Table of Contents
Title
Blurb
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Thank you
Author Bio
Tiltles by Silvia Violet
Contents
Title
Blurb
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Thank you
Author Bio
Tiltles by Silvia Violet
After quitting his teaching job on the heels of a scandal, Beck Davis moves to the house his grandmother left him in Ames Bridge. He finds the town stifling, but it’s a quiet place to hide while he regroups. Or so he thought.
His neighbor Cal McMurtry shows up, demanding to buy Beck’s land. Cal is as infuriatingly sexy as he was ten years ago when he and his jock friends spent their summers taunting Beck.
Beck expects to hate Cal as he did back then, but Cal isn’t who Beck thought he was: he’s hardworking, passionate about revamping and diversifying his family’s farm, and—far more shocking—he’s gay, and interested in Beck.
But as much as they want each other, Beck has no intention of staying in Ames Bridge, and while Cal is technically out, he refuses to date openly. A real relationship seems doomed from the beginning, but love can be a powerful motivator for those willing to take a chance.
Down on the Farm by Silvia Violet
Copyright © 2017 by Silvia Violet
Cover art by Meredith Russell
Edited by Keren Reed
All Rights Reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Published in the United States of America.
Down on the Farm is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are fictionalized. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
CHAPTER ONE
Beck stumbled around the kitchen, looking for coffee filters. He thought he’d bought some the day before, but there’d been so many damn things on his list, he wasn’t sure he’d actually put them in the cart. After getting cornered in produce by a group of his grandmother’s friends—who insisted on giving several long minutes of unsolicited advice on taking care of her house—he’d dodged numerous other curious citizens of Ames Bridge, each longing for him to divulge every detail of the scandal that had changed his life. By the time he reached the center aisles, he’d lost all focus.
At least he had coffee and a coffee pot. Please God, let it work. No way in hell was he going out for coffee after seeing the way the vultures and we-really-just-want-to-help types circled him at the store. Thankfully, the Corner Market actually carried decent coffee now. The last time he’d visited, they still only sold the cheap national brands.
He gave up on finding the filters, tore off a paper towel, and pushed it down into the basket, hoping it would hold. When he broke the seal on the bag of coffee, he stared at the beans. His grinder was still packed. Everything was still packed. He hadn’t been able to face opening boxes the night before. By the time he got everything unloaded, he was too exhausted to do anything but buy food, make himself a sandwich, and fall into bed.
His back twinged as he stretched to read the labels on the stack of boxes in the kitchen. He was in decent shape, but he’d still had no business unloading everything himself in a single day. There were a number of people in town who would’ve helped, but they would also have expected answers to their questions: What had really happened at the school where he worked? Was he rich now? How long would he be in town? Would they see him at church on Sunday?
Finally, he found the right box and extracted the grinder. As he ground the beans and dumped them into his makeshift filter, he pondered how long he could put off visiting his grandmother’s friends—not indefinitely, that was for sure—but he’d love to have one more day to himself. Fat chance of that, though. Irene and Elsie would track him down soon. In fact, he was surprised they hadn’t shown up last night. At least they’d probably bring him a cake or a pie.
The coffee carafe began to fill. So far the paper towel was holding. Beck leaned against the counter and drew in a deep breath. Ah, coffee. Maybe he would survive this day after all.
He glanced around the kitchen at the dusty appliances. The coffee pot had been no better when he’d pulled it out of the cabinet. When his mom told him she’d left the house just as it was the few times she’d come to check on it, she hadn’t been kidding. Everything was in exactly the same place it had been when he’d attended Grandma’s funeral a year ago. And for the most part, nothing had changed since he was a kid staying with her for part of the summer. It was hard to believe she was really gone. He half expected her to call to him from the front room where she’d sit most mornings, crocheting.
Since Beck had been living five hours away, outside of Atlanta, while his parents still lived in Charlotte where he grew up, his mom had agreed to manage the property. However, she’d insisted she didn’t want to sort through anything since the house had been left to him and she wasn’t interested in any of her mother’s “junk.” She acted like she was doing him a favor, but he knew better. She just didn’t want to face sorting out the house for a number of reasons, not the least of which being her talent for convincing other people to take care of the disagreeable tasks in her life. She wasn’t much for talking about unpleasant goings-on either, so when Beck had called to say he’d accepted a settlement from the school where he taught, and that he would be moving to his grandmother’s house temporarily, she’d shut him down before he could explain any of the specifics.
