Playing the Part

by Darcy Daniel

  Reaching the front door, she wrenched off the hot gumboots, left them where they fell and went inside. Thinking better of it, she returned to the porch a moment later and moved the boots out of Cole’s way, placing them back where she found them. Not that she was thinking about his safety. She simply didn’t want a repeat of the chair incident, which would give him a reason to get rid of her.

  Okay. She could still keep her end of the bargain by doing things around the house. Besides, it would kill some time before lunch.

  She strode into the spare bedroom, snatched her red nightie from her suitcase and carried it into the laundry. Opening the washing machine, she discovered it almost full of Cole’s work pants and white T-shirts. Perfect. Time to do a load.

  Anthea tossed in the nightie and found the laundry detergent. This was another domestic chore she’d never attempted before, but unlike cooking, this job came with instructions. Carefully, she measured the exact amount of detergent, sprinkled it onto the clothes in the machine, shut the lid and stared at the dials.

  This couldn’t be too difficult to work out. She read the descriptions next to each notch surrounding the dial, turned it to Wash and pressed Start. Nothing happened. After studying the machine for a moment, her eyes rose to the faucets. As she turned both the hot and cold on, water rushed into the machine. Ha. Easy as pie.

  With time to kill, she went into Cole’s bedroom and discovered a floppy old Akubra hat resting atop a neat stack of clothes at the foot of the bed. Beneath the hat lay a white T-shirt, a pair of old work pants and a belt.

  Pulling on the baggy work pants and cinching the belt tight around her waist, she slipped the T-shirt over her head and looked at herself. This wouldn’t do. Her breasts swelled beneath the shirt—she’d never pass as a male farmhand this way.

  In the spare bedroom, she rummaged through her suitcase, found a pair of Spanx and took to them with a pair of scissor in the kitchen, cutting off the legs and crotch.

  After removing Cole’s T-shirt, she slipped the altered Spanx over her bra. When she put the T-shirt back on, the effect was quite dramatic, but there was still a bump where there shouldn’t be, and the black Spanx showed through the T-shirt’s white fabric.

  She trudged into Cole’s room and searched his closet, finding a large, buttoned flannel shirt that covered everything nicely.

  Anthea stood before the mirror and smiled, already getting into the spirit of her new role. Yes, she was supposed to be a farmer’s wife, not a farmhand, but any chance to act was a chance she couldn’t throw away. Her determination built. She would pull this off and convince any locals who happened by that she was indeed male. She could be a farmhand outside, and act the part of a wife inside the house. What could possible go wrong?

  In the bathroom, she tied her long hair into a bun and pulled the Akubra down on her head. The hat had been too loose before, but now that the bun filled the extra room, it fit securely. Confident that even a stiff wind wouldn’t be able to whip it off her head, she returned to the bedroom, stood in front of the full-length mirror and inspected herself. When she lowered the brim of the Akubra to cover her eyes, the transformation was complete. The only giveaway would be her voice, something she’d have to find a way to deal with.

  After the washing machine finished its final cycle, Anthea found a clothesline behind the house and pegged up the wet garments. She bit her lip, stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. The whole line drooped under the weight of pink T-shirts, pink socks and pink underwear. And her red nightie, which seemed to have faded a little.

  Ashamed, she hung her head. She should have known better. Red with whites. Obviously a very bad combination.

  Glancing at Meg, she said, “We’d better keep this between us.”

  Meg’s tongue lolled from the side of her mouth as she panted.

  On the bright side, Cole would never know.

  After hiding her car behind Cole’s large shed not far from the house, she saw that she had time to kill before lunch, and couldn’t help but wonder about the locked room at the end of the hallway. Especially since Cole had told her off for snooping, fueling her curiosity.

  Anthea headed inside the house. She tried the handle again. Still locked. Bending at the waist, she peered through the keyhole. Darkness. Moving her eye closer, she waited for it to adjust to the gloomy room beyond. Soon the shape of a bed emerged. It looked like a single bed, but a bed nonetheless. She frowned. What was Cole playing at?

  In the large storage shed outside, she found an old wooden crate and hurried back to the house. After placing the crate against a wall, she gripped the windowsill above her head. As she stepped onto the crate, it creaked under her weight.

  What she saw was interesting, and a little spooky. The locked room’s window was covered on the inside with thick black plastic, making it impossible to see inside.

  The crate beneath her snapped. Anthea toppled sideways, landing on the soft grass with a thump. Meg rushed forward and licked her face.

  “Ew!”

  Pushing Meg away, she sat up. She supposed that’s what she deserved for snooping when she’d already be warned against it. As she rose to her feet, her stomach growled. She glanced at her watch. Finally. Lunchtime.

  In the kitchen, she opened the freezer, thinking it might be a good idea to get something out to defrost for dinner. That’s where she discovered the bread. Who kept bread in a freezer?

  It occurred to her that Cole would, since he couldn’t go into town everyday and get a fresh loaf. She grabbed the bread, separated two slices and popped them in the toaster.

