by Abby Knox
And then an uncomfortable thought crept into her mind. Maybe he wouldn’t fire her at all. Maybe he was just too nice because she was Mama Jane’s daughter, and nobody wanted to cross Mama Jane. Was that it?
Maggie had worked herself into a tizzy over the idea and had already decided she couldn’t live with and work under someone who treated her as a sympathy case, when there was a knock on her bedroom door.
Without thinking of anything but the predicament that lay before her, she answered, “Come in!”
“Hi, I got—oh my god, I’m sorry!”
Jack had stepped in and seen her bare breasts, for the second time in a month, and immediately turned away, out of respect.
“What are you doing?” he asked her.
“Sorry, I was just waking up and I was feeling uncomfortable and then I got to thinking… OK, I’m covered with the blanket. Come on back in so we can talk.”
He did, and she saw that he was carrying a shopping bag. More than one, actually. He’d been busy. How long had he been gone?
“I got you some new shirts. Nothing fancy. And a water bottle.”
“That’s so nice of you, Jack, but I can’t let you keep buying me things. I literally have no money.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, waving her off. “I can take it out of your paycheck.”
She must have looked taken aback, because he followed up with a laugh. “I’m kidding, Maggie. They’re technically work clothes, so I am obliged to make sure you are properly outfitted and hydrated. And I’m not interested in having to administer first aid to my employee that often.”
Maggie felt her face turn barn red. “I’m so sorry about all this, all this expense, and I’m terrible at the job.”
Jack set the bags down and sat himself down on the bed. “As for the clothes, it’s a tax write-off. As for you, you’re a fantastic employee. You work without complaint until you drop, and you know how to have fun, and that’s a lot more than I can say for a lot of people in this town. And about the first aid, well, it’s not so bad, coming to the rescue of someone like you.”
“Stop.”
“Hell, woman. You smell better than a damn goat caught in barbed wire. And you’re a better conversationalist and prettier to look at, I might add. Try not to sue me for sexual harassment.”
She stopped and looked up at him. Jack had cleaned himself up and was wearing a white T-shirt that hugged his chest and biceps. The curve of his shoulders had her remembering her dream…or actually was it a detail from him helping her down the ladder…or actually…no wait…it was something else.
Then it hit her. Something had happened after she’d blacked out. She blinked hard, and for that half of a second, the vision came back — she was kissing his chest, and he was breathing in her scent and had his hands in her hair.
Oh shit.
“Jack.” She swallowed, dreading the question. “Did we have sex in the barn?”
Jackson
Maggie’s large mop of hair was pulled up in a messy bun, carrot-red ringlets falling down around her neck and bare shoulders. The pink chenille bedspread she had cinched up to cover her breasts was the same color as her cheeks and chest when she flushed with embarrassment.
Hell, she had nothing to be embarrassed about. She was the finest thing he’d ever lain eyes on and he didn’t care to lay eyes on anyone else’s body ever again.
He glanced at the floor and there was her sad excuse for a bra. So all she had on now were her underpants—he had peeled off her filthy work jeans while she was passed out so she wouldn’t mess up her clean bedsheets. He could easily reach over and push aside the blanket, cup her breasts, taste her sweet pink nipples…
But he wasn’t that kind of guy. He was a nice guy. Wasn’t he?
Her pure feminine self, those big eyes, full lips, had his testosterone raging. Of course he would never do anything without getting a clear signal from her, but damn if she didn’t bring out the horndog in him.
Then he remembered, she had asked him a question. The easy answer was no, they hadn’t had sex. But clearly she remembered something happened. So he’d better come clean.
“Who is Alex?” he blurted.
Maggie reared back. “How did you…? Did somebody tell you something about him? Did he contact you?”
Jack put his hands up in surrender. “No, no, no. You said some stuff after you blacked out, I’m sure it was just gibberish, I don’t even know what it was. All I heard was the name Alex. And to answer your first question: no. We did not have sex in the barn.”
