by Sosie Frost
My foot plunked too deep into the mud. My ankle didn’t go with it. I twisted and collapsed to the ground.
“Not again…”
The rain made everything stickier. I wiped the hair out of my eyes with a stroke of my hand. Mistake. The mud smeared over my nose, in my eyes, over my lips.
Gross.
Dress—ruined.
Hair—embedded with twigs.
Foot—stuck in a hole.
Career—over.
I hobbled upright and kicked. Nada. The earth sucked me in but didn’t have the courtesy to bury me six feet under.
Screw it. I’d gnaw my damn ankle off if it meant getting the hell off this farm.
Another yank and I fell forward once again. My Louis Vuitton purse abandoned me, tumbling into a puddle. The vibrating cell phone rolled from the front pocket and splashed in murky water.
Great. I’d die in a backwoods mud pit.
I reached for the phone. My fingertips just grazed the vibrating case before a sun-warmed rumble of a voice piqued my blood pressure.
I’d either jump his bones or bury them in his own backyard.
I didn’t bother glancing at Julian Payne. I’d remember exactly what he looked like tonight in my dreams. It’d take more than a bottle of wine and evening with my showerhead to forget that face.
I spoke through gritted teeth. “You expected someone different?”
“Yeah.” Julian circled me, the mud practically hardening under his boots. Jesus walked on water, Julian could traverse through mud. Less of a god and more a pig. “I thought I was meeting a guy—the zoning officer.”
“Do you even know what a zoning officer is?”
“Yeah. He’s the asshole who won’t let me build a barn.”
And that was why I wouldn’t waste my breath explaining how the municipal code forbid the construction of a new structure so close to the property lines or why a barn of that size would be denied based on the township’s maximum permissible square footage calculation.
Hell, even breaking the regulations down wouldn’t work. A thick head like his wouldn’t understand no build here, too big.
I ignored him and attempted to dislodge my foot from a property that was one blue heron away from a wetlands designation. Then he’d really be pissed when he couldn’t build anything.
“Need help?” Julian asked.
Was he joking? “No.”
“You sure?”
I squirmed. Wiggled. Juked.
And sunk deeper into the mud.
I gritted my teeth. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Cause…to me?” Julian snickered. “Looks like you’re about to become part of the foundation for my new barn.”
Now I did glare at him. And I regretted every single pelting raindrop that splattered his shirt and stuck the material to his thick muscles.
“What barn?” I huffed. “After today, you’ll be lucky if you can plant a damn tomato without a permit.”
“Not sure who made you princess of the county…” Julian enjoyed my plight a little too much. “But lemme help you.”
“I don’t need help.”
“You’ve never spent a day outside your office, have you?”
Not that he needed to know. I warded him away with a swing of a very muddy hand. “I’m fine.”
“Not from around here, are you?” He smirked. God, it was a great smirk. “Most of the locals don’t try to swim through the mud.”
“I wouldn’t have needed to swim if someone had remembered to open the gate.”
“Might’ve opened the gate if someone were on time for her scheduled appointment.”
“Would have made it on time if you had opened the gate.”
“Would have had the gate open if you’d called to tell me you were here.”
Julian didn’t ask permission before sliding his arm around my waist. With a graceful shrug, he lifted me out of the mud and freed me from the hole.
With any other man, in any other time, in any other moment when I wasn’t coated head to toe with muck, I might have offered myself for his ravishment.
It wasn’t the classiest or most realistic of expectations, but it had been a long time since a man had grabbed these hips, and sometimes a girl needed an excuse to get dirty.
But not with him.
Not with a man that arrogant, that aggravating…
That attractive.
“You sure you’re old enough to be a zoning officer?” He hadn’t released me, smirking as I swung my legs above the ground. “I should just keep you in my pocket. Might get the build done faster—”
I kicked. My foot connected a little too hard with the part of him that fed his ego. With a groan, he dropped me. We both clattered to the ground. Me, smooshed into the mud.
Him?
Julian landed over me—all two hundred pounds of pure muscle and small-town mischief.
The skies drenched us in buckets of warm, summer rain. The mud had cushioned our fall. I laid beneath him, pinned, staring into eyes as green as the ominous clouds overhead. Probably a sign to find better cover than under the body of the town’s most frustratingly handsome farmer.
Embarrassment choked me. Or maybe that was lust. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t unburrow from the muck and mire to ensure my dress hadn’t hiked too far up my thighs
The bastard still held me in his arms. I squirmed, clenching my jaw and my legs tightly shut. Didn’t help. A new heat sizzled the raindrops against my skin. Julian stared at me, bright eyes under thick brows, a stoic nose slightly bent from years of abuse, a hardened jaw teased with a scruffy, five o’clock shadow.
A face worthy of cuddling against a pillow or burrowing between my thighs. I hated the thoughts and banished the flutter of warmth aching inside me.
He caught his breath and adjusted the injured part of him. “Are you—”
He’d rubbed his face, leaving a trail of mud along his cheek.
A wriggling, dark little spec remained.
A nightmare of nightmares.
I screamed and punched him square in the nose.
“Leech!”