  As her stomach grumbled again, she set about removing tomatoes, lettuce, ham and mayonnaise from the fridge.

  * * *

  In the field, Meg nudged Cole’s hand. He patted the last of the soil around the sapling’s base, then gave Meg a scratch behind the ears.

  “Not coming back out, is she?”

  Meg let out a chuff of air.

  “That’s right. Princess Diva’s just way too high and mighty to get her precious hands dirty.”

  Pressing the button on his watch, he listened to the time and smiled.

  “Well, I guess it’s time we went in for lunch. Which just so happens to be the perfect time to play a little trick on our resident actress. You with me?”

  As Meg licked his hand, Cole’s heart gave a little jump. He’d only thought of this idea after Karin left last night and had run it over and over in his mind, looking for flaws, but it seemed perfect.

  After all, Anthea had asked him to think about something he couldn’t do on his own. So he had. But what he was about to ask her wasn’t something she’d expect.

  Leaving the wheelbarrow, he started across the field to the house and smiled. This was going to be fun. He only wished he could see the look on her face when he made his request.

  By the time he stepped inside, his heart beat a little faster than usual. It was just the excitement of playing a prank, he told himself. Just the fun of teasing her, nothing else.

  As the aroma of fresh toast hit him, he heard clinking in the kitchen.

  Here goes nothing.

  He walked in, headed for the sink and gave his hands a thorough wash.

  “What sort of stunt are you trying to pull?” she accused.

  A wave of fear gripped him. How could she know what he was thinking?

  “Making me sleep with you when there’s a bed in that locked room.”

  Fear pressed on his chest. He didn’t want to think about that room.

  “If you’re gonna snoop around my house, you can get out,” he said, surprised by the harsh tone in his voice.

  Before he could think about why her snooping irritated him so much, he heard the crunch of toast and a knife scrape along a plate. She was cutting a sandwich.

  “Jeez. I was just
looking for somewhere—”

  “What’ve you got there?” he asked, knowing full well, but using the opportunity to change the subject from something he had no intention of talking about. Ever.

  “A toasted sandwich.”

  “Great. I’m starved.” Facing her, he held out his hand. Her long hesitation told him she’d made the sandwich for herself. He clenched his teeth to keep from smiling as the plate slipped over his open palm.

  He took it over to the table, sat in his usual spot and wolfed half of it down in one go. Mayonnaise burst in his mouth and as he chewed he tasted the ham, tomato and lettuce. It was delicious, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

  She sighed heavily, opened the freezer and closed it again. When he heard her press the toaster lever, he realized she was making herself another sandwich.

  “So,” he said, “when do you plan on starting this research of yours?”

  “I’m working up to it.”

  “You’ve gotta work your way up to working? Unbelievable.” He took a bite of the other half of the sandwich. Receiving no reply, he decided this would be the perfect time to freak her out.

  “I’m starting to think you invented the whole thing about being an actress. Maybe what you really want is some cushy holiday in the country, free of charge.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Meg placed her head on his lap. He gave her ear a tug, smiling in her direction.

  “Is it?” he asked. “As far as I can tell, you haven’t done one bit of research.”

  “I cooked last night.”

  “Think that was me, wasn’t it?”

  Something banged on the counter top.

  “You want me to prove that I’m an actress, is that it?” she said, clearly irritated.

  He tugged on Meg’s ear again, as if she was a coconspirator. “I think you should.”

  “And I suppose you’ve got some idea how I can do that, since you’re…you know…”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. And we can kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Fine. What is it?” she asked.

  Here we go, he thought, the moment of truth. “So, if you’re really an actress, I’m sure you’ve had to…kiss someone for a scene or something, right?”

  Silence filled the kitchen. He could only imagine her shock. Damn, he wished he could see her face. She’d be horrified at the thought of kissing the boy she used to tease in school. For Miss High and Mighty, the thought of kissing him would be almost unbearable.

  “Is this your twisted way of coming onto me?” she asked.

  “What? No! Jesus, I don’t even like you.” Why the hell would that even cross her mind? He’d given her no indication of any such thing. Besides the fact that he’d never make a pass at her in a million years. The idea was ridiculous. His request was just a way to make her uncomfortable, to make her squirm, make her feel the way she made him feel all those years ago.

  “Then why on earth would you want me to kiss you?” she asked.

  “Proof, remember? A real actor wouldn’t have a problem with it. And like I said, it’ll accomplish two things at once.”

  Her footsteps grew closer to the table, but she didn’t sit. “And the other thing is?”

  “You said you’d help me with something I can’t do on my own.”

  Silence once more. Now he had her—the revulsion and horror at the thought of kissing him was surely about to come out. As he waited, he knew without a doubt that she was staring at him. He could feel it. His heart accelerated.

  “Well?” he asked. “Trying to think of how to worm your way out of this too?” He grabbed the last of his sandwich and took a bite.

  “No. I’m wondering if this means no one’s ever kissed you.”

  Taken off guard, he tried to swallow the food in his mouth too quickly, and choked. Before he knew it, she was thumping him on the back.

