FarmBoy

by Kayt Miller

  I should probably go home, but this is fun. I haven’t laughed this much since I was back in college. I shrug. “Sure. My turn.” I pick up the pitcher and head to the bar to buy the next round.

  At the bar, a deep voice says, “Well, hello again.”

  I turn my head and see a man about my brother’s age. He looks familiar. When he raises his hand to me, I place mine in his. “Max.” He shakes once but keeps my hand secured in his. “Max Lang.”

  “Oh.” I tug my hand away. “You’re Marcus’s dad.”

  “Right.” He smiles brightly. “And you’re the lovely Miss Harmon.”

  Lovely? I wouldn’t say that, but I’m not about to argue.

  “That’ll be five-fifty,” says the bartender.

  “Here.” Max pulls out his wallet. “Let me get that for you.”

  “Oh, um, no….”

  He’s quick. The bartender has a ten-dollar bill in her hand before I can even open my wallet. “Keep the change,” Max says, winking at the girl behind the bar. I should probably know who she is, but I can’t place her.

  “Well, thanks, I guess,” I say, lifting the plastic pitcher. I quickly walk over to my table and slide in.

  Taking Rose’s glass in hand, I start to fill it up when Max appears again. Holding his hand out to Rose, he waits for her to take his. “Max Lang.”

  “Rose Avery. Special ed teacher.”

  “Right.” I watch as Max takes a chair from one of the tables nearby and sits at the end of our table. “Mind if I join you?”

  Yes. I want to say it, but I don’t. I was having fun with just Rose.

  “No, of course not.” Rose smiles sweetly at our unwelcome guest.

  Rose is a dead woman.

  I sip my fresh beer and lean back in my seat. So much for fun girl talk. We have an interloper.

  “So, Miss Harmon,” Max says smoothly, “what’s a pretty woman like you doing at Sisters on a Friday night? Why aren’t you out on a date?”

  “I am,” I point to Rose.

  “Oh?” He chuckles, arching his brow. “So, that’s how it is?”

  “We’re not romantically involved, Max,” Rose says, sounding flirty. Heck, she even gives him a wink. “But Izzy is sexy as hell, don’t you think?” My former best friend sips her beer casually, like she didn’t just throw me under the man bus.

  He turns to look at me and pauses. “Yes, she’s definitely sexy, but I think I’d call her beautiful. Gorgeous, actually.”

  I feel heat run up from my chest to my face in seconds. I glare at Rose. I don’t like this conversation, so I do the only thing I can think of. “Well, time to change the music.” I quickly grab my wallet, slide out of the booth, and run right into a brick wall—a brick wall named Nash Watson. I teeter a little bit, but big, warm hands wrap around my upper arms to keep me from falling on my ass.

  “You okay, Isabelle?” Nash asks softly.

  Doing my best not to make eye contact with Nash, I wiggle free of his hold. “I’m fine.” I step to his left to get around him. I’m determined to get to the jukebox, but things aren’t going my way.

  “Where you off to?” he asks, turning to face me.

  “Jukebox,” I mutter as I pass the man.

  I spend an inordinate amount of time choosing music, having put five dollars into the machine. That’s eighteen songs. You get three bonus songs if you put in a five. I’m doing my best to read through all of the selections when I feel warmth against my back. Please don’t be Max… or Nash for that matter.

  “Did you play Journey?”

  It’s Nash.

  “Yes.”

  “What about Billy Joel. Aren’t you a fan?”

  I am. He’s one of my all-time favorites.

  “Yes.”

  Nash slides in next to me, watching me scroll through the options. I’ve stopped actually reading the screen. How can I? Nash Watson is so close his body is touching mine. “Can I pick one?” he asks close to my ear. I feel the hairs on my arms stand on end. He does that to me––the man gives me goose bumps.

  I sigh. I’m going to have to engage with him. The sooner I do, the sooner he’ll go away. Maybe he’ll take Max with him. “Sure.” I move to the side slightly as Nash begins to scroll through the list. I swear, if he picks Bon Jovi….

  “I remember you loving this song. You used to play it constantly.” He points to a song by The Police.

  I nod. I still love it.

  “And U2,” he says, selecting another song.

