by Amy Andrews
No sooner had they pulled up under a large willow tree than Ronnie was rushing out to greet him. Wade’s mother was deceptively agile. She may be in her sixties, but she was strong and fit and she hugged with her entire body.
“I can’t believe we’ve got him for three whole months, Cecilia,” she said as she squeezed CC extra tight. Ronnie always called her by her full name, and CC kinda liked it. Reminded her of her own mom. “Whatever you said to him, I owe you one.”
“I can’t claim responsibility for that, Ronnie. It was all Wade.”
“And here I thought you were the brains behind the operation,” she teased.
“Hey,” Wade protested in a voice that didn’t sound particularly offended as he pulled his mother in for a hug. “How’s Dad?”
Ronnie’s smile seemed a little strained as she shooed away his worries with a flick of her hand like they were annoying little gnats. “You know Cal. Wanting to do more than he can. Complaining about it, generally.”
“That sounds about right.”
“It’s taken a lot out of him though, you know? He won’t admit it, but he didn’t object to sitting down with the runts and giving them their bottles.”
CC’s ears pricked up. “You have piglets in there?”
Wade laughed. “There’s always a piglet in there.”
“Come on,” Ronnie said. “Let’s go introduce you.”
CC stepped inside eagerly. She’d always liked Wade’s parents, so it wasn’t any hardship to spend some time with them. Baby animals were a bonus. When she got her place at the beach, she was getting a dog.
The front door opened into a large living room area dominated by a massive stone fireplace and filled with plump, cozy couches. The entire house smelled like sugar and vanilla.
“Mmm.” Wade sniffed the air. “I smell chocolate chip cookies?” He smiled at his mother. “You baked me some, didn’t you?”
“Are they or are they not your favorite?”
“They are.”
“Then of course I baked them.”
“I’m going to get fat,” he said, kissing her cheek.
CC snorted. Right. Like Wade had to watch his waistline. She’d seen the man eat three family-sized pizzas without breaking a sweat or a single fat cell sticking to his ass.
“Why don’t y’all come on through?” Ronnie ushered them into a large kitchen with a flagstone floor, pots hanging from a rack above the sink, and old-fashioned AGA stove. Windows overlooked the fields in one direction and the barn in the other, and a big wooden table took up all the space in the center of the room. Racks of cooling cookies sat on one end.
It was exactly what CC imagined the perfect ranch house kitchen would look like, right down to Kenny Rogers singing “The Gambler” from a battered-looking radio set back on the countertop.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Wade! CC!”
Cal, sitting at the opposite end to the cookies, stood. He was nursing a small, pink piglet wrapped up in some kind of fabric covered with sunflowers. It grunted a little in protest but did not relinquish the teat of the bottle, a milk moustache formed all around the eager suckling snout.
“Oh my God.” CC thought she might die from all the cuteness. “I don’t think I’ve seen anything this cute since that teacup pig video on YouTube a couple of years ago.”
“Plenty more where they came from.” He tipped his chin at the bottles lined up on the counter near the fridge. “Grab one, then pull up a chair. Wade, get this woman a piglet, would you?”
“Putting me to work already,” Wade grumbled good-naturedly.
He walked into the mudroom as CC swiped up a bottle and sat next to Cal. Wade returned with a squirming piglet, hushing it as it fussed and carried on. “It’s okay,” he crooned to it, lifting it to rub his cheek against its cheek. Do piglets have cheeks? “Dinner’s coming.”
CC blinked at the picture. She was used to Wade’s good looks. Hell, after witnessing the swinging door of his love life, she was immune to them. Or so she’d thought. Watching him croon and calm a fussing piglet was about the damn sexiest thing she’d ever seen. It was like…farm porn.
Farmer porn.
Wait. Was there such a thing as farmer porn?
He wrapped the baby pig in something that looked like a shawl, trussing it so its flailing trotters were tucked in tight, and passed it down to CC like it was an actual newborn. She took the squirming package awkwardly.