The good side to his mother’s reluctance to talk to him about anything serious was that when he restricted his visits to special occasions—Christmas, Easter, birthdays—he didn’t feel as guilty about not seeing them more frequently.
His parents had arranged for someone to mow the yard regularly, and basic maintenance had been done, though the fields were untended. Apparently, Cal McMurtry had tried to convince Grandma to sell the pastureland to him, but she’d refused, stubborn to the last. And now there were rumors Cal was taking advantage of the house being vacant by using the pastures anyway. Beck would have to do something about that, no matter how much he’d rat
her avoid it.
He’d known Cal for years. They’d played together as little kids during the weeks Beck spent with his grandmother each summer. But as Cal got older, he became one of those jocks who always carried around a football or a baseball mitt when he wasn’t busy recklessly driving a tractor. In other words, he was the type who thought a boy like Beck, who preferred books and crochet to baseball, was at best someone to ignore and at worst a pansy-ass who needed to be taught a lesson.
Once he’d taken several deep sips from his cup of coffee, Beck poured himself a bowl of cereal. He’d forced himself to get whole grain wheat squares instead of the Captain Crunch, which had called to him from the end cap. His grandma had always bought it for him when he stayed with her. And now he was here without her and without a job. He had money from the settlement he’d won and options. He’d developed a side business/summer job as an event planner. He could pursue that, or he could go back to school and learn something new, but for the moment, he was adrift, disconnected from all his old life and unsure of his next move.
Loud barking interrupted his melancholy thoughts.
He carried his bowl with him as he walked to the kitchen window. An enormous black-and-white dog was barking merrily as it frolicked in his grandmother’s daffodils.
Shit! He’d helped plant those bulbs when he was a kid. They were heirloom varieties.
He struggled with the cranky window sash, finally getting it open a few inches. “Hey! Get out of there!”
The dog looked up at him and barked, seeming quite oblivious to how annoyed he was.
“Katie!” a man’s voice called. “Katie, get out of there.”
Beck watched the man. He was several yards off, walking between what used to be two large garden plots.
“Katie. Come.”
The dog finally obeyed, and Beck studied the man more carefully now that the flowers were no longer in danger.
Dear God, was that really Cal? Beck hadn’t seen him in years, not since his grandma had a falling out with Cal’s family, one he’d never understood. Cal had certainly…matured well. Physically, at least. And damn if he wasn’t three times hotter than he’d been at eighteen, and that was saying a hell of a lot. His shoulders had widened, and his T-shirt strained over his biceps. Hell, he could probably bench-press Beck.
Beck pushed the screen door open and stepped onto the porch, wishing he was wearing something other than sleep pants and a faded Emory University T-shirt.
“Oh shit, did I wake you?” Cal asked. “I forgot you big-city people don’t wake up at dawn like we do out here.”
Did he have to start that crap right off? “I was awake. I just didn’t bother getting dressed to sort through boxes.” Not that he’d been awake all that long or actually unpacked anything except the coffee grinder.
Cal brushed at some dust on his jeans, drawing Beck’s eyes to his muscular thighs. “Sorry about Katie. She doesn’t usually run off. She must’ve smelled something new and wanted to check it out.”
At least that’s what Beck thought he said. He was too busy staring to really listen.
After too long of a lull in the conversation, heat filled Beck’s cheeks. He was being way too obvious, and since it was unlikely Cal had changed much since high school, he doubted Cal wanted another man giving him a once-over.
“Is she a Great Dane?” Beck nodded toward Katie. Dogs were a safe conversational topic.
“She is, and she’s a great farm dog; aren’t you, girl?” He scratched her ears, and she beamed at him.
Seeing Cal lean down, face-to-face with a dog who obviously loved him, wasn’t making it easy for Beck to remember he didn’t like the man and that there wasn’t a chance in hell of Cal wanting anything from him other than his name on a real-estate contract—not that Cal’s dislike of him had ever stopped Beck from fantasizing. In high school, he’d spent an inordinate amount of time in the shower jerking off to thoughts of Cal even as he hated him for acting like a friend when they were kids and then saying nothing when his friends began mocking Beck and later threatening him.
As Beck tried to stop contemplating the waves in Cal’s thick, dark hair, Cal looked up and smiled. God, his lips were so full.
Do not look at his lips. This is ridiculous.
He looked at his grandmother’s flowers instead. They looked quite bedraggled, although they were close to the end of their blooming season anyway.
“She really did a number on these.”
“Aw, she was just playing.”