  “Hey,” I say, pushing up against him. “Use your own money if you want to choose songs.”

  Nash chuckles and moves to his right, allowing me to get back to the task at hand. I look over and up at him. “You can go now.”

  “Nah, I think I’ll stay and make sure you don’t play any Bon Jovi.”

  I roll my eyes but inwardly smile. How does he know so much about my taste in music? I guess I used to listen to music a lot at the farm. I’m just surprised he noticed.

  “I won’t be playing any Bon Jovi. You’re safe.” I nudge him with my elbow. “Go on. Go sit with your friends or whatever.” I scan the room quickly, wondering who he’s here with.

  “All right.”

  When he turns to leave, the warmth I felt on my right side is gone and it makes me a little sad. I liked him close. Choosing the eighteenth and final song, I turn toward my table and stare. Nash is in my seat. Max is still in the chair next to the table, and Rose is leaning in, moving her lips. What is she saying to them? I rush to the table and stare down at the small space left open beside Nash.

  “Sit.” He pats the seat.

  Growling, I slide into the tiny spot and realize I have to press my entire hip and thigh against him in order to fit on the seat. Great, just great.

  13

  Nash

  What are the odds? I’ve been to Sisters a hundred times, and I’ve never seen Isabelle here. And you want to know something? I don’t think I like it. Not when I walked in and saw fucking Max Lang sitting at her table. Sure, I was supposed to meet him here for a beer, but I didn’t think he’d be sniffing around my… Isabelle.

  What the fuck am I talking about? Of course he’d be sniffing around Isabelle. She’s got pin-up girl written all over her, and that’s something Max can’t resist. I stand back for a minute or two and watch them interact. The other teacher is doing most of the talking, but Max is chattering on as well, while Isabelle sits back looking uncomfortable. I swear I see a blush creep up from the front of her top to her face. They’re embarrassing her. Isabelle slides out of the booth just as I approach. I guess she doesn’t see me because she runs right into me. I quickly take hold of her arms, so she doesn’t fall. “You okay?”

  She mumbles a response before walking toward the jukebox. As I watch her leave, Max greets me. “Yo, man. You’re late.”

  Of course I’m late. I had shit to do. Then I had to drop Andi off at my mom’s place for the night. I can’t very well drink beer with Max, then expect to drive my daughter home, can I? No, I can’t. I shrug. Looking at the table, I see a pitcher of beer along with Max’s preferred import. “Let me get some beer.” But I don’t head to the bar. Instead, I find myself standing as close to Isabelle as I can without wrapping her up in my arms—which I’d very much like to do but know I can’t.

  I help her choose some of her favorite songs until she waves me away. Literally. She tells me to “Go on. Go join your friends.”

  That’s a great idea. I turn and make my way back to the table, stopping first to buy beer for Max and the girls and grab a water for me. When Isabelle approaches the table, I want to laugh. Her face can’t hide a damn thing. I’m in her seat, but there’s room for both of us, so I pat the seat. “Sit.” And surprisingly, she does without a fuss. No doubt it’s because this place is getting busy and making a fuss would draw attention to herself. When her thigh and arm are pressed up against me, I lean down to whisper. “How was your day, babe?”

  She turns her head so slow
ly she looks more like an owl than Isabelle. “Babe?” she whisper-hisses.

  I shrug. What can I say? It feels natural to call her that. “So? Your day?”

  “Fine. It was fine.”

  When she doesn’t ask me anything in return, I volunteer, “My day was good. Cy is doing well.”

  That got her. “Oh?” She smiles. “That’s good to hear?”

  “Yep.” I nod. “Cal sorted that all out.”

  “Good. So glad that has a happy ending.”

  “Who got a happy ending?” asks Max with a smirk. It’s a crude joke, one I’m not sure Isabelle caught because her expression never changed. But Rose sure did. She bursts out laughing.

  “Andi’s new calf,” Isabelle answers without giving his words another thought. “She was born with only one eye.”

  Ignoring the talk about the calf, Max scoots his chair closer to Isabelle’s side of the table, so close that I’d say she’s boxed in between the two of us. “So, Isabelle, what are you doing tomorrow night?”

