by Wright, Erin
Stetson wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand as the memory faded. Damn dust in the air, anyway.
The tractor still didn’t run. There was a new part attached here and there, but he and his father had only ever worked on the tractor a few moments at a time over the years.
“If they want my farm, fine. But this tractor will run again, by God,” he said out loud. It was a declaration to the universe.
He spent the entire day tinkering with the machine. With no real plan, he absentmindedly loosened bolts and tightened belts as he thought about other things. Prone to talking to himself while spending hours alone working on the farm, Stetson’s worries were spoken out loud to the empty barn.
“One year. One-God-damned-year. That’s all I lasted,” he fumed. “I screwed everything up so goddamned quickly. Why did Dad ever think that I could do this? Why in the hell did he leave so soon? There are a million things he never taught me and then he just…left.”
Stetson’s loss and anger kept him silent for a time, but eventually his thoughts carried him to another topic.
“And who the hell do they think they are? Coming in here, sticking their noses in where it doesn’t belong. I’ll pay them their damned money, but they could have at least waited until grass had grown on his grave. Fucking vultures!”
Stetson wrestled another broken part off the tractor and carried it to the workbench.
“And sending a woman. What a nasty trick. They knew if they’d sent a man, I would’ve just kicked his ass right there. Instead they sent a woman. They could have at least sent some old hag with blue hair and mole on her chin.”
The image of the Wicked Witch of the West showing up at his door to conduct an audit did tickle his funny bone a bit. He felt the slightest bit of tension slip away. The funny image didn’t work for long though, because he had let his mind stumble onto another thing that was bothering him.
“And what in the hell is wrong with you, Stetson? Thinking that woman is hot. She’s here to take away everything this family stands for and you’re busy looking at her chest. Get a grip.”
Okay, fine. He stared at more than just her chest. He also liked her legs. It wasn’t often that a guy in this area got to see a woman dressed up like that - stilettos and a pencil skirt that skimmed her every curve…
Oh, and her eyes. Brilliant green and sparkling, even when he was being rude to her this morning. Through it all, he’d felt like he could drown in those eyes.
Shit. Any other time, I’d be chasing her up and down the lane. Why’d I have to go and get a beautiful banker? Why can’t I have found a beautiful bartender? Or accountant? Or veterinarian?
When he heard the door at the other end of the barn open and close, he thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t been talking out loud at that moment. The last thing he wanted was someone to overhear him dreaming about meeting a cute veterinarian.
“Anyone in here?” a voice asked.
Shit, shit, shit! What is Declan doing here?
“I’m back here!” Stetson shouted back.
His older brother emerged from around one of the big farm trucks still parked in the barn waiting for harvest time.
“What’re you doing in here? The farm’s running itself so well, you can work on that old thing?” Declan asked with a chuckle.
“Yeah, kinda. The guys had everything handled today so I thought I could get away with spending a day in here. I haven’t touched it since Dad…” He trailed off, knowing Declan would understand.
“Yeah, sometimes it feels good to remember,” Declan said with an understanding nod.
“So, what brings you home?” Stetson asked, trying to move off the uncomfortable subject.
“Well, I was driving by and remembered that Wyatt had asked me to come see you ‘bout setting up a time when we can talk ‘bout harvest. His wheat is finishing quickly because of the drought.”
Stetson thought for a moment. Working with his brothers came with the farm. They had both helped Dad, and he had helped them, but it was different now. Declan was fine, but Wyatt was difficult to deal with. Their father had not let him get away with much bullshit, but Wyatt tried to be as much of a pain in the ass as possible to Stetson.
Which was saying something because when Wyatt set his mind to it, he could be a real pain in the ass. But in the end, Stetson decided that he’d better help, because that’s what Dad would have wanted.
“Anytime that’s good for y’all is good for me,” Declan added. “How ‘bout Friday? I’ve a couple of things I need to finish up this week, but I should be free by then.”
“Sure, swing on by any time after five,” Stetson said.
“Great,” Declan responded. “I gotta get moving, but I’ll let Wyatt know.”
Stetson watched his brother turn to leave and gave a small mental sigh of relief that the conversation had not stayed on their father.
“Oh, what’s with the fancy car at the house?” Declan asked, turning back.
Shiiiiiittttttttt!
“It’s…my accountant,” Stetson said, trying to buy time to come up with a good story.
“Why’d you got an accountant up here?”
“Welllllll…” Stetson drug out the word, playing for more time. “With Dad passing, I’ve had to do all of the paperwork, and I thought since I’m not too good at it, I’d have an accountant come up and just make sure I’m not screwing it up too badly.”
“Oh cool. Good idea. I’m impressed you thought of that on your own,” Declan said and headed for the door.
Stetson waited for the sound of the barn door closing before he threw the wrench he’d been holding to the ground, spiking the tool like it was a football.
“What the hell, man!” he said angrily to himself, the clanking of the bouncing metal punctuating his frustration. “You could’ve just told him. Declan would’ve understood.”
