a taste? Mary made pumpkin cupcakes,” he said and picked up an orange pastry.
Kristen shook her head and instinctively took a step back. “I couldn’t. Not after…”
“Ah. Pie eating contest not as much fun as it looked on paper, huh?”
“It was… pretty disgusting, actually,” she pulled a face and he laughed. “Have you ever competed?”
“Me? Yeah, when I was a kid and didn’t know any better. Long time ago now.”
“Oh, you’re all wise and worldly now, are you?” she mocked.
“Yup.”
“So… when’s the hayride?” Kristen asked, picking up a miniature pumpkin to distract herself.
“All day long.”
“Oh. But you’re here.”
“I help out, I don’t run the show.”
“So, when does your shift start?”
“In an hour or so, when the sun starts to set.”
“How long is the Autumn Fest open for?”
“It starts to wind down after the pie eating contest and once the pet pageant winners are declared, so the evening hayrides are mostly for the teenagers and those that haven’t eaten so much they need to lie down.”
“I guess I should walk around before the booths close, then.”
“Yeah, you do that. See you around.”
Kristen waved goodbye and headed to another booth, this one selling home-grown herbs. She chatted with the locals about their products, and by the time dusk was starting to creep in, she made her way over to the hayride checkpoint.
Lanterns were showing the way – not entirely safe given all the hay strewn on the ground – and there was a bunch of teenagers already piled on top of the wagon. She was about to turn back around and head home for the night, but then she spotted Ford, who was waving her over. Not one to back out of a challenge, she walked over to him.
“Hey, you made it. We were just about to take off.”
“Looks kind of full…” Kristen said, eyeing the cart.
“You could probably squeeze in… but you’re welcome to sit with me in the tractor.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, it’s not a lot of leg room, but…”
“Sure. I’ve never been on a tractor before.”
“All right, then,” Ford smiled. “This way, Ma’am,” he said and gestured for her to go first. “Climb on up.”
“Uh… no. I know this trick,” Kristen said, placing her hands on her hips. “You just want to look at my ass.”
Ford laughed. “Fine. I’ll go first.”
One foot on the metal step, one hand on the handle to the side of the cabin and one hand on the door, and he was swinging himself up and inside. Kristen didn’t get much time to enjoy the view before it was gone and he was firmly planted in his seat.
“Come on, we don’t wanna keep the kids waiting much longer,” he urged her on and Kristen attempted to mimic his graceful ascent. Her spiked boots slipped between the metal bars on the steps and she hauled herself up with less grace than an elephant, but she made it.
“Where’s my seat?” she asked, looking around the small cabin that fit Ford like a glove.
He reached behind him to get out a cushion, pulled a lever to lower his left side armrest and put the cushion over it so that it formed a makeshift seat between him and the window. She wanted to object that she’d practically be sitting in his lap but the teenagers were getting rowdy in the back and she complied without discussion.
As the engine revved and a cloud of black smoke puffed out of the tall, slim chimney-thing in front, Kristen grabbed onto the side with one hand and the back of Ford’s seat with the other. She was acutely aware of how her jean-clad leg was tucked against Ford’s much wider thigh, which flexed as he pushed down on the clutch to shift gears. Powerful legs controlling a powerful machine… Kristen looked around to see if there was a window that opened, and discovered they were already open as wide as they’d go. D’oh!
“You okay?” Ford glanced over at her.
“Um… yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You look a little flushed. You’re not allergic to hay, right?”
“Not that I know of.” Although, that would explain a lot. Like that itchy feeling all over her body and the warm dew down where… never mind. She shifted a little and managed to cross her legs, thereby creating some space between herself and Ford’s muscular body… darn it! She needed to get her head in the game.
“Just let me know if you need to get off, and I’ll…”
Kristen almost choked. What did he just say? “Excuse me?”
“If you need to leave,” he said slowly as though he was talking to a crazy person. Then again, he wasn’t far off. “I’ll pull over and you can get off.”
“Right. I’m fine. Really. Just… drive on.”
Ford shrugged and turned his full attention back onto the road again while Kristen tried to figure out the million ways in which she could wipe this afternoon out of existence. None of them were in the realm of possibility. She was so screwed.
Inviting Kristen along to ride with him in the tractor had been a big mistake. Come to think of it, this whole day had been a mistake. He knew plenty of people in Greenport, so why would he seek out Kristen’s company?
Because she was fun, temperamental, argumentative, bossy, sweet, and drop dead gorgeous, maybe? All good reasons why he shouldn’t be hanging around her. He was starting to feel things around Kristen that were better left unfelt. She was a stranger, an outsider, and in less than a year, she’d be going back to her real life in California. Anyone could see she was a bad investment. So why couldn’t he?
The whoosh of relief he felt when the hayride came to an end surprised even him. Having a beautiful woman tucked against him sounded great on paper, but when that woman was Kristen Barnes and they were in a tractor, it was downright painful.
“End of the road,” he said as cheerfully as he could muster. There was a slight jolt as the tractor came to a stop and Kristen grabbed on to his arm. She quickly let go, but not without leaving some of her warmth behind.
