by Ali Parker
When I opened my eyes again, I found her staring at me. I stared back at her from my perch on the porch. She didn’t look like any of the farmhands my grandfather had working on the farm when I lived at home. That was probably a very good thing. A hormonal teenage boy would not have been able to resist staring at the beautiful woman.
I took in the jeans that were snug against her legs and hips but not tight. The jeans were faded, with dirt smudges on the thighs. She was wearing a T-shirt that hit right at her narrow waistline. My eyes drank in every inch of her trim physique. I guessed her to be around five-six and in her twenties. I wondered what color her eyes were and whether her blonde hair was natural or the work of a skilled hairstylist. I quickly dismissed the idea that it was a chemical blonde. She had that natural look about her.
I walked toward her. She didn’t look all that friendly the closer I got. In fact, I felt like I was approaching a wild animal. I wasn’t sure if I should stick my hand out and let her sniff it or grab the rifle from the front closet and attempt to scare her off.
“Hello,” I said in what I thought was a very congenial voice. “I’m Damion Whittle.”
She stared at me. “Whittle?”
I smiled, nodding my head. “Yes, Oliver’s grandson.”
“Oliver had a grandson?”
It surprised me she didn’t know. “Yes. You are?”
“I’m Alex Hammel.”
“You’re Alex?” I asked with surprise.
“Yes, I am,” she answered tersely. “Why are you here—now?” She added the last word with an accusing look on her face.
“He left the farm to me. It’s mine now.”
Her eyes, which I now knew to be a deep, sea green, narrowed at me. “You own this place?”
“Yes.”
She scoffed. “Bullshit.”
I flinched at the tone, not the word. “Not bullshit. He left me the farm.”
Her eyes drifted behind me, looking at my car, and then slowly roamed over me. “Have you ever worked on a farm a day in your life? What are you going to do with a farm?”
I grinned. “I was raised on this exact farm. I know how to work on a farm.”
She scoffed. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Are you from New York?”
“Yes. I’ve lived in New York for a while.”
She nodded as if she had made her point. “And you decided to show up, almost a month after your grandfather died, to work his farm.”
“I wasn’t aware it was my farm until recently,” I corrected.
She shook her head, disgust evident on her face. “He wanted me to make sure his farm stayed functional and in the black. I don’t see that happening with a city boy trying to run the show.”
I raised an eyebrow. My initial reaction was to be offended and go on the defensive. Then I realized she was being loyal to my grandfather. I could appreciate that. “I’ve spent more time here on this farm than I have in the city. I’m a little out of practice, but I do remember the basics. I’d appreciate any help you could offer.”
She looked me up and down, scrutinizing every inch of my tall frame. “What is it you do in New York?”
“I’m an editor.”
She laughed. “Do you know how to drive a tractor?”
I smiled, slowly nodding. “Yes, I was doing that when I was twelve.” I was confident I would pass her little test.
“Do you know when planting season is?”
“For what crop?” I shot back, not about to back down. It was a trick question. I wasn’t that far out of touch with my roots.
She nodded. “When’s the last time you rode a horse?”
She had me there. “It’s been a while,” I answered.
“Cleaned stalls, dealt with a lame horse, hauled water?” she asked the rapid-fire questions.
I shrugged. “I’m not saying I’m as good as you or as experienced as my grandpa was. I’m saying I can learn. I’m going to need a refresher course. I’ll make a few mistakes, but I’ll figure it out. I’m a quick learner.”
She looked like she’d been sucking on sour lemons. “And I suppose I’m supposed to fix your mistakes? Am I supposed to train you as well?”
I smiled, not letting her surly tone bother me. “I would appreciate that.”
She growled, shaking her head and mumbling something about Oliver owing her. “Barn. Now.”
I winced, hating to piss the woman off any more than she already was. “I can’t.”
“You can’t?” she asked, one light brow raising and a hand going to her hip. “What do you mean you can’t? You can’t, or you won’t?”
“I need to get back inside.”
She looked up at the sky, the sun shining bright, and then back at me. “The sun won’t hurt you. Slap on some sunscreen and you’ll be fine.”
“Later,” I said, not appreciating her condescending tone. I had tried to be nice, but she was being rude. “I’ve got a lot to take care of inside the house so I have somewhere to sleep tonight.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why are you even here? You and I both know this isn’t the life for you. You aren’t the kind of guy that likes to get his hands dirty. An editor that sits in an office and probably has an assistant that waits on him hand and foot isn’t going to make it out here. Maybe you were raised on the farm, but that doesn’t mean you can keep up with the lifestyle now. You’ve gotten soft.”
I leaned forward, casting my tall shadow over her. “You don’t know me. You don’t know shit about me. I just got into town an hour ago after driving across the country for three goddamn days. I’ll take care of the farm tomorrow. If you’ve got a problem with that, too fucking bad. You need to remember who’s in charge.”
She stepped closer to me instead of shirking away. Lesser men had backed down from me. “I do have a problem with that. This farm has been sitting here for weeks. I guess you just assumed someone else would take care of it. You are not the boss. You’re the spoiled brat that inherited something you don’t deserve. Oliver was the boss. He’s paying me—you aren’t.”
