by Lucy Score
Keep things simple, uncomplicated. Just the way he liked them.
Bolstered by that thought, he went back to work whistling.
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He was still sweating and swearing over the sprayer when Phoebe bopped back into the barn with an empty spray tank.
She tossed out a snappy salute. “Private Allen reporting for duty.”
He turned her way, and her eyes widened as they zeroed in on his shirt.
“What the hell did you do to yourself?” she demanded, rushing over with the tank bouncing wildly on her back.
She was pawing at his shirt trying to pull it up. Her frantic touch was doing nothing to cool his overheated blood that was once again plunging south. He slapped her hands away and pushed her back a step. Manhandling him was not helping him convince his body that it was best to leave her the hell alone.
“I’m fine.” He held up his hand with the sloppy bandage on his knuckles.
“Geez, I thought you punctured something and were oozing liver blood,” Phoebe sighed out in relief.
He wasn’t quite ready to forgive her for occupying so many of his thoughts this morning and responded with a noncommittal grunt.
“Did you get the old girl working?” Phoebe asked, patting the sprayer.
“Looks that way. You finish the wheat?” He wiped his hands clean on a fresh rag and helped her out of the tank’s harness, careful not to let his hands linger.
“Boundaries have been officially eradicated of weeds,” she reported. “By the way, what is in that spray? It smells like flowers and garbage.”
“It’s a special Blue Moon blend weed killer. We try to keep the chemical use low for both cost and potential environmental impact. It works. Not as well as some of the commercial weed killers. But enough that we can justify continuing to use it.”
“Good answer,” she said, rewarding him with a wink. “Does any farm in Blue Moon use commercial weed killer?” Phoebe asked, slipping into interrogation mode.
John pulled up the hem of his t-shirt and used it to mop his forehead. “We Blue Moon farmers are a little skeptical of the miracles of modern chemistry,” he admitted. “It just seems like meddling with Mother Nature isn’t the best idea.”
Phoebe frowned like she was committing his words to memory. “Interesting. What about technology? For instance, you’ve got a small, ancient sprayer here. If you were to upgrade to the twenty-foot boom sprayer you’d cut down on your labor hours for production.”
“Chicken. Egg,” John said. “New equipment requires income. In order for a farmer to have an income, he—or she—” he said, eyeing her up. “Must have a product to sell.”
“Mmm, I get it. So, you chose to use available, albeit elderly, equipment rather than going into debt to acquire newer equipment. Valuing your money over your time, essentially.”
“Yeah. Can we talk about this later?” John grumbled.
“Sure,” Phoebe chirped. “What’s next?”
“Next I have to split myself in two so can I spray the corn fields today and haul the rest of the grain to the elevator in Cleary.”
“The curse of never enough time,” she said with sympathy. “You can’t hire more hands until you’ve made some money, and you can’t make any money without a harvest.”
“Bingo.”
“I’ll spray,” Phoebe volunteered.
“Phoebe, you want me to turn you loose on my fields in a piece of equipment that’s nearly as old as you are?” His tone made it clear that he couldn’t think of a worse idea.
“Why don’t you show me how it’s done and let me take a test pass or two on the field. Ride along, and if you’re satisfied I’m not going to mow over your entire crop, you haul the grain.”
“And if I’m not satisfied?”
“Oh, you will be, John,” she predicted with a wicked grin.
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“You’ve done this before,” he shouted his accusation in her ear over the drone of the tractor’s engine as they bumped through the field. She was on her third pass, expertly cutting the turns and maintaining a straight line through the furrows. He was wedged in behind her, leaning against the wheel well, his leg hooked over the seat behind her.
He was trying hard not to notice that her head was at crotch height and if she turned—and he sucked at not noticing.
“Didn’t I mention that I did this on my grandfather’s farm for four or five years before they sold it?” she yelled back, grinning.
“No, you did not mention that, smartass.”
“I think you can go deliver your grain. I’ve got this,” she said, cutting the engine as they emerged from the field. “Might want to change your shirt first though. You look like you got stabbed.”
He stared down at her and then back at his beloved corn. “Don’t stray from the furrows. Keep an eye on the spray. If you notice anything wonky, it’s probably a pinched hose. Unkink it and give it a few whacks. Don’t swerve, don’t get stuck, don’t—”
“I got it. You can trust me. I promise not to destroy your crop, okay?”
Reluctantly, he slid out from behind her and stepped down off the ancient tractor. He didn’t want to have to trust her. He didn’t want to depend on Phoebe to help him get his work done. Didn’t want to depend on anyone really. This was his livelihood. To her it was just a summer assignment.
“I can just run the grain tomorrow and take care of the fields today. Or maybe I can run it today, and if there’s time left this afternoon, I can start the fields—”
“Relax, John. It’s going to be fine.” And before he could look for another out, another reason not to trust her with this task, she started the tractor and turned into the field.