  “Well, that answers that,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  What the hell just happened? This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. Heat rose to his face as the coughs subsided. She was the one who should be feeling uncomfortable and awkward. Not him.

  “I didn’t say any such—”

  “And if you’ve never been kissed,” she continued. “Then I guess you’ve never—”

  “That’s none of your business,” he spat. Her hand slipped from his back and he felt her walk past him, heard the kitchen chair to his right scrape the floor as she took a seat.

  “So,” she said, “how did this happen?”

  Damn it, he needed to get the hell out of there.

  * * *

  “What is it about ‘none of your business’ you don’t understand?” Cole asked.

  Anthea hadn’t missed the color rise in Cole’s face the moment he realized she’d guessed he was a virgin. And she could tell by the tension in his body that he wanted nothing more than to flee, but why should she let him? He’d brought up the subject in the first place, hadn’t he?

  “It’s research,” she said simply.

  He released a derisive scoff. “Now you want to do research? About me? How convenient. What do you want to know? That I stopped seeing when I was nine? That I don’t leave this place? It’s not that hard to put two and two together. Jesus, women don’t just turn up on my doorstep.”

  “I did.” The words escaped her mouth before she even knew they were coming. She saw Cole still, saw his chest rise as he drew in a breath and held it. What on earth was she thinking? “I mean, how do you cope?”

  He released the breath he’d been holding. “How do you think?”

  “Okay, but that’s not really the same, is it?”

  He scoffed again. “How would I know?”

  “So, you don’t miss what you don’t know? Is that how you see it?”

  He seemed to think about that, and after a long moment, a vulnerability crossed his face that made her heart swell.

  “It’s the things you can’t do on your own that are torture,” he finally said.

  He was right. Sure everyone could satisfy sexual urges alone, but a person couldn’t hold himself the way someone else could.

  “Like being kissed?” she asked.

  Clearly uncomfortable, he ran a hand over his face. “Jesus, forget I ever mentioned it. It was a stupid idea.”

  He began to rise, so she grabbed his wrist and held on tight. When he realized she wasn’t going to let him get away that easy, he sank into his chair with resignation.

  “No. It’s not stupid. It’s just…kissing’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” she said.

  “Whatever.”

  She knew he wanted to leave again, so she tightened her grip on his wrist. It only seemed fair that if she knew a personal truth about him, he should know one about her.

  “I mean, it might be better to stick with the fantasy, rather than ruin it with reality. No one’s ever kissed me the way I imagine it should be.” And that was the truth. The men who’d kissed her never took it slow. Each one rushed the moment and seemed to want to shove his tongue down her throat and swallow her whole. There had been no romance in those kisses. They were nothing like what a kiss should be.

  She watched his face and, for the first time, he tried to find her eyes with his.

  “How should it be?” he asked, his voice soft, husky.

  Her heart hammered. Was that longing on his face? He really did want to know what it was like to be kissed. And she wanted the perfect kiss. So why not? They’d both be getting what they wanted. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

  Slowly, she took off her hat and moved to his side. His chair was pushed away from the table after his attempted escape, so she had plenty of room. Placing a hand on his warm shoulder, she moved in closer, her knee brushing against h
is thigh.

  His muscles tensed beneath her hand as he swallowed. She smiled. He was nervous, and she found that both sweet and completely at odds with the strong, grumpy man she thought she knew.

  She wasn’t going to rush this. For once in her life, she had the opportunity to experience her fantasy kiss and she’d damn well make it last.

  Gently, she touched his jaw, feeling the slight prickle of regrowth as she coaxed his face upward. This close, his green eyes were like emeralds flecked with the night. And they seemed to be staring right into her. Even though she knew that wasn’t possible, her heart galloped.

  She leaned over him, closer, until their mouths where almost touching, then slowly brushed her lips against his in barely a whisper of a kiss. When he closed his eyes, she softly caught his top lip between hers. She lingered there for a long moment before she pulled away ever so slightly, brushed her mouth against his and captured his lower lip.

  As she lingered there, he remained motionless. Her fingers slipped from his jaw and she laid her palm on his chest. The bunched muscle beneath her hand felt like stone, but the rapid beating of his heart told her he was very much alive in there.

  And that’s where she planned to end the kiss. But instead of disengaging and moving away, she lifted her lips and lowered her forehead to his, brushing their nose against each other as his breath floated over her lips.

  For just a moment, she wondered what she was doing, but seemed incapable of stopping herself. She wanted that kiss again. And she took it.

  This time, when her lips found his, he responded. Unlike the first kiss, where she guessed he was concentrating on how it felt, when she captured his upper lip, he gently pulled on her lower lip.

  A tiny whimper of pleasure glided from her throat before she could hold it in. When she moved her mouth over his, he took the initiative and caught her top lip. A coil of arousal shot right to her very center.

  Beneath her hand, his heart thundered so hard it seemed to be in rhythm with her own. She didn’t want this to end, this perfect kiss, the kiss she’d always dreamed of, the kiss she never thought she’d get.