by Fiona Lowe
At dee end of dee road turn right.
She bit her lip and weighed up her options. If she took the bend she might find somewhere safe to turn around and if she drove slowly she’d avoid ending up in a precarious situation like the people who put all their trust in a GPS. People who drove into a lake or ran out of fuel stranded in the desert. People who ended up on the news, lampooned on websites and, worse still, recipients of a Darwin Award.
Maggie-May barked and pawed the window.
Erin glanced up, gasped and grabbed her camera as a deer leaped and pranced across the road, quickly disappearing into the trees until even its white tail had been absorbed by the dense foliage. Minneapolis seemed a world away from this. With a tug of disappointment that she’d missed capturing the beautiful creature, she set her camera down. “Next time, Maggie-May.”
She threw the car into gear and continued down the rough road which turned sharply. The gravel changed to flattened grass and she bumped along a bit farther until the trees gave way to wide, open spaces. She pressed the brakes hard. Black-and-white cows, with green grass hanging from their big, pink tongues, lifted their heads and turned to gaze at the car with interest. They started walking toward her, their gait increasing with each step. The closest she’d ever been to a cow before was the label on the plastic gallon of milk that graced her breakfast table. Her heart leaped into her throat as one cow licked her window. “Patrick!”
You have reached your destination.
* * *
Luke Anderson sat on the small, sandy beach with his border collie, Mac, resting his head on his thigh. He gazed out at the blue lake, letting the warmth of the sand, the haunting wail-call of the loon and the gray-white colors of the rocks seep through him. No one had ever asked him if he had a favorite part of the farm, but should they, he’d immediately answer, “the lake beach.”
Not that he didn’t have strong ties to all of the farm; he did. He’d grown up exploring every inch of it and loving it all but this beach was extra special. He’d been coming here for as long as he could remember. He’d run here to lie low the first time he’d gotten into serious trouble from his father. At ten he’d committed a dairyman’s cardinal sin by leaving a gate open and inadvertently allowed the bull to escape into a pasture of top milkers. He still remembered the shock that had torn through him as his usually mild-mannered father let rip with a string of curses he’d rarely heard him use before or since—words Luke hadn’t even known his father knew.
He scooped up a handful of sand, letting the grains fall through his fingers. This beach had been the site of his first solo campout at nine and much later, at fifteen, it had been the place he’d first kissed a girl. Brandy Peterson. He smiled, recalling the inauspicious start to acquiring a skill he was now told he was very good at. Back then, having no clue what he was supposed to do, his tongue had been frayed by her braces but it had been worth it for the quick touch of his hand against the warm curve of her breast. At that moment, Luke had known for certain that unlike his older brother Wade, he loved the touch, taste and scent of women.
And over the years, he’d fully explored that realization many times with many women, taking full advantage of his college years. Later, he’d built on that experience during the five years he’d worked for an artificial insemination company where the job had taken him across the country and as far away as Australia and New Zealand. He idly wondered what Brandy was doing now. Like him, she’d left town for college, only she hadn’t returned. Most of the young women who left Whitetail didn’t return, which left the northwoods town with a higher than the state average of single men. He was part of that statistic. Not that he minded the single part—he was more than happy with that.
He shielded his eyes as the thrum of a vacationer’s boat engine reverberated across the lake, reminding him of the reason he was on the beach today. The future of the farm. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and reread the email from his high school buddy Axel Jacobson, who was now a real estate agent in Milwaukee. “Parcel of land valued @ 1.3m.” He abruptly shut it down, blocking out the number which made his gut churn every time he read it.
Earlier in the summer, Axel had been in Whitetail, visiting his sister, Annika, who’d both surprised and thrilled the town when she’d married Finn Callahan last winter. Axel had stopped by for a beer and they’d come down to the lake for a cookout and some reminiscing.
“So your mom finally got your dad to go to Arizona?” Axel had asked.
“Yep.” Luke shook his head slowly. “I didn’t believe it until I saw the truck pull out through the gate. Even then, I expected the old man to be back by milking time because in thirty years I can count on one hand how many times he’s left the farm for more than two days.”
“And?”
“He promised Mom he’d give Arizona a trial run. His emails make it sound like he loves it down there. I expected him to be on the phone ten times a day giving me instructions and asking about the cows, but when he does call he can only talk about his golf game. I think he’s officially retired.”
Axel pushed his aviator glasses onto the top of his head and gave him a long look. “So you’re really going to take it on? Be a dairyman like your father?”
Luke took a long pull on his beer. The answer to the question should have been an instant and emphatic “Yes.” “It’s what I always said I wanted. An Anderson has owned this land for six generations.”
“Land can be sold. It’s how I make my living.” Axel had leaned back and taken in the view. “People want simpler times and they don’t mind paying for them. Lake frontage like this would give you a pocket full of Benjamins and then you’d have the cash to do whatever you want, wherever you want it.”
And that was part of the problem. He didn’t know what the hell he wanted. “It’s not just mine to sell, Ax. A family farm is exactly that, and Keri and Wade have a stake in this too.”