“Get that bottle in fast,” Cal said. “It’ll quit fussing real quick.”
Cal was right—as soon as the teat brushed the piglet’s mouth, it latched on and sucked fiercely, all the squirm gone.
“There you are, now.” CC smiled down at the precious little pink thing in her arms, her heart swelling. “It’s okay. I got you.”
“You’re a natural, darlin’,” Ronnie said.
CC beamed at her. She could see herself coming out here a few times a week just to help out with the feeding. “You’re a gorgeous one, aren’t you?” CC smiled and nodded at the completely disinterested pig. “Oh yes, you are. I’m going to call you Wilbur.”
Wade laughed, so did Cal, and CC glared at them.
“What? It might be a little clichéd, but this face is definitely a Wilbur.”
They laughed harder. It was Ronnie who explained the joke. “That little one is a girl.”
Miffed at her rookie error, CC decided to stick to her guns. She tended to do that. A girl growing up with five brothers knew how to stand and fight in her corner when she had her back pushed against the wall. “Well, I don’t care. Why can’t Wilbur be a girl’s name, too?”
Ronnie nodded. “Don’t you listen to them. You can call the animal whatever you want.”
CC blasted a superior look in Wade’s direction. He was eating cookies, and crumbs had stuck to his lips. The sudden urge to lick those crumbs off those lips hit her out of the blue. Who knew farmer porn got more interesting with the addition of cookie crumbs? She knew they made ice cream better, but…
Oh, for crying out loud—what in hell was with her today?
Was she delirious? Or did every woman who entered the Credence town limits suddenly develop a thing for the town’s number one son? Like he needed any more adoration.
Welcome to Credence, Colorado, population 2,134.
Birthplace of Wade “The Catapult” Carter.
That’s what the welcome sign had said on the way in today. She’d thought it kinda funny and had given him some shit about it, but maybe it had been some kind of portent? A warning to poor, unsuspecting females.
Beware, all ye who enter here, estrogen hazard ahead.
“We don’t name them, anyway,” Wade said, breaking into her analysis.
Cal nodded. “That’s right, darlin’. Mighty hard to eat something that’s going to end up in burgers and sausages when it has a name.”
CC gasped, horrified, looking down into Wilburta’s—she’d already feminized the name, despite her earlier insistence—pretty face. “What, all of them? Don’t you…” She glanced between Wade and his father. “Keep some? Like for…kids’ parties and…petting zoos and stuff?”
Wade laughed again. “Hell no. But dibs on suggesting it to Wyatt.”
His mother shot him a look. “Hush your mouth, both of you. It wouldn’t be the first one we’ve kept as a pet, don’t suppose it’ll be the last. I seem to remember you at six years old crying your eyes out over that cute little runt with the gimpy leg, Marigold.”
“I was six, Mom.” He reached for another cookie.
“Cried every night for a week, he did,” Ronnie said, turning to CC, ignoring her son completely. “It was the sweetest thing.”
Wade rolled his eyes, but CC’s heart gave a funny wobble. Her boss had always been this big uber-alpha jock, and everyone knew there was no crying in football. A lot of w
omen got off on that. But seeing him in his parents’ kitchen eating cookies and cuddling piglets, hearing stories about a broken-hearted little boy, was her kind of catnip.
And then there were the cookie crumbs.
Just then, a dog bounded into the house—not much older than a puppy, really—tongue lolling, mischief in its eyes. It stumbled and fell over a boot and landed in a potted plant before rolling off and skidding to a halt at CC’s feet, tail swishing against the flagstones, an adoring gaze melting her heart. He looked like some kind of Border collie, his black-and-white face dominated by unexpectedly blue eyes.
Eyes that reminded her of Wade.
CC’s heart flopped over in her chest as she stroked his soft head with her spare hand. “Well hello there, gorgeous, look at you.”
Wade shook his head at CC. “She’s like some kind of magnet. Shut the door, we’ll have little woodland animals in here next.”
CC ignored him as Cal sighed at the dog. “That’s George. All feet and energy. Dumb as a box of nails.”