“Actually, yes, I did assume someone would take care of it. I was told someone was here. That someone was being paid to be here and paid to do what needed doing. Are you not being paid to be here? Quite well, I might add.”
Her eyes turned a darker shade of green. I was suddenly reminded of a dragon ready to shoot flames from its nostrils. “You won’t make it here. You won’t make it a month. You should just hop back in that little car of yours and head back to New York.”
I smiled and shrugged a shoulder. “I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we? I’ll tell you this much. I’m not going anywhere.”
She gave me one last dirty look before spinning on her heel and walking away. I grinned, appreciating the exit. She had a fine ass. The jeans she wore lovingly cupped the curves. She turned around and caught me staring at her. I didn’t look away. I was pretty sure I heard her hiss the word asshole before stomping back into the barn.
I chuckled and turned to go back into the house. I paused beside my grandfather’s truck, reaching out to touch the hood. It was still hard to believe he was gone. I pushed aside the melancholy and went to check on the status of the unpacking. I had made a quick decision after talking with Harvey. I put in my notice, packed the necessities, and made arrangements to have the rest of our things packed up and delivered to us.
It had been a long three days in the car with a five-year-old. He’d hung in there, only complaining a little bit about being stuck in the car for so long. I did a lot of early-morning and late-night driving. I hadn’t slept much in days and was probably a little cranky. I hadn’t meant to be short with the help, but damn, she was a little on the obnoxious side.
She acted like she was the one that owned the place and I was trespassing on her land. I would apologize to her for my foul language, although I was sure she was probably used to being around men and the cursing that tended to go along with that.
“How are you doing?” I asked Oliver.
/>
He was sitting on the floor, carefully sliding his precious books onto the shelf that still had a few of my childhood books sitting on it. “I’m good. Are my other books going to come soon?”
“Probably not for a couple of weeks. We’ll see if we can find some new books in town.”
“Okay.”
I watched him for a few minutes, looking around the room that had gone virtually untouched in ten years. My old things were cluttered on the dresser. A Boise State poster hung on the wall. I had thought I would go there and play football. It was something me and my buddies talked about, but we all knew it would never happen.
“All right, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be just down the hall.”
I assumed I would eventually take the master bedroom, but not right away. All of my grandfather’s things were still in there. I had the job of boxing things up, deciding what to keep and what to give away. It was going to be difficult and I wasn’t emotionally ready to dig into that after the grueling drive. For now, I was sleeping in the spare bedroom. I needed to put fresh sheets on the beds and clean up. Everything in the house had a thick layer of dust over it.
Walking inside had been a bit like walking into an abandoned home. It was clean, but the empty feeling had been overwhelming. His presence was gone. His things were scattered about, his favorite hat hanging on the hook by the door as if he’d just stepped out for a minute.
Little Miss Alex thought I was being lazy. I was being anything but lazy. I needed to go down to the market and get a few things to hold us over until I could get to the grocery store. There was a lot to do. A lot more than taking care of horses and bouncing around on a tractor. Alex was paid to do that.
Chapter 8
Alex
I felt giddy. The sun was barely sending up its shots of pretty oranges and yellows into the morning sky when I drove down the long gravel driveway. I was going to make it my mission in life to make Damion’s life a living hell.
I wanted him to hate the farm and pack up and leave. I didn’t like him. He was arrogant and obnoxious. He was the kind of man who thought he could snap his fingers and anyone and everyone would jump to do his bidding.
I couldn’t wait to show him I wasn’t one of those people. He could fire me if he wanted. That would free me from my obligation to Oliver. If his grandson ran me off the property, there was little I could do about it. Damion would sell the farm, take the money, and run back to New York. It would be sad to see it go to someone else, but I had to believe the person that bought the farm would keep it going.
Oliver had said he wanted the farm functional. He hadn’t specified he wanted it to be in his grandson’s hands when it functioned. Hell, he hadn’t mentioned his grandson at all, which seemed odd. My overactive imagination had wondered if the guy was really his grandson at all. Last night, I had done a little digging and found out that he was, in fact, Oliver’s grandson. There were old newspaper articles with Damion Whittle’s bright, perfectly straight smile proving he was who he said he was.
That only pissed me off more. Where had he been when Oliver was dying? Where had he been all this time? I knew the answer. He’d been in New York City—editing. I gripped the steering wheel, growing madder by the second. I parked my truck, slammed the door, and hoped it was enough to wake up the sleeping giant in the house.
I walked to the tractor and fired it up. There was a slight chill in the air. I zipped up the hoodie and flipped the hood over my head before putting the tractor in gear and heading directly for the house. I rode the tractor nice and slow as I drove by the windows, revving it up now and again for good measure. I couldn’t help but giggle to myself.
I hoped he was inside cursing and pulling a pillow over his head. I doubted he was used to the hours kept on a farm. I should have borrowed a couple of roosters for good measure. That would drive him away in a hurry. Once I was past the house, I focused on what I was actually supposed to be doing. I spent the next hour bouncing around on the tractor and fixed a fence that had been knocked down by god knew what before heading back to start the rest of the chores.
