FarmBoy

by Kayt Miller

  “Uh-huh.” I’d heard that. Her lazy-ass husband keeps getting fired for being a dumbass.

  “And thirdly”—another finger makes three—“you could have her sign some sort of privacy affidavit or something, so you know she won’t air your dirty laundry.” Isabelle snorts, then slaps me on the chest. “Get it?” She snorts again. “Dirty laundry?”

  “I get it. Very funny.”

  When she stops laughing, her hands drop to her side, and her face changes from happy to serious. “You need help. It’d be one less thing you have to deal with, Nash. She could come once a week and get you all sorted out. Then you can focus on Andi and the farm.”

  Running my fingers through my hair, I sigh. “Honestly, I didn’t think it was that bad.”

  “Yes, it’s bad. The dust was an inch thick.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “Pretty close.” She side-eyes me. “Call Janine. It’ll help you both out, and she’s nice. You’ll like her.”

  “I know Janine.”

  “And—” Isabelle winks at me and it’s adorable. “—she won’t be swayed by your dashing good looks either. The last time she and I talked, she said she was over men, so you’ve got that going for you.”

  I chuckle at her words. “Got it.”

  “You’ll call?” She’s stopped walking again.

  “I’ll seriously consider it.”

  “Oh, well…,” she says as she begins walking again. “that’s something, I guess.”

  No, she’s something.

  When we’re only a few feet from the porch, a light turns on and the front door opens, revealing Bruce Harmon, Isabelle’s father.

  “What’s this?” he asks, crossing both arms. “Izzy?” Bruce Harmon is not a small man. He’s an inch or two taller than me and just as wide. Hard work has made the man strong, and good cooking, no doubt, has made him thicker than me.

  “Daddy!” Isabelle says, giggling. “I went to Sisters with Rose.”

  Bruce looks at me. “And Nash?”

  “No.” She waves her hand around. “He was just there.” She turns to me. “Thanks for the ride home, Nash.”

  “Oh, boy.” Her dad rolls his eyes as his daughter passes him. “You’re gonna be fun tomorrow.”

  “I will be, Dad. I’m always fun.” She yawns as she pulls open the front door. “Night, boys.”

  “Goodnight, Isabelle,” I say, turning back toward my pickup.

  “What’s going on with you two, Nash?”

  I shouldn’t have walked her to the door, but my dad would have been disappointed in me if I hadn’t. He raised me to be a gentleman, for the most part. However, propositioning her in my living room wasn’t very gentlemanly. Turning back, I take several steps closer to Bruce. I look at him for a minute or two, attempting to choose my words wisely.

  “Nothing is going on, Bruce.”

  “Uh-huh.” His arms are still crossed.

  “She’s a family friend. I was just looking out for her tonight. When I saw her there, I drank water instead of beer so I could drive her home. I kept an eye on her beer intake to make sure she didn’t drink too much.”

  Bruce nods and makes a humming sound. “Interesting. You do that with all the single ladies in town?”

  “What?”

  “Is it your job to be the protector of all the single ladies?”

  “No, Bruce.” I step up onto the porch. He’s sort of pissing me off. “I’ve known her my whole life.” I’m about to say she’s like a sister to me, but he’ll see through that. “Isaac….”

  Bruce releases a gust of air. “I get it.”

  “Okay. Good.” I turn and step down one, then two steps to the sidewalk that leads to my truck.

  “For the record, Nash….”

  I turn back. “Yeah?”

  “She’s a catch.”

  I can’t think of a thing to say to rebut that comment. “She is.” Bruce is right. She is a catch. I’m just not ready to fish right now.

  “You’re a good man, son. You always made your dad proud, Nash. That hasn’t changed.”

  Shit. He went there.

  “So, you and my daughter?” He runs his fingers through his short hair. “I’m just sayin’, I’d be proud to have you as my son-in-law.”

  Holy fuck. “Bruce. It’s not—”

  Holding up a hand to stop me, Bruce chuckles. “Too late. It’s already out there. You have my blessing.”

