by Lucy Score
The image of their father swan diving off the dock in his t-shirt and underwear loosened something in Carter’s chest.
“That was one of the best nights in my life.”
“Ranks right up there with the night I talked Moon Beam Parker into the backseat of Mom’s SUV.”
“Or the Christmas we all got paintball guns,” Jax remembered.
“Do you still have that scar?” Carter grinned.
“It’s my badge of honor,” he said, rubbing a hand absently over his temple. “I can’t believe Mom didn’t kill us. Christmas night in the ER.”
“Head wounds tend to bleed a lot. I told you not to move,” Beckett smirked.
“I didn’t move! Your aim just fucking sucks.”
“I still maintain that the sights were off. Besides, the fruitcake hit the ground. That’s all that matters.”
Carter put down his empty glass and stood up. Bracing himself against the porch railing, he yanked the t-shirt over his head and tossed it in Beckett’s face.
“Last one to the pond has to start the eggplant tomorrow.”
He vaulted over the railing and sprinted for the pond. Behind him, his brothers pounded down the porch steps after him.
When Phoebe let herself into Carter’s house the next morning, she discovered all three of her sons in various states of undress, sound asleep in the great room. Carter was on his stomach on the long L of the couch, a blanket pulled over his head and upper body.
Beckett was sleeping open-mouthed in the chair, his legs propped up on the ottoman.
Jax was snoring on the floor, his legs under the coffee table, an empty beer bottle clutched in his right hand.
As quietly as possible, she pulled a barstool over to stand on and opened the camera on her phone. If nothing else, this could be the family Christmas card, she thought, snapping the photo of her unconscious boys.
Her boys.
She loved them fiercely.
Their loyalty to each other was unshakable. Neither time, nor distance, or even disappointment, could dim it. And though her heart ached for Carter, she knew he would stand strong. She only hoped that Summer would find the strength to embrace the love that had been offered to her. Whatever her secret, family and a life full of love was the answer.
Phoebe tiptoed back to the kitchen and slid the hash brown casserole into the oven.
The scent of coffee drifted into the great room and teased Carter awake. His head pounded, and his heart hurt. But he was here. He glanced at his phone, not daring to hope, but still felt the pang when there were no new messages.
He shuffled out to the kitchen.
“Good morning,” he murmured to his mom, thankful when the words didn’t split his head in two.
She kissed him on the cheek and pushed a coffee mug at him. “Rough night?”
“Jax was the one who puked.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “A mother only has so much pride to go around.”
She pushed him toward a barstool and started pulling plates out of the cabinet. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I assume you don’t mean Jax vomiting scotch in a flowerbed?”
She raised her eyes heavenward. “I hope it wasn’t the zinnias. They’re so unforgiving.”
Carter got up and retrieved a container of coconut water from the fridge. “I told her I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.” He took a deep swig to wash down the tightness in his throat, remembering her face. “She wasn’t of the same mind.”
“Bullshit.”
“Do you kiss your sons with that mouth?” he teased.
“That girl loves you so much it was exploding out of her.”
“She got scared, Mom.”
“That’s what worries me. You have us,” she said waving her hand in the direction of his snoring brothers. “You have the farm, the animals, all of Blue Moon. Who does she have to walk her through scared?”
“Nikolai went back yesterday. I think he was planning to talk some sense into her.”
“He’s a good boy, but she won’t listen to him.”
Carter nodded. “No. She won’t,” he agreed. He took another hit of coconut water and chased it with a gulp of coffee.
“So what do we do?” Phoebe asked. It was the follow up question to “Where are you today?”
“We wait.”
“We hope?”
“We wait, and we hope,” Carter sighed.
29
Summer logged another marathon day in the office dealing with a thousand mini crises—none of which really mattered in the grand scheme of things, but at least they gave her something else to think about.
Something besides Blue Moon Bend and Carter Pierce.
She pushed back from her desk and moved to the window. It wasn’t the view from Pierce Acres kitchen, that’s for sure. As a sunset bloomed above, Manhattan bustled below. Traffic snarling and weaving. Nameless pedestrians hurrying from building to building.
She loved it. Didn’t she? The energy. The frantic pace. The sense of urgency that never ceased. It was where she chose to be.
Sure. There were no flop-eared pigs or bad-tempered goats here, but the city held its own appeal. A nightlife that never slept. A few million strangers, all with their own stories.
It was for the best, of course. This is where she belonged. It never would have worked with Carter. She did the right thing by ending it when she did.
Why was it that her heart wasn’t buying it?
“Missing those rolling pastures?”
Nikolai’s voice pulled her from her reverie. Her friend dropped into her unoccupied desk chair.
“Don’t, Niko.”
He held up his hands. “I’m not trying to rub it in.”
“You of all people think I made a mistake?”
“Stop putting words in my mouth. And what do you mean by me ‘of all people?’”
“You love this city as much, if not more, than I do. A never-ending parade of beautiful women. World-class artists, musicians, designers, all cohabitating on one tiny island. Food from every country available for delivery. And you think I miss Blue Moon.”