  No. He. Didn’t. He didn’t just fucking ask my… Isabelle on a date. In front of me? He knows she’s my best friend’s baby sister. He knows she’s a close family friend, and he does that shit?

  “Um… I don’t—”

  I quickly say, “Her brother is coming into town.”

  With a bright smile, she looks over at me. “He is?” She blinks. “Mom didn’t say anything.”

  That’s because I just made it up. “That’s what he said.” I shrug. “Maybe it’s a surprise.” I’m digging myself into a bigger hole. Maybe I can call him later and talk him into a little visit.

  “I haven’t seen him for months. Is Kelly coming too?” She turns to Rose. “You’ll love Kelly. She’s hilarious and so sweet.” I watch as she covers her mouth. “If it’s a surprise, does that mean…?”

  “What? Does it mean what?”

  “Is Kelly pregnant?” she squeaks and bounces up and down on the seat.

  My eyes go where they shouldn’t—her tits. When I look up, my eyes meet Rose’s. Her brow is arched just as a smile slides over her lips. Fuck.

  Remembering what started this whole thing, I shake my head. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

  “Oh. My. Gosh.” Isabelle bounces more. It’s making me dizzy. She needs to stop, so I do what I can by placing my palm on her thigh. It does the trick. She stops bouncing. Hell, she stops moving altogether. Now she’s staring down at my hand that’s wrapped around her upper thigh close to her center. I’d love to slide it up an inch more to see how she reacts when she’s excited in other ways. But we’re in the town bar, so no can do.

  “I don’t think she’s pregnant. I think he just misses you all.”

  “Aw,” Isabelle coos. “That’s so sweet. I should call him.” She reaches back to retrieve her phone from her back pocket.

  I need to put a stop to this. “Isabelle, it’s pretty noisy in here.”

  “Oh, shoot.” She starts to move out of the booth, but Max is blocking her exit. “Excuse me,” she says with a smile. “I’m going to run outside and call my brother. Back in a sec.”

  The minute she’s gone, I grab my phone out of my back pocket and text my best friend.

  Me: Tell Isabelle you’re coming home tomorrow. I’ll tell you why later.

  I stare down, waiting for a response as Max excuses himself to use the john. It leaves me alone with Rose.

  “So,” she says, leaning closer, “what are your intentions with my little friend?” She nods toward the seat vacated by Isabelle.

  “Excuse me?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You heard me.”

  I don’t know this woman from Eve. I’m not about to tell her my thoughts on Isabelle Harmon. “I have no intentions.”

  “You do. You just made that shit up about her brother to cockblock your friend.”

  I did. I definitely did.

  I shrug. “I’m just watching out for my best friend’s little sister.”

  “Bullshit,” she coughs. “You just pissed all over her, and from his expression, Max got the memo.”

  I hope she’s right about that last bit. Max is a player, 100 percent player. He’s not looking for anything long-term. His divorce last year was hell on earth. There’s no way he’d do that anytime soon.

  I shrug again. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. “Think what you want. I’m just being a friend to Isabelle.”

  Rose snorts. “A friend you want to fuck.”

  I’m quiet for a minute, trying to think of something to say to that, when Isabelle races back into the bar, a bright smile on her face. “They’re coming. Kelly’s not pregnant, but they do have some news.”

  “They do?” What the fuck? “What news?”

  “He wouldn’t say.”

  That fucker. I’m about to text him when Max returns, which causes Isabelle to slide back into the seat next to me. Just where she belongs.

  By the time the ladies have finished another pitcher, Isabelle is pretty tipsy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drunk, even at Isaac’s wedding. She’s all flushed from the alcohol, and her words are slightly slurred. She’s been saying some pretty silly shit, which has made us all laugh. Oh, and she’s been touching me nonstop. I’ve got to say, tipsy Isabelle is a good thing, but only because I’m here to watch out for her. I’ve been drinking water all night for just that reason. I can’t say I’d be thrilled to find out she does this frequently. There are guys here who’d pick up on Isabelle’s inebriated state and take advantage. I’m not one of them. No, I’m the one and only man here who’ll make sure she gets home safely.

  “Come on, Isabelle,” I say, nudging her side. “Time to get you home.”