  I shake my head. “Well, thanks. I appreciate that, but it’s not like that.” It’s exactly like that, but I’ve got to stick to my guns. I’m not the right guy for Isabelle Harmon. She deserves better than me.

  14

  Isabelle

  “Ugh.” I moan as I roll over onto my stomach in bed. The movement angers my old bed as it squeaks like I’m killing it. Covering my head with a cool pillow, I grumble. What was I thinking last night? “I’m never drinking again.”

  “That’s what they all say.” My dad’s deep voice sounds like it’s coming from inside my bedroom.

  I peek out from beneath my pillow and discover I was right. He’s leaning on my doorframe. “Dad,” I groan. “What time is it?”

  “You’re burning daylight. Time to get up and get your day started.”

  I swear, it can’t even be seven yet.

  “Mom made pancakes, and there’s a fresh pot of coffee.”

  “Coffee?” I say into the pillow. “Fine. Give me five.”

  “I’ll get your favorite cup ready.”

  My favorite cup is white with hand-painted kittens all over it. Inside, at the bottom of the cup, is a ball of yarn. I’ve had it since I was ten or eleven. I can’t explain why, but coffee just tastes better in that cup.

  After my door shuts, I lie still for another minute or two, then push the blankets off and sit up, wincing at my headache. “Never drinking again,” I mumble softly. When I’ve got my bearings, I push to stand, reaching out toward my door in case I get woozy. When I’m sure I’m okay, I open the door and walk to the top of the stairs and down, holding on to the railing as I go.

  I hear voices as I approach the kitchen—the voices are usually just Mom and Dad talking over breakfast, but today it’s different. Pushing open the kitchen door, I step into the room and nearly trip on my own feet because it isn’t Mom and Dad. Nash is here. Why? Why is he sitting at my parents’ kitchen table looking perfectly… well, perfect. I can’t think about that. I’ve got to act casual. I do my best to sound aloof and not at all surprised he’s here. “Oh, hey, Nash. What’re you doing here?”

  “Came to take you to get your car.”

  My car? I have to think back to last night. Things are a bit blurry. Now that he mentions it, I do remember leaving my car at Sisters. I look at Nash for just a second, then down at the counter. He drove me home. God, I’m a silly person when I drink. I know this. There’s video evidence on my college roommate’s phone. She likes to play it for me whenever we get together. Ugh.

  “Sure. Great.” But first, coffee. Nothing is happening until coffee. “Where’s Mom?” I ask as I pick up the kitten cup my dad prepared for me. I sip and release a moaning sound that can’t be helped. When I look at Nash, he’s staring. Actually, he looks irritated, which could be caused by a number of things. One, he’s in my parents’ kitchen. Two, he’s got other things to do, but he’s doing this favor for me. Three, he’s in a bad mood, or four, all of the above, which makes him annoyed with me. I choose door number four. With a sigh, I take my cup and walk back around the counter.

  “Mom went into town for groceries.” I love it when my parents refer to each other as “Mom” and “Dad.” It makes me laugh.

  “Okay.” I take another sip, heading toward the kitchen door. Looking over at Nash, I say, “Give me a minute to change. Then we can go.”

  “Sure,” he says in a grumbly voice.

  Yep, he’s irritated.

  At the top of the stairs, I head to the bathroom first. I pee, wipe, and flush; then I step in front of the
mirror to wash my hands and nearly scream from the sight. I’ve got mascara circling my eyes. Picture a raccoon. The lipstick, at least what remained, has found its way onto my left cheek. And my hair? Let’s just say I wish it were a rat’s nest. This is something out of a horror film. And then it hits me. He saw me like this. I walked downstairs and into my kitchen looking like I’ve been hit by a tornado. Then, there’s my nightgown. Yes, that’s what I said. My flannel nightgown. Thick flannel covered in tiny pink flowers. He saw me like this and didn’t say a word. Neither did my dad. We’ll have to have a word about that. He knew Nash was here and didn’t warn me. “Thanks a lot, Dad.”