As I drove back by the house, I saw Damion standing on the front porch. He waved at me. I kept going, pretending like I didn’t see him. I had seen him all right. It was hard to miss the tall guy standing on the porch in a pair of jeans that fit just right and a black hooded sweatshirt. I noticed he was wearing work boots as well. It was going to take a lot more than a change in footwear to persuade me he could handle the farm.
I parked the tractor and hopped off. I couldn’t resist the temptation to turn around and see if he was still on the porch. I gasped when I saw a little boy standing next to Damion. There was no denying the family connection. It was like staring at a younger version of Oliver. They both had the same dark hair. I guessed the boy to be around four, maybe six. Then I realized he was probably tall for his age, taking after his daddy and grandpa.
When I had pulled my little stunt with the drive-by, I had no idea I was waking up a little boy. I immediately felt guilty. I rushed into the barn and took care of the feeding, making sure there was plenty of water in the troughs. Then I headed for my truck.
Both father and son were gone from the porch. I wondered how many more people were in the house. Was there a wife or maybe a baby mama lurking inside? More children? I hopped in my truck and very carefully backed up, checking behind me ten times to make sure a kid wasn’t there. I would have to be mindful of that in the future.
Assuming I still had a job. Not that I cared one way or another, but I would prefer not to get fired. I had a reputation to uphold. Getting fired because I couldn’t get along with the uppity new owner would not be good. It would make me seem like I was the one that was difficult to work with.
I drove straight to Sadie’s house. I knew I would be waking her up, but she’d get over it. I knocked on the door. She opened it the third time I knocked.
“What in the name of Baby Jesus are you doing? Do you know what time it is?” She stared at me, her hair a mess and the previous day’s eye makeup smudged under her eyes.
I grinned. “Good morning. Invite me in for coffee.”
“No,” she snapped and shut the door in my face.
I burst into laughter and opened the door, letting myself inside. She was wearing a pair of tiny pajama shorts and a little tank top, showing off her curvy body. Her pink fuzzy slippers were so very her. She slid her feet across the floor, going to the kitchen without saying a word.
“It’s good to get up early once in a while,” I told her.
“No, it isn’t. I’m not a damn rooster. I don’t crow when the sun comes up. I sleep like normal people.”
“It’s not that early,” I argued. “Roosters were up hours ago.”
“It’s seven, Alex. Seven. That’s early.”
“I need coffee,” I told her.
She turned around, glowering at me as she reached for a mug. “Do you know they sell coffee at the gas station and the diner, and hell, I know you have your own coffee maker.”
“I like your coffee,” I said with a grin.
“What happened? You did something. I know that look.”
“Me?” I asked innocently. “I did nothing.”
Five minutes later, we were sitting on her couch, both of us with a cup of coffee cradled in our hands. “I assume you’ve already been out to Oliver’s farm?”
I nodded. “Damion’s farm.”
“Who’s Damion?”
“Damion is Oliver’s grandson. He’s back.”
“Back from where?” she asked with confusion.
“New York City. That’s where he’s been living. He’s back because he inherited the farm. That’s who Oliver gave it to. That’s who Oliver was trying to tell me was coming to take over it.”
She rubbed her eyes. “It’s too early. I’m so confused.”
“Damion is going to take over the farm. At least, that’s what he thinks. He’s a city slicker with soft hands and doesn’t look like he’
s spent a day outside.”
“Oh. Then you’re off the hook.”
“No!” I protested. “I’m not going to let that guy walk in here and undo all that I’ve done. I worked hard to get that farm in good order. I have it operating in the black and things are running smoothly.”
“You’ve been running things,” she reminded me.
“Yes, I have, and I’ve been doing a damn good job. I don’t need this guy coming in here and ruining everything.”
She sighed. “But it’s his. You did your job. You fulfilled your promise to Oliver. Now, you can move on and not feel guilty.”
I groaned. “I can’t just leave it in that man’s hands. I have to think about the welfare of the horses.”
She gave me a look. “If he wants to sell the horses and the farm and anything else in that house, there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“He has a son,” I blurted out.
“And?”
I sipped the coffee. “And maybe I made a snap judgment about the man based on his license plate.”
She laughed. “Alex, you are all about snap judgments. You look at someone and you already know if you like them. And you have some pretty high standards. Few people ever pass your first impression with flying colors.”
I grimaced, knowing she was right. “I know, which is why I feel a little bad for the way I treated him yesterday. I wasn’t very nice.”
Sadie laughed. “I don’t bet you were. Feeling like a big plate of crow?”
“No,” I said in a snotty tone. “But maybe, just maybe I can show him the ropes and let him do what he will with the farm.”
“That’s mighty magnanimous of you, Alexandria Hammel. Will you really bless a mere mortal man with your farm knowledge?”
“I don’t mean to come off as a bitch, but I see guys like that, and it just pisses me off that they think they are inherently better than the blue-collar people that keep the food in the stores that the rich people buy from.”