“Thanks for the ride,” Kristen said and wasted no time in climbing out of the tractor. Was she as affected as he was by their proximity? Ford wiped his hands on his jeans before climbing out himself.
“So now you’ve experienced a genuine Greenport hayride,” he said as he jumped onto the ground, which was strewn with hay and made for a soft landing spot.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Kristen said distractedly and he noticed she was squirming. Looking down, he saw that one of her heels had sunk into the ground and caught, and she was now struggling to pull it loose.
“Need some help?” he offered.
“Oh. No, it’s fine, I’m just…” she said, pulling more aggressively. In a split second, she’d lost her balance and was falling. He managed to catch her, but gravity set in and they both fell to the ground, landing butts down on the ground, which under the thin layer of hay was rather muddy from the tractor driving through the field all day.
“Ah!” Kristen gasped in horror. “My Stitch’s!”
”What?” She pulled stitches? When did she have surgery? Ford reached over to get a feel for what was hurting her, but she slapped his hand away.
“My jeans, you doofus! They were designer.”
Ford felt like slapping himself over the head, but remembering his hands were dirty, he refrained.
“I haven’t met a washer-dryer yet who couldn’t take care of a pair of jeans,” he said instead and hauled himself up, offering her a hand in assistance. She ignored it and instead managed to get herself even dirtier as she scrambled to get up.
“Yeah, well, Mrs. Breezer is going to have a fit. I doubt she’ll let me in the house looking like this. I’ll have to strip on the porch, and you just know Frank Sinatra is a peeping tomcat.”
; “Come on, I’ll drive us to my place and you can wash your clothes there. I have to put mine in the washer anyway, and I don’t mind a bit of mud in my hallway.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” she muttered.
“Sorry?”
“It’s nice of you to offer, but I’ll take my chances with Breezer & Co.”
“Stop being ridiculous, Kristen,” he said and locked up the tractor. “It’s just a wash. I’m not going to maul you when you step through the door.”
He pocketed the keys and walked over to the car park without giving her a second glance. She’d follow, he knew she would. For all the huffing and puffing and sulking she could do, he knew she wouldn’t be walking back to Mrs. Breezer’s house with mud caking her legs and hands. Even Kristen wouldn’t be that stubbornly foolish.
Kristen huffed and puffed all the way over to Ford’s truck. She didn’t want to be sitting down anywhere, but his truck would need a hose down in any case, so why not add to his workload? It was only fair seeing how he’d dragged her into the mud in the first place.
The heeled boots had been her mistake, obviously, and so had putting on her favorite pair of jeans. When she’d jumped the last foot from the tractor, she didn’t realize the ground would sink under the impact of her heels. She’d managed to free one of them, but apparently the other caught on a root or rock or something.
Then Ford came along to help. Typical male behavior – acting all chivalrous and making everything worse in the process.
Ford had left the passenger door open for her – as if he’d known perfectly well that she would decide against walking over to the Breeze Inn. Stupid jerk. She climbed in and made sure she smeared mud in a few more places than strictly necessary. Childish? Yes. Satisfying? Totally.
“Comfy?” he said, looking over at her with a crooked smile.
Damn him for looking all rugged and mischievous. The muddy splatters on his checkered shirt only contributed to the dirty and rugged look, and… was that an oil streak? Kristen tore her eyes away and used one mucky finger to draw a sad smiley face on his window.
She thought she could hear him chuckling, but when she looked over he had his standard stony face on. She leaned over and turned the radio on, making sure it too got a little smudged. Ford didn’t even blink.
It wasn’t a long drive over to Ford’s house, and when the engine and consequently the radio turned off, Kristen remembered she was expected to get naked in Ford’s house. Not with him watching, of course, but the thought of it was enough to make her stomach clench and goose bumps break out in the most improper places.
“You coming?” Ford said casually as he heaved himself out of the driver’s seat. Kristen took a deep breath before opening her own door.
“Shower’s upstairs,” he said as he kicked off his shoes just outside the door. “There are extra towels on the shelf. Just throw your clothes in the hamper in there and put it outside the door. I’ll throw yours in with mine while you shower.”
“And while my clothes are being washed, what am I supposed to do? Hide out in the bathroom?”
“I plan on taking a shower myself when you’re done. If you want to stay for the show, that’s your prerogative,” he shrugged and walked into what she presumed was the laundry room. “If not,” he said as he stepped back out with a small pile of clothes, “you can put these on.”
Kristen wiped her hands on the front of her jeans and took the pile from him. “Thanks.”
“Up the stairs to your right,” he said and pointed to the staircase. “Call out when you’ve put the hamper outside and I’ll come collect.”
Kristen gave him a curt nod and headed up the stairs. The door to the bathroom had been left slightly ajar, so she found it instantly. Inside, she spotted the hamper Ford had been talking about – an ugly plastic container with an even uglier lid. She closed the door behind her and quickly stripped down to her underwear. They weren’t in need of a wash, and she was about to put the hamper out when Sassy Kristen poked her head out and said that messing with Ford would be the best revenge. So she unclasped her bra and slipped her panties off and stuck them in the hamper, put the lid on and pushed it outside the door.