  Bending, I pull a washcloth from beneath the sink, wet it, and begin to scrub. It takes me longer than usual to get ready because it takes double the time to untangle my hair. I give up and roll the whole thing up into a big bun on top of my head. Next, I slip the nightgown off and quickly dress in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. It’s still quite warm for October here in Iowa, but it’s chilly this time of morning.

  At the kitchen door, I hear the men talking but can’t make out their conversation. As I push through, Nash looks up at me and smiles just as my dad says, “Well, that’s better. You were lookin’ a little rough earlier.”

  Nash chuckles, and I choose to ignore it. “Yeah, well, I’m a real girl, and real girls aren’t always pretty in the morning.” Or ever.

  “I never said you weren’t pretty, honey.” My dad is so dang sweet.

  “Thanks, Dad.” I turn to Nash. “Ready?”

  “Yep.” He reaches his hand out to shake my father’s. “Thanks for the coffee, Bruce.”

  “Anytime, Nash.”

  I move out, looking around for my purse. “I need my purse. Then we can go.”

  “It’s in my truck.”

  I look up into his eyes. “My purse? I left my purse in your truck?”

  He nods. “You did. I didn’t see it until I got home last night.” Holding his hand out, I stare down at my phone.

  “Why do you have my phone?” I don’t use a passcode on that thing, so any text message on there are open season to anyone who has my phone. I feel my face heat to a million degrees. What if Rose messaged me in the night? No doubt it’d be all about Nash. Crap on a cracker. I suddenly feel like this is a bad idea. “You don’t have to take me. I’m inconveniencing you. Let me just grab my purse, and I’ll get Dad to take me.”

  “No. I’m here now. Let’s just go get your car.”

  “Fine.” I don’t know why he’s doing this. “Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?”

  “What?” He looks affronted. “I’m always nice to you.”

  Snort. I can’t help it. It just comes out. “Two days ago, you accused me of trying to infiltrate your house by cleaning it.”

  “Not my house. My bed,” he grumbles.

  Mumbling to myself, I say, “You’re the one that wanted to bed me.”

  He doesn’t reply, so I assume he didn’t hear me, which is good. At his truck, he opens the door, and I grab hold of the inside door handle to pull myself up. But then I feel hands on my waist and breath on my ear. “I still do.”

  He heard me. A shiver runs up my entire body at his words. With bravery I didn’t know I have, I turn my head until our lips are millimeters apart. “But only once, right?”

  There’s silence between us. He’s looking at my mouth. Then those intense olive-green eyes of his meet mine. “Sure,” he says softly, “once.”

  Pulling myself up the rest of the way, I slide into the passenger seat and reach for the door. Looking down at the most handsome man that ever lived, I say, “Asked and answered. I don’t do one-night stands.” Pulling the door toward me, I add, “Not even with you, Nash.”

  15

  Nash

  If you’d told me a week or two ago that Isabelle Harmon was a strong, independent woman, I’d have laughed in your face. The Isabelle I thought I knew was demure and quiet. I couldn’t have been more wrong, and I’m not sure what to do with that new knowledge, especially since this new Isabelle is turning me on. Her confidence is sexy as fuck, and the fact that she’s not taking any of my usual bullshit, well, let’s just say, it’s refreshing.

  The ride back to town is quiet. I suspect Isabelle is still pretty tired from the night before. I don’t think she’s used to getting drunk at the town bar, and that’s a good thing. Also, she’s been texting someone on her phone for the last five minutes. “Um, Nash?” she asks softly. There’s uncertainty in her voice.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do I have a date with Max tonight?”

  “The fuck?” I say too loudly. “No.”

  “Are you sure?” She’s still clutching her phone.

  “Is Max texting you?”

  Isabelle shakes her head. “Rose. She said he asked me out.”

  I release a breath of air out of my lungs as I think of the right way to answer this. “He did ask you out, but you shot him down.”

  “I did?”

  I look over at her, and my heart sort of hurts. “Why? Do you want to go out with him?”

  “No.” She looks to her right, out the window. “Probably not.”