He watched for another minute trying to calculate her speed so he could flag her down if she was going too fast or too slow. The groundspeed had to be just right or the nozzles needed to be recalibrated. He watched in vain hoping for a mistake that would require correction and further supervision, but she made none.
On an oath, he turned his back on his precious fields and stalked toward the barn praying that he’d return to an intact crop.
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Phoebe grinned over her victory when she saw John’s figure recede from the tractor’s rear-view mirror.
Was there anything more satisfying than surprising someone who doubted you? She couldn’t think of one.
She’d thought John would have put up a tougher fight, but she’d played the right cards. His time was valuable and limited. By taking a low-skill labor task away from him, he could focus his time on more important things. And, if she didn’t royally fuck it up, she’d win some points from John.
She cared what he thought of her. He was good at what he did, smart, and dedicated. Those traits pushed the right buttons with her. So, he wasn’t funny, and he knew absolutely nothing about what was popular on TV or the radio these days. She could overlook that.
What had pushed her past interested and into intrigued was watching John in action, poetically explaining the plight of Blue Moon’s farmers. It had been a delicious peek into what went on beneath his superior surface. They were still testing each other out, she thought, making another swinging turn with the tractor. But so far, she liked what she saw in him. A lot.
And she had to admit that his confession of attraction hadn’t been far from her mind since she’d heard it. She’d only taken it out to admire or mull over every hour or so. She’d certainly felt it when their hands brushed and in the way he looked at her when Michael had flirted harmlessly with her. Phoebe liked the zing that shot up her spine when John looked at her with those gray eyes that were anything but cool.
She liked sex but was choosy about her partners. And there was something about John that made her want to shuck her jeans and throw her naked self at him. A clear green light was essential in a healthy sexual relationship, and she had a feeling John wouldn’t act on his baser instincts without one.
; The thought of it gave her goosebumps now under the early summer sun.
John Pierce was a challenge on every level. He hadn’t wanted her here in the first place, and now she could only assume that he’d spend the rest of their time together avoiding his confessed attraction for whatever reasons he conjured in his mind. But there was something John didn’t know about her. Phoebe lived for a good challenge. There was nothing more satisfying than sitting down at the end of the day with dragons slayed, mountains climbed, and detours conquered.
And right now, she was eyeing him up as a very enjoyable conquest.
She peeked over her shoulder again and noticed the two nozzles on the far left had shut off their spray.
Yep. Nothing like a good challenge to get the blood moving.
Chapter Eleven
Phoebe rolled her shoulders back to ease the soreness and lifted her face to the breeze. The screen door opened behind her, and a beer floated in front of her face. She grinned up at John the Beer Fairy.
“Thanks,” she said, accepting the bottle and giving him her brightest smile. He gave her a long hard look and backed up a pace.
She’d heard the truck in the driveway while popping the roast in the oven and had watched from the window as John walked up the path behind the barn to see if she was still working.
“You, uh, get the fields done?” he asked casually.
Phoebe hid her smile. “Yep.”
“I didn’t see the sprayer out,” he ventured.
He was cute when he was nervous. “I parked it back in the barn. Had to do a little rigging with the hoses.”
John was off the porch like a horse out of the gate, and Phoebe tagged along behind him as he headed for the barn. She could read him like the Sunday comics, knowing he was mulling over the thousand ways he assumed she’d ruined his life.
She gave him a minute alone in the barn before ambling in and plopping down on a three-legged stool inside the door.
He turned to look at her and then went back to studying her work on the sprayer.
The second time he turned around to stare at her, she took pity on him. Phoebe slid off the stool and crossed to him. She pointed out the hose configuration on each end of the tank. “The hoses kink between the boom and the tank on the turns. It’s a design flaw. So, with a little creative engineering and sturdy tape, I repositioned them.”
He looked baffled and just a little impressed, which had Phoebe’s toes curling with pleasure inside her boots.
“Not bad,” he said, finally.
The minimal praise felt satisfying. Better than any A on any paper, Phoebe thought, her smile smug. She strutted back to the doorway and leaned against the frame.
“Oh, and I started a grocery list for the party Sunday, dinner’s in the oven—pot roast—and Murdock ran through what looks like an entire field of burrs, but I picked them off him and gave him a bath.” Now she was just bragging, but damn it felt good to prove herself useful. “Everything go okay with the grain?”
John nodded and reluctantly gave up studying her engineering marvel. He joined her, leaning against the opposite side of the opening, thumbs looped in his pockets. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She fluttered her lashes at him. “There, that wasn’t so terrible, was it?”
He nudged her foot with his. It was a playful gesture, but it still fanned sparks inside her.
“Listen,” he began.
“Uh-oh.”
“Let me say my piece,” he insisted.
Phoebe gestured grandly. “You have the podium, sir.”
“I think the reason we’ve had trouble talking is I don’t know you very well,” John started. He pointed a finger in her face when she opened her mouth. “Shut it. I’m well-aware of whose fault that is. But I think if I get to know you, I’ll feel more comfortable talking about what I’m doing here.”