  “I’m fine,” she whines a little bit. “I’m having fun for once.”

  Rose leans in. “I’m wasted. I need to get to bed, girl.”

  “Yep. Let’s go, babe.” I nudge her again.

  “Fine,” she grumbles. “But I want it on the record that it’s—” She squints at the clock. “—nine o’fucking clock on a Friday night and you are all party poopers.”

  Max laughs. “Nine o’fucking clock? That’s one I’ve got to use.”

  Isabelle pats his face. “You go right ahead, Maxy.”

  I swear she’s about to lean in and kiss his cheek, but I pull her back. “That’s enough of that.”

  Rose snorts from her seat across from me. “Man up, Watson,” she mutters.

  I know what she’s saying, but I can’t. I won’t. I’m being a friend and making sure she gets home in one piece. It’s what friends do.

  “That was soooooo much fun,” she says with a giggle once we’ve walked down the sidewalk toward my old pickup. I don’t think she spots my car because she marches right past it. Jogging to catch up, I reach out and take her hand, pulling her back. “Truck’s over here, Isabelle.”

  “But my car…,” she says, blinking at me.

  “You can’t drive. We’ll get it tomorrow.”

  Huffing, she lets me hold her hand and lead her back to the truck. “Fine.”

  I can’t help noticing how great it feels to hold her little hand. Perfect actually. I can’t think about that––about the tingling sensation that’s running up my arm. At the truck, I pull open her door and help her up onto the bench seat. Reaching over, I buckle her in as I look around the cab, wondering if I should have cleaned it up a bit. I’d hate for some old grease to get on her little outfit.

  “Right?” she asks, but I’m not sure what she’s talking about. I was too busy thinking about buying a new truck.

  “Right,” I say in agreement as I slide behind the wheel.

  It makes her laugh harder. “You think Max is cute too?”

  What the fuck? “Max isn’t cute. He’s divorced.”

  That makes her laugh harder. “What does his cuteness have to do with divorce?”

  “Isabelle,” I sigh. She needs to know this. “He’s not for you. He’s just looking for a quick fuck, not for anything long-ter
m.”

  “Just like you.” She cackles again.

  “Yeah.” She’s right. “Just like me.”

  Her laughter stops suddenly, replaced by sniffles.

  “Isabelle?” I ask, turning to look at her. “Are you crying?”

  She nods. “Ivy is such a witch. You’re still so in love with her you can’t see past it.”

  Huh? What the fuck? “I don’t love Ivy.”

  “Yes, you do. Why else would you be angry all the time and push everyone away?”

  First off, I don’t push everyone away. Only some people. “To protect my kid.” Jesus. “I don’t want her to go through that again.”

  Isabelle stops sniffling and glares at me. “That’s bologna, Nash.”

  “Bologna?”

  “Yeah. Andi was practically a baby when Ivy left. But you weren’t.” She jabs her finger into my arm. It’s surprisingly painful. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to go through that again.” Jab, jab. “You’re the one who has closed off his heart to love.”

  She doesn’t jab me again, but it feels like it. Pulling into the Harmons’ long driveway, I stop the truck and push it into park. And just in time too. Turning to look at her, I say, “You’re home.”

  “Home,” she sighs. “I’m so pooped I’m going to sleep like the dead.” Leaning over to me, she closes her eyes and kisses me on the lips. It’s a soft, sweet little kiss. “Nighty night, Nashville Watson.” She slides out of my truck and nearly falls on her round little ass. I jump down from the pickup and jog around to her side in time to help her to the front door.

  She giggles softly. “Thanks.” Looking up at me, I swear her eyes are sparkling in the moonlight. “I’m sorry about dusting your house. I was just trying to help.”

  I sigh because I know that’s all she was doing. “I know.”

  “You know,” she says as she trips on a pebble, “you should call Janine. She does a great job.”

  “I don’t want someone in my house snooping around and gossiping all over town.”

  “Okay.” Isabelle stops walking. Turning to face me, she plants her little angry fists on her hips. “First of all”—she holds up one finger—“you need the help.” A second finger pops free. “Secondly, Janine needs the work. Her husband is a layabout and a ne'er-do-well. She’s supporting three kids too.”