“Manhattan doesn’t have Carter.”
She glared at him. Somewhere along the line, Niko had fallen onto the Team Carter roster. “Why are you pushing this?”
Niko stretched his long legs out, touching the far wall of the cubicle and blocking her exit. “How long have we known each other?”
“Three, three-and-a-half years?”
“And in those three or three-and-a-half years, I have never seen you as happy as I did last month. Covered in dirt, harvesting vegetables, playing with farm animals. Looking at Carter. You love him. You love that family, that farm, that town. Yet here you stand.”
“You know why,” she spat out the words.
“No. I don’t.” Nikolai stood up, arms crossed. “You won’t let me in. You won’t let anyone in.” He was just below a low roar now.
Summer grabbed him and dragged him into an empty conference room where she shut the door. The glass walls wouldn’t hide the fact that they were arguing, but at least the ears of the office would be left guessing as to what about.
“I have cancer, Nikolai.”
“I know that, Summer. And the fucking word you’re looking for is had, not have.”
Her six-month tests had been clean. And though her doctors were cautiously optimistic, remission was a fickle thing. “It could come back at any time.”
“Or you could get hit by a bus crossing 33rd.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me. Tell me why you beating cancer means that you can’t be with Carter.”
“He wants a life and a family. I don’t even know if I can ever have kids. One of the side effects of treatment. And what if I do, and it comes back? What if I don’t get lucky next time?”
“So you make the choice for him? Goddamn it, Summer, you are a smart, capable woman, but that’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” Nikolai
waved his arms in exasperation.
He grabbed her shoulders. “What if it does come back? What are you going to do then? Hide it from everyone again? Try to do it all on your own? Until someone catches you in a weak moment when you’re so sick from your meds that you can barely stand up? What if it comes back, and this time it kills you?”
Summer winced at his words.
“Niko—”
“You want to do that alone? You could have Carter at your side, helping you, but you think it’s better to go it alone.”
Summer wrenched free. “He deserves better!” She was shouting now and didn’t care. “He deserves someone who is going to be there in fifty years and sit on that porch and watch the grandkids play.”
“No one gets that guarantee,” Nikolai said it quietly. “Not even people who don’t have cancer. People die every day. People lose loved ones every damn day. And you think by not being someone’s other half, you can protect them from that? Bullshit.”
“I’m scared, Niko.” The fight had gone out of her.
He wrapped his arms around her, and she could smell leather and cologne. “I know you are. I would be, too. You’re facing two of the scariest, shit-your-pants things in life: cancer and love.”
She snickered. “Oh my God, you really should be a writer.”
“Look, brat. I love you to pieces. I hate to think that you’re too scared to be happy.”
Summer sighed and flopped down in a chair. “I will think about your curse words of wisdom.”
“That’s all I ask.”
“Did you know your accent comes out more when you’re mad?”
“Just be glad I didn’t break out any Russian swear words. Your fragile American ears would never be the same.” He leaned against the table. “When are your tests?”
“The eighth.” It was the day the magazine’s September issue came out with her story on Carter and the farm, she thought.
“I get the results the next day.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Niko offered.
Summer shook her head.
He glared at her.
“I’m not being stubborn.” She was. “I just want to do this on my own.” For better or worse, she wanted to see this through. If she could get through this, that meant she could conquer anything. Including a senior editor position.
If that’s what she still wanted.
“Do you really believe it’s back?” Niko asked, crossing his arms.
“I want to say no,” she said, tracing a finger on the glossy tabletop. “I want to say I know that I kicked its ass. I feel good. Strong. But I just don’t know. I don’t want to get my hopes up and then have them crushed.”
“Hope doesn’t have to be a scary thing.”
“When did the Wolf get to be so warm and fuzzy?”
“I think they put something in the water upstate.”
“Yeah, I think so, too.”
Niko headed off to meet a smoky Italian at a jazz club, and Summer wrapped things up at her desk. Darkness had fallen, but the city still lived. And so did she. If her one-year tests were clean, then there was cause for some actual, tangible hope. Then she could start to entertain what a future could look like for her. And whether or not she could make room for Carter Pierce.
But until she had her test results, she wouldn’t drag him into it.
She was shutting down her laptop when a lean, young blonde called her name.
Shauna was Quincy’s personal assistant. She was holding a garment bag draped over her arm. “Quincy sent this up for you to wear tonight.” Her perfect beach waves would have made a mermaid jealous.
“Thanks, Shauna.” She had almost forgotten about the benefit tonight. Trust Quincy to remember for her. She took the bag from Shauna and hung it from the hook on the cubicle wall. She unzipped it a bit.
“It’s the fuchsia Elie Saab you liked from the shoot last week. Quincy stashed it away for you.”
It was beautiful and would look perfect with a carefully mussed chignon. But her pulse had yet to stir. When had she lost her lust of high fashion? Was this just a side effect of the sadness that plagued her?