Julian fell backwards with a grunt. I scrambled to safety.
“Oh, God.” I’d hyperventilate before I could climb a tree or escape into my car to flee from the leeches. “Ew, ew, ew.”
I whipped my hands over any exposed skin, but it wouldn’t do any good.
I’d lain in that oozing, sticky mud.
A million of those creepy crawly disgusting creatures might have latched onto me. The panic set in. So did the lightheadedness. I clutched my clothes and struggled to check all over me before the leeches gorged themselves on every last drop of my blood.
But where could I run? Hide? Fight? I lamented my bare feet and scrunched up tight, sacrificing my right foot to the mud. Hopefully, they wouldn’t strip it to the bone in mere minutes.
Or maybe that was piranhas?
Oh, God, I didn’t want to find out.
“What the hell is your problem?” Julian touched his nose. No blood, but he winced anyway.
He didn’t have to thank me. I’d never stop retching. “You had a leech on your face!”
“No, I didn’t, you maniac.” Julian held out his hand, exposing the little black wiggler. “It’s a fucking blade of grass.”
I still didn’t let it touch me. I nearly collapsed, my breath heaving in uneven gasps. Julian watched, eyebrow rising.
“Have you ever been outside before?” he asked.
Forget the glass of wine. Tonight I’d take the whole damn bottle into the tub. “I don’t often make farm calls. Usually the applicants properly fill out their applications.”
“Never thought I’d have to sweet talk a dirty girl for my barn.”
Hardly appropriate. “Don’t you dare sweet talk me, Mr. Payne.”
“Oh, I forgot. You’re county royalty, princess.” He waggled his eyebrows—the bastard. “I’ll take you out to dinner instead.”
“How coul
d that possibly help?”
“Better than propositioning you in the mud.”
He had to be joking. “You aren’t propositioning anything.”
“Drinks?”
I shoved past him. “I’d need to be drunk to accept that offer.”
“Dinner?”
“Your application has been denied.”
Julian didn’t quit. A smile tugged at his lips. “Dancing.”
I ignored him and trudged away. To my displeasure, he followed.
“Come on, princess.” He loved this. “Those hips were made for more than mud wrestling.”
No one had ever talked to me like that before. I sure as hell didn’t approve of it.
But I wasn’t sure I hated that good ol’, small-town charm.
“Look, cowboy…” I spun and poked him in the chest. “I don’t take bribes.”
“And I don’t sleep with charity cases, but I’ll do whatever it takes for this barn.”
The insolent, conceited asshole! “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”
“Are my tax dollars paying for that mouth of yours?” He grinned. “Wish I could put it to better use.”
“How many times do I have to reject you today?” The insults burned through me. So did the desire, though I couldn’t possibly loathe this man more. “Keep trying, cowboy. Disappointing you is starting to feel nice.”
“I can make you feel better than nice.”
“Not interested.”
“Liar.”
“I have morals,” I said.
“You work in government.”
“And men like are you are the reason I avoid the public sector.”
Julian hollered as I stomped away. “How am I supposed to get my barn, princess?”
“You could start by using my real name.” I should have kept walking. “Then you could build the damn thing where it’s authorized in the right dimensions and not insult the only person who can grant you the permissions.”
“Didn’t know government came with a safe word.”
He was going to need one soon. “Don’t test me.”
“What other permissions can you grant?”
“None. But I can cite you for being a public nuisance.”
Julian sighed. “You haven’t even given me a chance.”
“I gave you enough of a chance, Julian Payne. You blew it.”
He laughed, a hearty, country-born, home-grown rumble. “Don’t make this into a challenge, princess. You won’t win.”
“This isn’t about winning,” I said. “It’s about the law.”
“I’m not giving up.” Julian winked. “You’re going to see a lot of me, Miss Robinson.”
“First an insult, now a threat?”
He shrugged. “You could just grant approval now—save us the time and the inevitable foreplay.”
“You couldn’t handle me, cowboy.”
“Won’t know until we try…see if you’re as dirty as you seem.”
I sauntered close, my words a low growl. “Oh, I can play very dirty.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
Then he’d love this. “Your application is not only denied, now I will take all forty-five business days to review any appeal you may submit.” I met his gaze. “Before this gets any worse for you, Mr. Payne, I recommend you submit.”
“Always did like a feisty girl.”
Loathsome man. “I think you’ve met your match.”
“Oh, princess, believe me. I’m gonna do you to code.”
“That so?”
“Inspect you head to toe, make sure you adhere to my master plan.”
“I bet you will.”
Julian’s words were filthier than the mud. “Wonder what I could do if I bound you up in your own red tape.”
“Never gonna find out.” I offered him a sweet, professional smile and continued to my car. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Julian Payne. I can’t wait until the next time I get to reject you.”
2
Julian
Never met a problem a beer couldn’t fix and a beautiful woman couldn’t solve.
Fortunately, I’d just come across both.
Butterpond tended to run a little too wholesome for my tastes—less whiskey and more lemonade. But Renegade provided ninety-proof sanity in a town where kittens got stuck in trees, the church was fattened by casseroles, and the worst crime in the last five years was the recently resolved fire that had claimed my family’s barn.