“So talk to them about it.”
Those six simple words had been spoken a month ago and the conversation still remained buried in his to-do list, under the heading of way too hard. Now, with the email from Axel, it had suddenly become more real. He ran his hand across the back of his neck, his skin hot from the sun, and he tried to shrug off the unsettled feelings that had arrived with the spring and had been making the long and busy summer days a chore rather than a pleasure.
Mac lifted his head and a moment later Luke heard the low, mellow bellow of “the girls.” He glanced at his watch. Usually at this point in the afternoon the heifers were so busy eating their way through the pasture that they didn’t have time for mooing.
Mac was already standing, his ears cocked and tilted in the direction of the sound. Luke sighed, feeling weary after spending a large chunk of the previous night bringing in hay. The farm was calling again, as it always did, breaking in on his brief respite. Unlike Mac, he wasn’t feeling the thrill of discovering what was probably another problem he had to solve.
Mac barked accusingly.
Luke reluctantly pushed to his feet. “Guess we better go see what’s up.” He followed his trotting dog away from the lake and back through the thick grove of birches and as he broke clear of the foliage, he blinked. Twice. An old station wagon was parked in the middle of his field and ringed by confused Holsteins. No wonder the girls were making so much noise. To them, a vehicle meant food but somehow he didn’t think this car was going to start heaving silage out of its tailgate any time soon.
Mac gave a lo
w growl.
“Steady.”
Mac stayed put but the hairs on his back rose and he quivered all over, every muscle desperate to be unleashed so he could race to the car. He was a friendly dog so this reaction was unexpected but then Luke heard a high-pitched yapping. Now he understood Mac’s imploring brown-eyed gaze. There was more than one imposter in their midst.
An automatic groan crossed his lips. It might be a lost tourist looking for Wade’s cottages and B and B, although it was probably the new but unreliable cleaner who’d promised to arrive yesterday but hadn’t turned up. Either way, with Wade in Chicago for the night, it was a mess he’d have to fix. Hell, he hoped the car didn’t sink after yesterday’s rain.
As if exactly on cue, the car engine roared, the wheels spun and mud flew everywhere. Thirty seconds later, it sank.
No such luck.
A bangle-adorned, slender arm extended out through the sunroof, frantically waving back and forth.
“Walk up,” he instructed Mac who made a beeline for the cows and started moving them away from the car. “Come on,” he called out to the girls, backing up Mac, and he cut straight through the newly created gap, put his hand on the car door and yanked it open.
A pair of tanned, shapely legs swung out, followed by a flash of white denim shorts and a watermelon-pink sun top. “Thank you! I thought I was going to be stuck here forever. Oh...” The young woman gazed down at her sandal-clad feet as mud oozed into them and through her toes.
Her head jerked up and chestnut hair—which Luke assumed under normal circumstances probably fell in a smooth, sleek bob—flew everywhere. “Tell me it’s just mud?” Wide, green eyes the same vivid green of his freshly mowed meadow implored him to tell her what she wanted to hear. “Please.”
He shrugged and a perverse part of him took delight in telling this clothes horse with a lousy sense of direction the truth. “It’s a mud and manure combo.”
Horror streaked across her cheeks and she wrinkled her nose in disgust, making her diamond nose-stud glint in the sunshine. Her license plates, her clothes and her hairstyle all strongly hinted that she came from the city, but it was the scrunching up of her nose which confirmed it. On someone with a cute, button nose, the action might have been forgiven, but on her honker, the wrinkle screamed pure disgust.
“This is a farm. What do you expect?” A spurt of irritation fizzed through him, gaining hold only to stall abruptly the moment he caught her horror hitting her mouth. It pulled plump lips into a perfect red and glossy O. It was a mouth at complete odds with the rest of her put-together look of Miss-perfectly-matched-and-accessorized. It was a mouth that promised pure, adult pleasure.
“Of course it had to be manure,” she wailed. “I’m wearing brand-new suede sandals.”
It took Luke a moment to realize he was staring at her lush mouth and he hauled his gaze up to her eyes. “Rubber boots are the footwear of choice around here.”
She grimaced as if the thought would summon the fashion police. “I’ll be sure to remember that for next time and pack a pair in my trunk.”
“Sounds like a plan although I don’t recommend you make a habit of driving through pastureland.”
Her shoulders rose and fell. “Sorry about that. My GPS let me down. I’m looking for Lakeview Farm.”
“You’ve found it.” She must be Wade’s missing cleaner although her French nails were at complete odds with that notion. She didn’t look like the sort of woman who’d clean for a living but then again, women frequently told him that he didn’t look like a farmer, so who was he to judge.
“You should have turned left at the fork in the road to get to the cottages and the B and B.” He fished the key Wade had left him out of his pocket. “Seeing as you’re late arriving, Wade’s not here to greet you but he’s left a list of cleaning jobs and he’ll be back tomorrow. If you turn around and go the way you came you can’t miss the sign.”