George angled his head from side to side, his freaky blue eyes curious. “I’m sure that’s not true,” CC told the dog.
“He gets distracted by butterflies. Butterflies.”
Wade chuckled. “He’s from Lou Lou’s last litter?”
“Yes,” Ronnie confirmed. “We’ve managed to sell all the others, but…”
“You can’t give this dog away,” Cal finished. “Nor can you train the blasted thing, either.”
“Oh, now, I don’t believe that,” CC murmured, rubbing the soft tips of the dog’s ears before she grabbed his face and smooshed it a little. “You’re just a curious George, aren’t you, boy? And butterflies are very pretty, who can blame you?”
“Oh sweet Jesus.” Wade shook his head. “Never marry a farmer, CC.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t think there were too many farmers in Malibu or Redondo or San Clemente, but his mother cut in.
“There’ll be no cussing or taking the Lord’s name in vain in this house, thank you Wade William Rhett Carter.”
Rhett?
CC glanced away from the dog and laughed. “That explains the whole Gone with the Wind house.”
Cal shook his head. “Nothing but vanity explains that monstrosity.”
CC laughed some more. Undeterred by the criticism, Wade picked up a handful of cookies and stood. “Think I’ll catch up with the bro.”
His mother nodded. “You do that. I’ll take Cecilia and show her all your trophies.”
Wade groaned. “Mom, no, I’m sure—” He stopped abruptly when she laughed, and he realized she was only goading him. He bugged his eyes. “You know people stop me on the street and ask for my autograph, right?”
He said it with feigned exasperation and complete self-deprecation, mischief lighting his features.
“Yes, darlin’.” His mother nodded. “Don’t forget to take a pitchfork from the barn. Wyatt’s spreading new hay.”
CC liked that Wade’s family didn’t fawn over him like so many other people did when they came in his sphere. She’d seen too many sycophants kissing his ass in her years by his side. Sure, his parents were obviously proud, but they were obviously just as proud of Wyatt, even if he didn’t have his name on the welcome sign.
“Yes, ma’am.” He whistled to the dog. “C’mon, George.”
George slid to his belly and practically lay on top of CC’s feet. She swooned a little, but she was pretty sure she heard another cuss word being muttered under Cal’s breath.
“You might as well just go on, son. I think George just found him another butterfly.”
Wade snorted, but CC preened. She’d never been called a butterfly before, nor had the unwavering attention of a male as cute as George. She’d take it.
…
Wade breathed in deep as he flew down the farm track on the ATV, the wind in his hair. The sun glinted off the roofs of the convex hog shelters. The pungent smell of animals mixed with the earthy aromas of grass and hay, filling his nostrils. There was something about coming home to the farm that grabbed at his gut. Something visceral.
Something encoded into his DNA.
He’d had a great career and a great life away from Credence. And being back in a small town after the luxuries of life in the city always drove him batshit crazy. Life moved too slowly, and everyone drove like they were ninety, and a man couldn’t get a decent cup of coffee for love or money. Not even at Annie’s, who’d been serving drip-filter coffee from the same pot for four decades.
But, despite all that, Credence was in his genes.
He spotted his brother three fields over and waved when Wyatt lifted his head as the noise of the motor reached him. Wade put on a spurt of speed and pulled into a field where a few dozen Chester Whites and Berkshires, including several litters of piglets, all rooted around the green grass, foraging for goodies.
Several more were getting relief from the warm day by wallowing in some muddy water that had pooled in a depression in the ground.
“Hey, man.” Wade dismounted from the ATV as his brother took his thick gloves off, and they exchanged the half handshake, half hug thing they did.
Wyatt may have been his older brother, but they were only fifteen months apart and had always been close. Sure, they’d squabbled growing up and been fiercely competitive, but they’d have fought to the death for each other, too. Wade just plain admired his brother. Those big Carter hands could turn to anything broken and fix it. A fence, an irrigator, an engine. It was incredible.