“Ready for pickup!” she called out and closed the door again, her pulse racing. She turned the lock and turned on the shower.
He didn’t have any floral scented shampoo, conditioner or shower gel, just a 2-in-1 concoction that was said to take care of both body and hair. Yeah, right. Her hair would be frizzy after that kind of treatment. Then again, Ford didn’t exactly need shampoo, now did he? No soft waves curling into his face and making him look all boyish. Nope. Ford was all man. Hard and rough and… the water was way too hot.
Kristen scrubbed herself clean, forcing her mind to stay off Ford and his limbs.
Ford, having chucked his dirty clothes and pulled on sweats, went upstairs to collect Kristen’s clothes. As he picked up the hamper, he could hear the shower running. Imagining Kristen under the spray didn’t take much effort – not imagining it took all his concentrated energy. What had he been thinking, insisting she come over to shower and wash her clothes?
Ford shook his head all the way back down to the laundry room. As he pulled out her dirty jeans, T-shirt and sweater, stuffing them into the cylinder, something fell onto the floor. He bent down to pick the items up and felt silk under his fingertips. Damn. She’d put her underwear in the hamper.
The panties were pale pink and trimmed with lace, matching the bra. Realizing he would be pretty creepy to be studying any of the items, he quickly stuffed the panties into the washing machine along with the rest of her clothes. He pretended not to notice that the bra cups fit perfectly in his hands before he tucked them inside, as well. He definitely didn’t check the tag.
Ford was just getting the coffee ready when he heard footsteps on the staircase. He turned his head as Kristen walked into the kitchen and spilled hot water on the floor. Her wet hair was leaving dark spots on his gray T-shirt and the sweat pants were pulled as tight as they would go and still hung on her hips. One little tug and she’d only be wearing his T-shirt.
“Uh… coffee?” he offered lamely.
“Thanks. It’s pretty cold in here,” she said and hugged herself. He tried to not look at the spot where his T-shirt met her flesh and where it was evident that she wasn’t wearing a bra – and that she was indeed cold.
“I’ll get the furnace going,” he said and put the kettle down on the counter. “Help yourself to coffee.”
“Thanks,” she said and he avoided eye contact as he passed her. Yup, inviting Kristen Barnes over had been a definite mistake.
EIGHT
Kristen smiled to herself as she poured her coffee. She’d shocked him with the underwear, and then again with her almost-wet T-shirt. Needling him was the best way she knew how not to think too much about their relationship. They weren’t friends, and they certainly weren’t lovers, so to keep things casual she knew she had to treat him like she would any other guy she came across – with just the right amount of flirtation and brazenness.
The technique had served her well in the past. She’d always managed to keep feelings out of the mix whenever she’d interacted with men. Some were business connections and just needed that smidgen of flirtation to keep them hanging around; others were appealing distractions that welcomed her brazenness with open arms and didn’t bother calling her the next day.
Flirting with Ford was bad, but building a friendship with him was worse. Friendships led to feelings and feelings led to disappointment and regret. Those were things she could do without.
When she’d filled her cup, she wandered out of the kitchen and over to the living room. She always felt like living rooms were warmer than any other room in a house – maybe because of the rugs and fabrics. Ford’s living room, however, didn’t have carpets and there weren’t any fluffy pillows or throw blankets warming the couch.
Nevertheless, Kristen decided the warmest spot in the house – u
nless she wanted to get back in the shower or crawl under a comforter in the bedroom – was a corner of the couch. She tucked her feet under her and held the coffee cup with both hands.
“Here,” Ford suddenly appeared with a sweater in his hand, “it should warm you up until the house heats up.”
“Thanks,” Kristen said and set down the cup on the table before pulling the sweater over her head. It was large and warm, and she looked at the print on the front. “BU Terriers?”
“I played some hockey in college,” he shrugged and sat down on the couch with his own cup of coffee, leaving as much space between them as possible.
Oh, yeah, she could definitely picture him as a hockey player. “Got any scars?”
“A few. They’ve all faded, though.”
“Can I see?” Kristen blurted before thinking things through. She really shouldn’t be checking out any part of him that wasn’t on display in his everyday clothes.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he shook his head. “It’s pretty cold in here still.”
“You’re right,” Kristen said quickly, happy for the get out of jail free card, and turned her attention fully on her hot beverage again. “How long do you think it’ll take before the clothes are done?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have any fancy equipment, so we’re looking at at least a couple of hours. “Do you want me to drive you to Mrs. Breezer’s house and I can bring the clothes to the building site?”
“Thanks, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ll hang out here until I can leave in my own clothes. I have the feeling Mrs. Breezer is a gossip.”
“Does that matter to you? What people think?”
“Image is everything in my line of business.” Kristen sipped her coffee, thankful she was starting to warm up.
“So you’ve never done the walk of shame, then?”