“OK. Good.”
“Do I look like a guy who would take advantage of a woman not in her right mind?”
“No, but those guys never look the part.”
He paused. My god, what had happened to this girl? Whatever happened or didn’t happen, he knew then he owed her the entire truth.
He told her everything.
“…And I’m not going to lie to you. I liked it. And I hope next time it happens that we’re both clearheaded and fully hydrated.”
She looked down shyly and laughed. He had made her laugh. Her shoulders pulled up a little toward her ears when she laughed, and she was so damn sexy he wanted to pin her down on the bed. But with her bum shoulder, that would be a pretty shitty thing to do. She was now his patient and his employee.
“Well, if you like me that much, you had better date me. Date me or don’t date me. I need clarity. I don’t do fuzzy, nebulous relationships anymore. That’s just an excuse for a guy to keep his options open.”
There was that distant thunder in her voice again. Something was behind that. Someone—he guessed Alex—had broken her heart. He wanted to edge into the bed next to Maggie and lick every wound, sew up every place that was damaged and balm every scar.
“Does this speech have anything to do with Alex?”
“I don’t want to talk about Alex.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m naked and I’m hungry, and I’m not clear what you want from me.”
Jack stood up and looked down at Maggie, who at this angle looked even smaller and more vulnerable, her hair even more wild. “Tell you what. Get showered and dressed, and I’ll meet you out front in 5 minutes. I’m taking you to dinner. See that? Clothes, food and a date. Just to be clear, like you said, Maggie, will you go on a date with me?”
Maggie
“When you said you were taking me to dinner, I assumed you meant we’d be riding in your truck.”
“You complaining?”
“Not at all.”
Maggie felt Jack’s arm tighten ever so slightly around her waist as the two of them made their way into town astride Rolo, Jack’s horse.
“Good,” he said.
Rolo ambled along the creek that led north from the farm and snaked up the hill overlooking the Mississippi River. Near the top of the hill, there was a bunch of catering trucks, and people scurrying around in black and white uniforms. Another group of people were setting up a tent with strings of lights. Another was putting together a makeshift bandstand. “Looks like the neighbors are setting up for a party at Bryson Dairy,” she commented.
“Yeah. Charlie Bryson is getting married and moving away to Colorado to run a ranch out there. I think his pa was hoping he would stay and take over the dairy so he could retire, but he’s a good man, didn’t put up a stink about it. Too bad. The Brysons are the only thing standing in between my place and Easley Hogs, LLC.”
Maggie could see the distant cars traveling along the Great River Road, which she’d considered one of the prettiest scenic routes in the entire country. She was determined never to eat Easley pork, if it meant helping to keep Jack’s place up and running.
“I lived with Mama Jane for more than 15 years and I never once took this route into town.”
“Well, what’s the point of owning a horse if you can’t save on gas every once in a while?”
She chuckled and shot him a grin over her shoulder. “Jackson Clay is an en
vironmentalist. Curiouser and curiouser.”
“Shoot,” he said. “Naw, I’m just old-fashioned. People think keeping goats and free-range chickens is newfangled and trendy. But really, it’s just doing things the way people used to do things ages ago. My great-grandfather worked the land in northern Iowa until the day he died. His sweet corn would never qualify a so-called government-sanctioned organic label on it, but I’m here to tell you, there was never a single pesticide used on his crops.”
“Really? That’s so cool. Hey, why’d you name your horse Rolo?”
“Honestly? I’ve always named all my horses after candy. I had a light brown one when I was a kid who I called Reese’s.”
She snorted. “And you roll your eyes at me naming the chickens after characters on TV?”
“The difference is, I don’t sell the horses for meat.”
“You don’t sell the laying hens or the goats for meat, either.”
“No, but…oh that reminds me, tomorrow we gotta wean the new kid, get him on the bottle so we can get the nanny back on the milking schedule.”