“I’m not looking for a B and B. I’m looking for...” She turned and opened the car door before bending over and reaching across the driver’s seat.
Luke’s eyes automatically followed the curve of her ass which was unexpectedly sweet, and without being aware of moving he found he’d taken two steps forward. It was like being pulled by an invisible force and he didn’t like it one bit but before he had time to step back, she straightened up and turned to face him. The scent of crushed mint and lemon rushed his nostrils. It instantly reminded him of the delicious and refreshing sensations of drinking summer lemonade under the cool of a tree on a hot day.
She stopped abruptly as she realized he was standing quite close to her and he felt the breeze against his face created by the piece of paper she was waving at him. “Luke Anderson. I’m looking for Luke Anderson.”
Surprise rocked through him and he opened his mouth to reply when a yapping streak of white flew out the open car door.
Mac barked furiously, his hackles rising fast in defense of his master and his property.
“Steady, Mac,” Luke growled, not wanting Mac to eat the terrier.
A second later, Luke yelped as the needle-sharp jab of teeth tore through his jeans and clamped around his calf. The damn thing was biting him. He thrust out his right leg, shaking it hard, trying to dislodge the mutt.
Mac leaped.
The woman yelled, “Maggie-May,” and threw herself between Mac and her dog. Her chest knocked into Luke’s hip and with one of his legs already in the air, the momentum overbalanced him. He fell to the ground taking her with him.
The wind left his lungs, stunning him for a moment but as cold mud lined his back and oozed through his shirt before trickling down into the gap at the top of his jeans, he slowly became aware of hands gripping his upper arms and a delicious heat seeping into him from chest to toe. Her breasts pressed hard against his chest. Her legs tangled with his, and one knee was pushed up against his crotch.
Air whooshed back into his lungs as his entire body tensed and his testicles tightened protectively against the possibility of being firmly kneed. Then he went hard.
Shit.
Her eyes did that startled wide-eyed thing again, only this time it wasn’t caused by mud and he knew she’d just felt his hard-on against her belly. Double shit. He’d always prided himself on his control with women and this reaction to her made no sense because apart from that hooker mouth and a sweet behind, she looked exactly like the sort of high-maintenance woman he deliberately gave a wide berth. He dated women who were relaxed, uncomplicated and out for a good time.
Correction, used to date.
Since coming home to the farm a year ago, he hadn’t dated anyone because casual was too hard in a town the size of Whitetail. No guy wanted to meet their fling at the grocery store or the bar every day for the next decade. So he’d hardly dated much lately but even so, he had more restraint than this. It was time to take charge and wrench back control.
To the high-pitched yapping of the terrier and the full-fledged barks of Mac, Luke gripped her arms and rolled her off him. Wiping mud out of his eyes, he managed to grind out, “I’m Luke Anderson.”
Amidst the noise from the dogs and the cows, he thought he heard her groan.
Chapter Two
Utterly stunned, Erin stared at the mud-soaked man in front of her and died a thousand deaths. She’d just knocked the one man she needed to make a favorable impression on into a pile of mud and manure. Then she’d lain on top of him like a dog in heat. Her cheeks burned hot and her breas
ts tingled at the memory of being pressed against his rock-solid chest and caressed by the faint but firm beat of his heart.
God, he’d felt good. Amazing. Solid. She’d clutched his arms but her fingers had barely dented the firm muscles that lay under all that golden skin. Still, no matter how gorgeous, he was a stranger and she didn’t make a habit of lying on top of men she didn’t know. She couldn’t quite work out why she hadn’t scrambled off him the moment they’d hit the ground.
Because this is as close as you’ve been to a real, live man in far too long.
Well, yes, there was that. To her acute embarrassment, a moment before he’d summarily rolled her off him, he’d given her a look that said, totally inappropriate behavior. He knew she’d lingered. Why, oh why, was this man Connie’s obstreperous farmer? It wasn’t fair that he hadn’t given her a single clue to his occupation. After all, where was the flannel shirt? The farm supplies baseball cap? A man in his fifties?
Nothing about Luke Anderson said farmer or even hinted at the profession. In fact, everything said, cover model for Calvin Klein. Messy-cut, sun-kissed blond hair glinted in the sunshine and his cheeks had matching dark gold stubble. His square, broad shoulders supported a royal-blue cutoff shirt which did nothing to hide solid and tantalizingly rounded biceps, and butt-hugging straight-leg jeans lay against narrow hips and a washboard-flat stomach. He was, without a doubt, one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen.
Piercing blue eyes now tinged with shards of ice burned her. ��Get that thing of yours under control.”
Maggie-May had released his leg but she was now hunkered down facing off the much bigger border collie. Even though Erin knew it was her dog who had caused this mess, she took umbrage at Mr. Luke Anderson calling her precious a thing. “That thing is a dog, thank you very much.”
He scowled at her and his skin tightened over prominent cheekbones, making his previously handsome face suddenly stark and hard. “No.” He pointed to the dog he’d called Mac. “That’s a dog. Yours is just a damn nuisance.”