Despite the handful of complaints, the Butterpond Preservation society had deemed the bar a historically significant building where they could last call a meeting to order. Until the day the Dry County Initiative finally earned enough signatures on their petition, Renegade would remain Butterpond’s den of sin.
If a five-dollar beer was sinful, at least I’d have plenty to drink in Hell. At those prices, even the devil would throw a kegger.
“Jules!” Al Brinkley—owner, proprietor, and provider of self-medicated bliss—tapped the bar and welcomed me to my home away from home. “Got the over/under on the Rivets’ game. You in this week?”
The mere thought hurt my back. I’d need a shot of something stronger than the cortisone that barely managed the pain.
“No way,” I said. “I think I’ve lost enough money on the Rivets.”
Al laughed. “Got Tidus and Quint’s bets already.”
Money my brothers didn’t have. “Don’t clean them out. Still hoping they’ll pitch in for the new tractor.”
“They bet against Jack Carson. Think they’ll be buying me the new tractor.”
Just to screw me over. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”
Al flipped his towel over his shoulder and gave me a genuine smile with two chins. “It’ll get better, Jules. You wait.”
So he’d promised for the past four months. Usually, the prospect of a beer and some time away from the farm was all I needed to keep myself calm…and my brothers alive. Four men—soon to be five—trapped together in their childhood home? It had the makings of either a heartwarming sitcom or a ripped-from-the-headlines episode of Law and Order.
We’d barely survived childhood. Almost came to blows over Dad’s coffin at the funeral home. Now? We were lucky the holes were in the walls and not in each other’s heads.
A good distraction was better than a bet on a Thursday Night Football Game. I sidled up to the bar and claimed a seat next to the most mind-bendingly, heart-breakingly, pants-tighteningly beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
No sense drinking alone. Especially when a newcomer to Butterpond sat all by herself—and in Sheriff Samson’s seat. The regulars knew well enough to leave the seat open for the man with the taser. Couldn’t let the pretty little thing get caught in a ruckus. Just meant she needed a proper introduction.
“Next round is on me.” I winked at Al as I slid next to the woman. The three seniors bullshitting around the dartboard cheered. I nodded to the lady. “Hers too.”
This woman was better than a stiff drink. Her dark skin was as rich as my favorite ale, but she needed something strong to convince her to loosen the bun tying back her curls. Her curves hid beneath a tailored, form-fitting black dress with matching black heels.
Fuck me, she was a Sex on the Beach straight out of a Manhattan without the hangover.
Her cocoa-colored eyes glanced over me. She teased a glass to her pouty lips. Never imagined I’d be envious of white wine.
This woman was too classy, too sexy, too refined for Butterpond. She belonged in a place like Ironfield, hanging around the fancy Rivets’ after parties. The sort of woman looking for a man with a big wallet and even bigger surprise in his pants, even if she’d never admit it.
And here, I thought my wild days were over. I’d lost the Rivets’ contract, and I’d never carry a football again, but at least I could score with a gorgeous woman.
Al—a man of patience, wisdom, and enough alcohol to take the sting out of her rejection—passed the lady another drink. He gav
e me a beer and a shot of whiskey on the side. His own personal bet. I’d take the odds. Twenty bucks she walked away, a third glass of wine and she’d be mine.
But the woman wasn’t charmed. She slid a ten-dollar bill over the counter and glanced at me while Al reluctantly took her payment. Her eyebrow arched in a quiet disbelief.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Even her words seemed sophisticated, a rich and playful tease. “Aren’t you the least bit ashamed of yourself?”
“Shame’s all I got anymore…that and a running bar tab.” I took the money before Al pocketed it and returned it to her hand. “This one’s on me, sweetheart.”
She bristled. “Who do you think you are?”
“The man buying you a drink.”
“Fair warning, hotshot. I am not a cheap date.”
A woman like her deserved a fine chardonnay and silk sheets for her bare body, but I was a farmer without a farm.
A man had to start somewhere.
“You can order anything you want, but Al’s got nothing over ten bucks,” I said. “Best you’ll get is wine straight from the box.”
She scoffed. “I’m not interested.”
Ouch. A lady on the rocks. I’d have to melt that frosty exterior to get to her molten, mocha core.
Where the hell had this mystery woman come from? New faces were hard to find in Butterpond, and this angel had plunked down in Renegade of all places.
Just passing through…or would she be willing to stay for breakfast?
I grinned. “I’m not proposing, sweetheart. Just buying you a drink.”
“The only men who buy things for me are the ones who want something.”
Oh, I wanted her. Under me. On me. Riding me. Moaning for me. It’d be a long time since I’d found a woman this beautiful. Sex with a Stanger? Not my usual pleasure, but for this newcomer, I’d make an exception.
I might’ve been an animal, but it wasn’t an excuse to not be a gentleman. “I promise. It’s just a friendly drink.”
She frowned, her lips too kissable for such a pout. “Nothing’s friendly around here.”
“Only because you’re a stranger in town.”
“How can you tell?”
“You’re sitting in Sheriff Samson’s seat.”