She stiffened in his arms. “What do you mean, wean the kid? You don’t mean that brand new one you just birthed a few weeks ago?”
“That’s the one.”
“That’s awful!”
“It’s not awful. Goat’s milk is keeping the farm in the black right now, Maggie.”
Maggie grew silent, and it felt like a dark cloud had descended over her light heart. How could she enjoy this early evening horseback ride, knowing that poor baby goat was going to be separated from his mama at first light? There had to be another way.
“Maggie, are you OK?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You went somewhere else just then.”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?” She felt Jack’s hand touch her hair, smoothing a curl out of her face. He was getting very free with his hands on her hair, and she liked it. A lot. She decided to change the subject.
“That everybody thinks Iowa is as flat as a pancake, but they would never say so if they saw that.” She pointed down the ridge, to the rolling hills below and the patchwork farm fields quilting the landscape above the great river.
“I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else,” Jack said.
“You don’t want to travel?”
“Oh I do, but I think I’ll always want to come home to Iowa. Just something about it. Maybe you can show me Chicago sometime.”
She bristled. “Maybe. It will be a while before I’m ready to go back there.”
“Well, if I’m with you there won’t be anybody named Alex getting anywhere near you without a fight. I’ll wipe the floor with him if I ever see him.”
“So violent,” she teased. “Jeez, what the hell did I tell you when I was out of it?”
“I heard enough. Let’s not spoil a perfect evening with talk about assholes, shall we?”
“You’re right. That’s strictly second-date material.”
“Oh, so you think you’ll be going on a second date with me?”
“Do I have a choice in the matter, boss?”
“You always have a choice.” His voice was sincere, but there was an edge of sadness there, as well. He loosened his grip on her waistline.
“I’m saying all the wrong things,” she said.
“So am I,” he said.
They were silent until they reached the restaurant, listening to the sounds of the horse’s hooves on the earth.
Jack hopped down off Rolo first, then put his hands on Maggie’s waist and helped her down very, very slowly. His hands squeezed as he did so, and their eyes locked in a mutual exchange of heat. Her feet touched the ground and he didn’t let go. In fact, he slightly closed the distance between them and locked his arms around her waist.
“You trying to cop a feel, cowboy?”
“You know it, cowgirl.”
He reached up and tipped his hat back and angled down toward her lips. The kiss had nearly happened when the sound of a jeering voice from nearby jolted them apart.
“Well, look who’s here. The princess and her knight in shining armor. Or should I say, thug in cheap Walmart jeans?” Chet Easley slammed his truck door as he approached Jack and Maggie.
“What do you want, Chet?” Jack asked.
“Oh, you know what I want. I want your land. And it seems to me, I have my ways I can get it.”
“Why? So you can put another shitty hog factory along Caleb Creek and complete your plan to fuck up the water supply of the entire county?”
“Why you gotta be such an asshole about it, Clay? Don’t matter. I get what I want.” He turned to Maggie, and his face changed when he spotted her arm in a sling. He looked like he’d just discovered gold in the hills of Iowa. “What happened, the Menace of Middleburg break your arm for sassing back?”
Maggie looked from Chet to Jack. Jack’s neck vein was starting to protrude. Uh-oh.
“You don’t have the privilege of speaking to her, Chet.”
“What are you going to do, hit me? You hit me, you hit my lawyer, you obviously did something to her. You got rage issues, man. What is with you? You gonna punch your way through everybody and everything that gets your panties in a twist? People are just trying to talk to you, man. You better control that temper of yours.”
Jack took a step toward Chet, who backed up a step, just like the weasel he was. He was a weasel back in high school when Maggie had rejected his offer of a prom date and he promptly turned his feelings of rejection into revenge, by spreading rumors about her and the Honors English teacher.
“That’s right, back the fuck up, little man,” Jack growled.