What he acknowledged to himself, even if he didn’t say it out loud, was that he really didn’t trust his brothers. Not that he hated either of them - well, sometimes Wyatt was hard to like - but the truth was, he was the baby of the family. There was just such distance between them that it was hard to feel like he was even in the same family. As the middle child, Declan was eight years older than Stetson, but only two years younger than Wyatt. Those two had grown up together and had this annoying habit of thinking of Stetson as not just the baby of the family, but sometimes as an actual baby.
So yeah, not much in common, age-wise, and it sure as hell didn’t help that he’d inherited the farm in its entirety. Because Wyatt and Declan had moved out and bought their own farms while Stetson was still in junior high, Dad had chosen to give the family farm to Stetson. He figured Wyatt and Declan didn’t need another farm to run, but…they hadn’t taken it well to be cut out of the will that way and there’d been an undercurrent of tension ever since.
But dammit, when Mom had died, it’d been Stetson’s responsibility to take over her chores and help run the farm, even though he’d been only a child himself. When Dad had fallen ill, it’d been his responsibility to figure out how to pay for the cancer treatments. Declan and Wyatt didn’t have to - they just focused on their own farms and their own lives, and left Stetson to figure it all out on his own. It wasn’t like life had been handed to him on a silver platter or something.
But then again…
“It’s not like they didn’t grow up here, too,” he scolded himself. “They have an interest in how this place runs. I should’ve just come clean. Screw it! I’ll tell them during the Friday meeting and just be done with it.”
Picking up the wrench from under a nearby truck, he placed it back on the workbench. He grabbed a pile of dirty rags he wanted washed and headed to his truck.
Chapter 5
The barn was only a few hundred yards away from the house, but Stetson drove the massive diesel truck back to the house anyway. He parked next to the little car the accountant drove. Looking down on the small vehicle, he felt a surge of love for his truck. It w
ould go through hell and back. That little matchbox car was only good for driving around a city. His truck was so much more practical and trustworthy than anything a banker would drive.
Speaking of, he saw that she was standing on the porch, talking on her cell phone.
She’s lucky to have service out here.
He jumped out of the truck and then reached back in to gather the rags. His less-than-pleasant mood had led him to just fling the rags into the cab as he’d gotten into the truck. As a result, they were scattered all over the place.
He gathered what he could reach from one side of the truck, slamming the door shut with his foot as he went, and headed around to the other side of the truck to gather up the rest. He looked up at the porch as he walked. She was sure pretty, no matter what her purpose here was. Her dark brown curly hair was pulled back in some sort of tie but it still drifted in the breeze blowing through. It begged for a man’s hand to be run through it…
Deciding he’d not really gotten a good look at her this morning, Stetson changed his plan and carried the small handful of rags he’d gathered into the house. His plan was simple: Make two trips and get two looks.
He stepped up on the porch just as she pocketed her phone.
A small part of him had hoped she had some…unfortunate aspect about her. Something he’d missed this morning that would make her less attractive, downright ugly if he was really lucky.
As he passed by, he stared down at her. Dammit, she was more attractive up close than he’d realized earlier today. Where was a huge black hairy mole when you needed one? Her eyes still captivated the majority of his attention.
That shade of green exists no place else on this planet.
He didn’t linger but went directly into the house, tossed the rags in the laundry room, and walked back out to the truck.
On the way back outside, he was able to get a glance at her from behind. Shorter than him by more than a foot, she had that perfect curve. The skirt and top that she wore clung to her outline in just the right way, and the spiky heels made her calves flex just a little, showing off some amazing legs.
Shit, why’d she have to go and wear a skirt and heels to a farm? No one wore a skirt on a farm. No doubt that’s why he thought she was so beautiful - she was just unusual. Out of place.
Don’t let a fancy skirt make you soft. She is the enemy. Nothing more than that.
Stetson probably shouldn’t have opted for the second pass. Even though looking at a beautiful woman usually put him in a very good mood, he still couldn’t get rid of the knowledge of why she was there.
By the time he’d reached the truck the second time, he was back to being in a foul mood.
He did have to admit that startling her was fun. Childish, but fun. Her surprised little shriek was cute, and he couldn’t help notice how her butt tightened as she jumped. Even if he did enjoy the juvenile thrill of startling her though, it didn’t erase the reason she was here.
Everything seemed to be spinning out of control. Not only was he torn between lusting after this woman and hating her, but now he was being dishonest with his family. Stetson was not a fan of feelings in general, but this feeling of helplessness was a feeling he liked least of all.
Carrying the second pile of rags, he returned to the house. He was happy to note that she’d gone inside. He’d spent quite enough time drooling over the banker’s legs today. He dumped the rags on the pile with the others. Turning around and heading for the living room, he practically ran her over.
They were headed in opposite directions in the hallway, but this meeting had them blocking each other.
They stared at each other. His heart rate began to climb. She didn’t look mad at him for his earlier behavior. In fact, she carried the slightest smile on her face as she tilted her head up to look at him.
For no better reason than it was the worst possible choice to make at that moment - and Stetson seemed to be full of those today - he handled the situation rudely.
“It is now 5:05,” he said, looking at his watch theatrically. “I thought I told you to be out of my house by 5:00 sharp.”