He’d never met anyone who could come up with a solution to a problem with whatever materials were at hand like Wyatt. His brother could have been a mechanic or an engineer. Hell, he could have played ball—his arm was almost as good as Wade’s. But he’d lacked those kinds of ambitions. Wyatt had only ever wanted to be a farmer. To work the land their great-grandfather had bought all those years ago.
“I’m surprised your multi-million dollar ass can take such a bumpy ride.”
“Fuck you.” Wyatt grinned, and Wade grinned back. “You still seeing that woman from Burlington?”
“Nah.” Wyatt shook his head. “We only went out the once.”
“Man. You suck even more than I do at dating.”
“Not a lot of opportunity out this way.” Wyatt feigned interest in his boots. “No practice. I never know what to say. Besides, I leave the smooth up to you.”
Wade laughed. “Yeah, yeah.” A large sow wandered nearby, grunting as she rooted, a dozen or so piglets meandering behind her. “The place is looking sweet, bro.”
“Yeah.” Wyatt looked around the field as if trying to see it through different eyes. “Lotta happy hogs.”
“It’s a credit to you.”
Wyatt shrugged it off. “I’m not doing it on my own, here. Dad works just as hard.”
“Yeah, I know. But you’re the one who talked him into going free-range all those years ago when the industry shift was toward large-scale confinement farming. You set up the partnerships with specialty brands to establish markets and distribution. You modernized the process every step of the way.”
Wyatt shook his head. “Couldn’t have done it without your backing, Wade.”
“That’s just money,” Wade dismissed. “It’s what you do with it that counts. Plenty of farms have gone under despite having backing behind them.”
It was true. Wyatt and his father had busted their asses to keep the farm a going concern. It was hard physical labor. Long hours. Lots of interrupted sleep. And what had Wade been doing?
Throwing a ball two nights a week.
“Well, look at us,” Wyatt said, smiling as he exaggerated his accent. “Shall we call this the first meeting of the Carter brothers fan club? Could you rustle us up some cheerleaders?”
Wade laughed. “I know one or two.”
<
br /> “You planning on using that dang thing?” Waytt tipped his chin at the pitchfork secured to the back of the quad. “Or you gone soft and forgotten how?”
Wade slapped his abs. He may have been retired for three years, but he kept himself in shape. “I helped you with the hay at Christmas, asshole.”
“Just checking. Wouldn’t want you to break a nail or anything.”
He ignored his brother as he reached for the pitchfork. This was what they did, they talked smack to each other. It wasn’t that different from the locker room. Except Wyatt knew really personal stuff about him. But that was okay. He had a ton of shit on his brother, too.
Wade hoisted the pitchfork over his shoulder, tines in the air, as they walked to where Wyatt had been working when Wade had interrupted. “Mom says Dad’s testy.”
Wyatt snorted. “That’s being polite. I doubt I’ll be able to hold him off for six weeks.”
“Reckon you’ll be lucky to get two.”
“Probably.”
“You don’t think he should…retire?”
Wyatt laughed. “Of course he should. It’s not like the man’s got anything to prove. But you and I both know he won’t.”
“Yeah.” Wade sighed. The whole pacemaker thing had shaken him. For the first time in his life, Wade could see his father was getting older.
“I’ve been thinking, though…”
Wade glanced at his brother. The last time he’d used those words, he decided to introduce electronic stock control. “That sounds expensive,” Wade said and laughed.
“Oh yeah, it won’t be cheap. Take a while to start seeing a profit, too.”
“Okay…go on.” It wasn’t like money was a problem.
“Been thinking for a while how cool it’d be to produce our own gourmet pork products. Small-scale, heritage breeds, boutique market. Salami and prosciutto, stuff like that for artisan restaurants and farmers markets. Dad could take the reins. Big project to keep him occupied for a good five or so years while I keep on with the more physically demanding side of the farm.”
Wade whistled. He was impressed. His brother never stopped thinking of ways to expand and grow.
“This just spitballing, or have you started some planning?”