“They’re heirloom varieties.” Shit, could he sound like more of a prick?
Cal studied the flowers. “They just look like daffodils to me.”
“They are daffodils, but—”
“Then I can plant you some more bulbs.”
Beck exhaled sharply. “That’s not the point.”
“Katie messed up the flowers. I’ll plant more flowers. Simple as that.”
Cal’s accent had grown stronger throughout the conversation. Why did Beck get the feeling Cal was only playing the role of dumb farm boy? “Why are you here?”
Cal’s expression turned wary. “I came to get Katie.”
“No other reason?”
“Should there be another reason?”
Beck narrowed his eyes. “I suppose not.”
“Though while I am here…”
Here comes the sales pitch.
“You could offer me some coffee.”
Or not.
“I could.” Beck didn’t move. There was no point in getting friendly with him. He hadn’t bothered to be a friend when Beck had needed one.
“Fine. So how long are you staying?”
Beck shrugged, trying to act more casual than he felt. “I don’t know.”
Cal looked pissed off, but Beck refused to care. “Are you going to use the land, or just live in the house?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“So you’re not going back to teaching in the fall?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard how well that went.”
“I hear a lot of gossip. I try not to believe much of it. You know Lucy, my cousin who works at the feed store.”
He nodded. “I remember her.”
“She said you sued your school for firing you ’cause you said people who don’t believe in evolution are nuts. Is that true?”
“That it got me fired, or that I believe it?” Cal was probably a conservative asshole, but Beck at least thought he believed in science. He had a degree in agricultural engineering from NC State; surely college had opened his mind a little.
“Either?”
Dear God, Beck should never have come here. “Don’t tell me you don’t believe in evolution?”
“I believe in a lot of things. Like that these pastures ought to be mine.”
He was trying to push Beck’s buttons. Beck was sure of it. So much for any hope of hiding out in the country in peace. “The school said a lot of things about why I was fired, but the real reason was because I’m gay. Yes, I received a settlement. No, I won’t discuss it any further.”
“All right, but if you’re not using the land, I’d like to buy it from you.”
“I don’t know yet whether I’ll be using it.”
“Then you could rent it to me.”
He could, and he probably should. Why not make money off land that was just sitting there? But for whatever reason, his grandmother hadn’t been willing to, and he wanted to see if he could find out why.
“I might decide to farm it myself.”
“What do you know about farming?” Cal’s cocky expression made anger boil up in him. He might be fucking gorgeous with his ice-blue eyes and his perfectly cut arms, but he could take his ass back to his own farm. His round, firm ass.
“This discussion is over.”
Before Cal could respond, Beck stomped back inside, letting the screen door bang behind him.
Katie gave a loud, sharp bark.
He hadn’t meant to scare her. No
ne of this was her fault. If Cal had kept track of her, she would never have been in his flowers.
Beck watched from the window as Cal walked off through the fields with Katie bounding around him. Damn him and his perfect ass. Beck kept staring until Cal was too far away for him to distinguish those firm cheeks. He turned from the window, disgusted with himself for being so interested in a man who’d hurt him and now only cared about what he could get out of him.
Boxes. He needed to focus on unpacking all these boxes. But even though it would be a dirty job, he needed a nice, long shower to reset the day. Just when he was clean, dressed, and starting to dig into one of the boxes of kitchen supplies, the crunch of gravel told him someone was coming up the driveway.
A quick glance out the window showed him a large Chrysler sedan making its way toward the house. The glare of the sun made it difficult to see who was inside, but he’d bet anything it was Irene and Elsie.
The car barely missed the daffodils as it came to a stop. Seriously, did no one respect a person’s landscaping? Irene and Elsie slowly exited the car. True to form, Elsie was carrying a Tupperware cake dome, one she’d probably had since before he was born.
Beck stepped out onto the porch. He wasn’t getting out of this interrogation, but at least he was dressed now and properly caffeinated.
“Good morning, Beckett!” Irene called.
Elsie just nodded. There was really no point in her bothering to talk. Irene did enough talking for her and three or four other people.
Beck held the door open for them. They entered the kitchen, and Elsie set the cake down on the counter.
“It’s a chocolate pecan one. I remember your grandma saying that was your favorite.”
“Aw, thank you. That was really sweet of you to remember.” They were talkative and gossipy, but they’d been his grandmother’s best friends, and they’d been kind to him when he’d visited, and when he’d come out.
Down on the Farm (Ames Bridge Book 1) Page 1