The small smile instantly evaporated from her face.
Why the hell did I just do that?
The truth was that looking down on her like that, standing so close, smelling her fruity perfume, had made the idea of kissing her flash through his mind. That was not an option. The rudeness was instinctive, protective, primal.
“I apologize, Mr. Miller.”
Still slightly bewildered by his own actions, Stetson watched as the now furious Jennifer hoisted her bag farther onto her shoulder and then shifted from one foot to other, looking for the clearest path past him.
“Stetson Byron Miller!” came an accented shout from behind him.
His head automatically dropped so that his chin touched his chest. It was a reaction created out of years of repeated training. It was what he always did when Carmelita caught him doing something he knew he shouldn’t have.
“I have had enough of you and your horrible attitude,” Carmelita said from right behind him. “You know better than that. She is a lady, and you will treat her like a lady. Do you understand me?”
Stetson turned towards his housekeeper. With his head already bowed, he was looking right at her upturned face…dammit, her red upturned face. This meant that not only had he stepped over the line, Carmelita felt like he’d pole-vaulted past it.
“Your father, God rest his soul,” Carmelita said, crossing herself automatically, “would take you outside and beat you good.”
“Carmelita, this is my house, and I make the rules,” he said, trying to justify a position even he knew he couldn’t really defend.
“Your house? Humph,” Carmelita yelled as she shook a finger in his face. “This is your father’s house and this is your mother’s house.”
Again she crossed herself.
“But…”
“But nothing, mi chio. As long as I am around, you will follow the rules that you were taught, and being rude to a lady is not allowed in those rules.”
Stetson knew he was defeated. She was on a roll and there was no stopping her when she got like this. It was the use of the Spanish “my boy” that gave it away. Normally, Carmelita was very good about being a supportive and nurturing woman without trying to fill the hole left by his mother. Stetson also knew that, despite her respect for his parents, she felt a very strong maternal bond toward him. So when she called him mi chio, he knew he’d hurt her in that way only a son can hurt his mother.
“You will apologize to Ms. Jennifer right now,” she said with a stamp of her foot.
Stetson knew that apologizing was the only way out of this situation. He also knew that he should apologize even if Carmelita wasn’t making him.
Saying you’re sorry is never easy, no matter how much you’re at fault. He could feel the flush spreading across his face as he turned back to the woman from the bank. Stetson’s dislike of apologizing was another one of those things left over from his childhood. Being so much younger than his brothers, it seemed like he was the only one who ever made mistakes. No matter what had happened, his older brothers would twist the situation, any situation, so that it was his fault. Stetson couldn’t begin to count the number of times he had apologized for being hit by his brothers.
He paused, gathering his words and swallowing his pride, and in that moment, her smile returned. Not a big grin, but just enough of a smile to kick his embarrassment up a notch further. Dammit!
“Look, this whole thing’s been tough, and I’ve not been nice to you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been rude,” Stetson said, hoping that it was sufficient.
The short woman regarded him with those stellar eyes for a long moment. His heart continued to pound in his chest as he waited.
“I accept your apology. And to show that I appreciate your saying sorry, I’ll be here tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. sharp.”
With that, she turned sideways and shuffled past him, head
ed for the door. Stetson flattened himself against the wall, but still, her body traced a sizzling hot line across his where they brushed against each other.
Chapter 6
The drive back into town was long and slow. Despite traction control and a million other features the dealer had droned on about when she’d bought the car - all of which were supposed to create “a safe and comfortable driving experience” - Jennifer had had a hard time staying in control as she’d negotiated the mile-long gravel pit Stetson called a road.
Surviving the first mile, the rest of the drive wasn’t that bad. Traveling on a two-lane highway was not something she was used to either, but at least it was paved and the 15 mile drive at a slower pace did give her time to think.
Even with the slipping and sliding on the gravel road, she’d kept a smile on her face at the memory of Carmelita making Stetson apologize to her. Turning left onto the paved highway, she was able to concentrate on the day rather than her driving.
“She doesn’t let him get away with anything,” she chuckled to herself. “Maybe there is something to this ‘country charm’.”
You have got to stop thinking about him like this. Yes, he’s handsome, but if you get too far down this road, what’s going to happen if you can’t find a way for him to pay the loan? Getting attached to him and then being the face of the bank that kicks him off the family farm is not going to get you a second date.
“Shiitttt, the audit,” she mumbled to herself. “The cleanup went a lot quicker than I’d thought it was going to. But why does Greg want a report so soon? He knows the drill. These things take a few days.”
The sudden change of topic in her own mind left her a bit stunned. Why was this audit getting to her like this? She normally didn’t have this much of a problem maintaining concentration, but something was causing her brain to act like a 15-year-old girl with ADD at a concert.
She tried to find a radio station. Something to take her mind off her boss’ unusual behavior, saving Stetson’s farm, and her uncontrollable attraction to this farm boy who had barged into her life. The selection was disappointing. Pressing the scan button on the radio, she found a country station, a political talk show, a talk show about Jesus, and something in Spanish. None of the choices excited her, so she went back to talking to herself.