  God, I’m an asshole. Why shouldn’t she go out with Max? I’m certainly not available to her emotionally. She deserves better. So, I say, “You should go.”

  Her head whips around, her eyes round. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. But….”

  “But what?”

  “He’s not looking for a wife.”

  Rolling her eyes, she turns and looks out her window again. “I’m not looking for a husband. I’d just like to date someone for once.”

  For once? What does that mean? I know she didn’t date in high school, but she must have had guys crawling out of the woodwork to date her in college. No, I shouldn’t stand in her way if Max is what she wants. “I’ll give you his number.”

  “Oh.” She shakes her head. “I won’t call him first.”

  “This is the new millennia, doll.” I chuckle. “It’s okay for the woman to ask the guy out.”

  The look on her face is fierce. I want to laugh, but I’d better not. “I’m not calling him first, Nash.”

  “Do you want me to call him?”

  Crossing her arms in front of her, she huffs, “No, Nash. If it’s meant to be, it will be.”

  If it’s meant to be, it’ll be? I’m not sure how far that sentiment is going to get Isabelle, but I’m not about to push the subject of Max and Isabelle any further. I said what I thought I should say, and now I’m going to leave it be. I’m right, though, Max isn’t for Isabelle, but neither am I.

  After I drop Isabelle at her car, I wait for her to start the engine and pull out onto the street. Then I follow her all the way back. Okay, before you all think that’s overdoing it, remember our farms are down the road from one another. Sure, when she turned right, ordinarily, I’d turn left, but I followed her until she pulled in her driveway, and I kept going, turning around when I could. Now, don’t ask me why I needed to do that; I’ve no idea. And the fact that I had to run back into town to pick Andi up from my mom’s is a moot point. I did what I needed to do.

  Now that Andi and I are back at the house, I take a minute to look around the place. Walking through the living room, dining room, and kitchen, I see that Isabelle’s right. It’s dusty. There’s a ton of laundry, dirty and clean, in baskets on the living room floor. I never had the inclination to put the stuff away when I knew we’d just get it out again. But, looking at it with fresh eyes, I can see how bad it looks.

  Upstairs, I peek into Andi’s room. Same thing. It’s tidy but dusty. My room isn’t as tidy, and just as much of the farm dust is on my furniture. Back downstairs, I poke my head into the bathroom and wince. Looking at it through this new lens, I can see it is kind of gross. “Huh,” I mutter to myself.

  “What’s wrong, Daddy?” Andi asks from the kitchen counter where she’s coloring.

  “Just noticing the hous
e needs a good cleaning.”

  “Uh-huh.” She sets her crayon down and hops down from the stool. “Here.” She’s holding a business card up for me to see. “Honeywell Happy House Cleaners. Owner Janine Baker.” I take the card from her sweet little fingers, pull my phone out of my back pocket, and make the call.

  It takes only five minutes to book Janine for one appointment. She suggests we talk about doing it on a regular basis after she gets a look at the place and sees what needs to be done. I think that’s a good plan. Hanging up the phone, I turn to Andi. “She’ll be here tomorrow.”

  “Good.” She nods, saying nothing else.

  “Yep. Good.” I run my hand over the top of her hair. “You need a shower, girl.”

  “I know.” She raises her head and looks me in the eye. A sweet little smile slides across her face. I know that smile. She’s trying to get by with something. “How ’bout I just wait till tonight?”

  I got up extra early and took care of the chores I needed to get done this morning so I had time to take Isabelle to her car and for this. “How ’bout now? I thought we could go do something fun for a change, but I’m not taking you unless you get cleaned up.” Without a word, she puts her crayons away, jumps off the stool, and heads into the bathroom. I didn’t even tell her what we were going to do. I guess she’s just glad to get out of here. Me too.

  16

  Isabelle

  As I’m about to put my homemade loaves of bread into Mom’s oven, my phone chimes. I peek down and see Nash’s name appear. “What the…?” Ignoring the text for now, I slide the bread into the oven, then pick up my phone.

  Nash: Hey, taking Andi to see the movie Frozen 2 in Emmetsville. Want to go with us?