Maggie put her hand on his arm and summoned her teacher voice. The one she had honed during her internship of teaching art to kids at summer camp while in college. “Jack,” was all she said.
That was all it took.
Jackson
The gentle but firm touch of Maggie’s hand instantly cooled Jack’s boiling blood.
His blood pressure returned to normal. Jack looked into Chet’s face and saw the bruise from where he’d pummeled him the night before. He realized Chet was always going to come back for more. The real way to beat Chet was in the long haul. Of course, if that slime weasel ever put his hands on Maggie, there would be no stopping his fists from flying.
“Let’s go, Maggie. The view is much better over at Freezy’s anyway.” He did not break eye contact with Chet, until Chet huffed and turned away and went inside Carrie’s Tavern.
Jack turned to look at Maggie, who still had her hand on his arm. She looked relieved. Dammit, he had almost ruined their first date by getting into another bar fight. Technically, it would have been outside the bar. Still, not a stellar beginning to a proper romance.
“Thank you, Maggie.”
She cocked her head like a brown-eyed puppy. “What for? All I said was your name.”
Jack smiled down at her and placed his hand over hers. It was cold. “Apparently that’s all it took to keep me from losing my temper at that asshole. And you’re freezing.”
He closed both his hands over hers, rubbing and warming them with his breath. She smelled like coconut oil. It was the aroma of temptation. He wondered where else on her body she had rubbed the oil in. He had a wicked thought about where her hands might have gone, getting ready for this date. His cock reflexively twitched at the momentary fantasy that flashed through his mind: Maggie rubbing oil up and down her bare arms, over her breasts, her thighs, into the deep places between her legs. He aimed to find out, if she would let him.
His hands then closed over her hand that rested near her breasts due to the sling and warmed it, too. He was aware of how close his hands were to those breasts, those breasts that he had seen by accident twice now. Standing this close to her, he quietly breathed in deeply, inhaling everything he could. He wanted to suffuse his lungs, his entire insides with her scent, her pheromones, her essence, just as much as he desired to sink
his body into hers.
The pair of them made quite the entrance at Freezy’s, the outdoor ice cream stand overlooking the river, where families with kids were enjoying cones out on picnic tables and little kids were chasing fireflies. When Rolo sauntered up, all the kids shouted and pointed at the horse. Rolo was an old pro and didn’t even get spooked by all the attention and the whooping and squealing.
As Jack hitched Rolo to a nearby bike rack, one child approached. “I like your horse.”
Jack turned and smiled at the girl, who had a ponytail on the top of her head, and it reminded Jack of Pebbles from the old Flintstones cartoon. “Thanks.”
“What’s her name?”
“Well, it’s a boy, and his name is Rolo.”
“That’s a weird name for a horse. My name is Winter.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks, can I pet Rolo?”
“If it’s OK with your mom and dad.”
Kids usually didn’t come up and talk to him like that, and Jack figured it had everything to do with the horse. He looked over at Maggie, who was already ordering their food at the window, and she was smiling. She was watching the whole exchange and loving it.
“Well, this is turning into less of a date and more like Romper Room,” Jack joked as the two of them began devouring their shared banana split. They had already put away two orders of curly fries and bacon cheeseburgers. The sun was going down in the west, lighting up the ridge where their picnic table sat on the grass at the crest of the hill behind the ice cream stand. By the time their food had been ready, three kids had asked to pet the horse, asked for selfies with the horse, and asked to take a picture sitting on the horse.
Now the pink and orange light from the setting sun glowed in Maggie’s face as she sat across from Jack. She looked like a goddess.
“What’s Romper Room?” Maggie asked.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“No.” She wasn’t kidding. Jack kept having to remind himself of how much younger Maggie actually was. Not because she looked older than her early 20s, but because she had the maturity of someone his age and the work ethic and stamina of his immigrant great-grandparents who’d worked the land from pre-dawn until post-dusk every day of every growing and harvesting season.