She waited until she was sure he was done. “Sounds fair. It’s like dating.”
He blanched. She grinned.
“It’s definitely not like dating,” he insisted.
Phoebe rolled her eyes. “It’s exactly like dating. We need to get to know each other in order to establish a relationship. That’s basically what we need to do here.”
“Minus the actual dating?” His tone was hopeful, and Phoebe scented the challenge.
“That seems like an early assumption,” she shrugged. “As you so astutely pointed out, we don’t know each other. I don’t think we should jump to any conclusions about dating or not dating until we’ve gotten to know each other better.”
“Are you saying you would consider dating me?” he asked. He looked nervous, now, his tan face losing its color, and the adorable twitch appeared at the corner of his eye.
“Well, I don’t know.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “We already know that this… arrangement is only temporary. And based on your old-fashioned tendencies, I would guess that you aren’t open to something like that.”
“You think I’m old-fashioned?” John demanded.
“It’s a first impression,” she said, waving away his bubbling temper. “My dad’s the same way. You both open doors, you carry things, you don’t think I can pull my own weight—”
“Let’s get that one cleared up right now,” John said briskly. “Me questioning your ability to help out here has nothing to do with your gender. Many of the men I know wouldn’t be helpful out here. It’s not necessarily a physical ability. This is hard, back-breaking work with the constant looming possibility that Mother Nature could turn on you and ruin your year. Day in and day out, you have to be strong enough to face that and still keep going, still find an appreciation and a respect for it. And if the physical work isn’t enough to be its own reward to someone, then they’re not going to last a summer out here let alone a lifetime.”
Phoebe picked at the label on her beer and nodded. It was the longest speech he’d ever given her. “I totally get that. Is that what attracted you to farming?”
He shook his head. “Hang on. Before we dig into me, let’s talk about you. Tell me about your family.”
Phoebe blinked. “My family?” Okay, she hadn’t been prepared to shift gears that quickly.
John nodded. “You mentioned your dad.”
“Well...” How could she sum up her family and what they meant to her? “My parents are wonderful people. They married right out of high school and are still best friends. My dad is overprotective to the point that he had to be talked out of all-girls private schools for me and my sister. Rose is a year younger than me. She graduated college last year.”
“If your dad’s so overprotective, why did he agree to let you spend the summer on my farm? Alone.”
Oh, boy. Phoebe cleared her throat. For an innocent little lie, it sure came up a lot. “Education is important to my parents. My sister and I were the first Allens to finish college,” she said with pride. “My parents know they can trust me.”
“And they can trust me to keep our relationship purely professional,” John said with a little too much enthusiasm for Phoebe’s liking. “What do your parents do?”
Phoebe hesitated. “My mom is a housewife and volunteered for about a hundred organizations. She just started working outside the home part-time this year. My dad was a lineman for the power company.”
“Did he retire?”
She took a deep breath and wrinkled her nose. “I’m not exactly sure how well you want to get to know me,” she confessed. “Some of this is a little messy.”
John was quiet for a moment. “I’d like to know if you’re okay telling me.”
She nodded and took a fortifying sip of beer. “Dad had an accident a few months back. He was working on a line, and the lift—in the bucket truck—failed. He fell from twenty feet, and it was touch-and-go for a bit. Really scared us.” Her voice quivered.
She cleared her throat. “Sorry,” she said. “Still scary
to think about it. Mind if we walk and talk? I do better if I’m moving.”
John nodded and pushed away from the door.
“He had to have emergency surgery. His leg was badly broken. He’s doing a lot better now. He’s home and in physical therapy. But the medical bills are astronomical, and he lost his job. The company said he was going to be laid off anyway, but it would be a long, expensive legal battle to prove that they were just trying to wiggle out of financial responsibility.”
She kicked at a rock, sending it skittering up the path in front of them.
John remained quiet, but he took her hand and squeezed. He didn’t let go. Just walked by her side, his hand covering hers.
“Are you sure you want to hear all this?”
“I am.”
Phoebe sighed. “Anyway, that’s why my mom started working again, and my sister took a second job. Every spare cent Rose makes goes back to them. Things are tight. Really tight. But as soon as I get this degree and a job, I’m paying off whatever I can for them. They’re a month behind on their mortgage already, and I’ve loved school, but I need to start giving back. They’ve done so much for me.”
She fought back the tears that made her throat burn. John released her hand and just when she thought she’d gone too far with the confession, he slid his arm around her shoulders and tugged her into his side. Her body sang. The casual touch set off a flood of heat in her system, and she glanced up at him to see if he noticed that she was now on fire.
But he kept his gaze locked on the horizon as they walked. “You miss them?” he asked.
She nodded and cleared her throat to loosen the lump. “Yeah. They’re pretty much the best people I know, and I feel like I’m costing them more by finishing school instead of dropping out and helping them. I guess that’s why I’m coming on so strong. It’s not just me and my ambitions. I’m ready to repay them, and I’ll be able to do that with this degree and the jobs that open up for me.”