“Thank you, Shauna. I don’t suppose—”
“Shoes are in the bag. He took pity on you and went with gold gladiators that wrap up to the knee so you won’t have to spend the entire evening sitting.”
“He thinks of everything.”
“So, how’s that gorgeous farmer of yours?” Shauna asked. Summer could hear it, that sharp edge. The need for a tasty morsel. Well, she’d just have to dine somewhere else.
Summer gritted her teeth and zipped the bag. “He’s looking forward to seeing the story this month,” she snapped. “I guess I’d better go get ready. Thanks for bringing this down.”
She brushed past the hungry assistant and made her way to the ladies room.
After the fashion show in June, the office had been abuzz about Carter. A few staffers had dropped some not-so-subtle hints about whether he and Summer were an item or he was just an evening’s eye candy.
She had yet to tell anyone what had happened in Blue Moon and why she had returned so suddenly.
But the hive still gossiped.
That night, she crawled into her apartment just shy of one in the morning. She hadn’t wanted to stay so long. But the music and the conversations were more of a comfort than the silence of her apartment, the emptiness of her bed.
She slipped out of the gown and pulled on a cozy robe. She’d just check her email one more time before bed.
A quick scan told her nothing had to be addressed before morning. Except for Niko’s email. Subject line: Farm art.
Summer told herself not to click on it, but her finger didn’t listen.
Finished editing. Thought you’d like to see some of the art for your story.
- N
He’d attached a link to an online gallery, and Summer was opening it before she could talk herself out of it. She could look at his pictures. She was a professional. It wasn’t too painful for her. Her memories of Carter and the farm and Blue Moon Bend were something to be treasured.
The first shot punched a hole in her heart. Carter was standing knee-deep in a field, his legs braced apart. His arms crossed. His uniform of well-worn jeans and t-shirt clung to all the right places. A warrior in the garden. Behind him, the farm rolled out until it met the blue-skied horizon.
It was perfect. Her editor’s mind immediately labeled it the lead art while her lover’s heart ached.
One thing was for sure. Once this story came out, Carter wouldn’t be lonely for long. Women would beat a path from Manhattan to the gate of Pierce Acres just to catch a glimpse of this perfection.
He would hate that, she thought with tight smile. He’d probably look at this picture and not see what every woman in the world would.
She sighed and clicked through the rest of the gallery. There were shots of the Pierce brothers together, looking rugged and gorgeous. One of Phoebe at the farmers market. The farmhouse. Clementine and Dixie. Even Joey in the middle of a riding class. The farm was in summer bloom with color and growth everywhere.
It looked like heaven. It looked like home.
She caught her breath. The very last picture would never make the story.
It was her with Carter in the orchard, arms wrapped around each other, dirt everywhere. She was looking up at him, laughing. He was grinning down at her. She was on her tiptoes in the beloved boots she had now buried in the back of her closet.
Summer had no idea Niko had been there to capture the moment. And what a moment it had been.
30
She almost didn’t look.
That glossy copy of Indulgence lurked front and center on her desk with the cover proudly proclaiming an inside feature on organic farming and the “new gentleman farmer.” She had proofed the drafts, hadn’t she? There was no reason to review the final piece.
Except that she was being childish.
And she wasn’t a ch
ild. She was a grown woman who would be faced with situations more complicated than looking at an article on an ex-lover.
She would read it after she answered some very important emails, she decided. Summer stowed her bag in a desk drawer and distracted herself by booting up her laptop. She returned a few emails and tweets and listened to her voicemails. She ripped off the bandage from her blood test and tossed it in the trash.
But still the issue lurked.
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Summer sighed and yanked the magazine off her desk.
She thumbed through it, past the winter coat guide and the four-page advertorial for a well-known designer’s upcoming holiday collection. And there he was. A two-page spread of Carter Pierce standing arms crossed, knee-deep in soybeans. Niko certainly made the most of what he had to work with.
Carter looked like an earth-bound god.
Summer was sure this picture would be hanging up in cubicles throughout the building, possibly even the city. She skimmed the lead and frowned.
In an otherwise sterile digital world, hot gentleman farmer Carter Pierce and his bachelor brothers teach us the benefits of getting dirty. Very dirty.
“What the hell is this?” She turned the page so quickly it tore. Gone was her insightful article on health, wellness, and community in Blue Moon. And in its place was a splashy, tawdry pictorial.
Her desk phone rang, and she ignored it, skimming the scant copy.
And the best part, ladies? They’re all single.
Her cellphone rang. “What?” she demanded.
“Who got their tabloid talons on this piece?” Nikolai growled in her ear. “What the hell is this trash?”
“This is the first time I’m seeing it. When I looked at the final proofs last week there was no mention of Carter’s ‘farm boy broad shoulders.’” She felt sick to her stomach. Her name was on the article. People were going to think she wrote this.
Carter was going to think she wrote this.
“Oh my God. This is obscene, Niko! It’s like soft porn.”
