by Fiona Lowe
She hated being played for a fool. Her father had done it to her with false promises she’d believed and she refused to allow any man or woman to do it to her again. Her fury at Luke had simmered from the moment she’d heard his speech and by the time she was free to leave the wedding she’d been so livid, she’d stormed into his milking parlor, guns blazing. He, in turn, had called her on her own behavior, laughed at her and made it clear he still didn’t want her around.
Why couldn’t his brother, Wade, be the guy she had to deal with? He was a total sweetie. She rested her head against the steering wheel feeling like she was between a rock and a hard place. Nicole believed Luke Anderson was the most reasonable of men and Erin wanted to believe her, given she’d been the one to convince him to allow the use of his field. The only problem was, other than his begrudging towing of her car, she’d never glimpsed “reasonable” in any of his dealings with her. In return, she’d lurched between friendly and fuming, only making things harder for herself.
Dumb, dumb, dumb. She banged her forehead against the top of the steering wheel, welcoming the physical pain because it was easier than the emotional turmoil she went through every time she came face-to-face with Luke Anderson. He didn’t like her, and she would have been fine with that if he wasn’t the owner of the sunflower field she really needed for Connie and her Memmy entry. He was adamant he wanted to deal with Nicole in regards to the photos and no one else. In a perfect world she’d have followed those instructions to a T but she was an expert on the fact that the world was far from perfect, having learned that particular lesson at fifteen.
What she did know was that if she didn’t send Connie some photos tonight, she’d be hosing down anxious bride fires all day tomorrow. She had no choice. Sucking in a deep breath, she called Luke’s cell.
“Luke Anderson.” His warm and self-assured voice came down the line, sounding business-friendly.
He doesn’t know it’s me.
Just be polite and professional. “Hi, Luke, it’s Erin. Erin Davis.” She quickly added, “The photographer.”
He gave a resigned sigh. “I know who you are, Erin. Given the drama you’ve managed to create on your three visits to the farm, I’m unlikely to forget you any time soon.”
Just keep going. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry to bother you—”
“Seriously?” This time he laughed as if she’d cracked an incredibly funny joke. “You’ve been bothering me for two days without apologizing so why start now? What is it this time? Are you lost or bogged? Do I need to bring the tractor or will the truck do? Better yet, is there some other hapless farmer you can call on?”
His laughter was sending delicious and heady shimmers through her, which wasn’t right given they didn’t like each other, not to mention the fact that they reacted like oil and water every time they met. She tossed her hair for reinforcement and thought about the sunflower field. “I’m sure the truck will do fine.”
“Erin? Are you okay?”
She shivered at the way his voice had dropped to a deep and serious bass as if he was actually concerned about her. “I’m fine, but I need to sight the sunflower field today for light levels and to take some photos.”
There was a moment’s silence—one that roared loud in her ears, deafening her. He was going to say no. She knew it. She could hear it in that mellow, no-nonsense voice of his and—
“Okay—”
And there was the no. “I know you’d prefer to deal with Nicole,” her words rushed out, running into each other, “but she’s stuck at the hospital and I prom—”
“Erin.”
The firmness of the tone stopped her yammering. “Yes.”
“I said okay.”
Okay? “Really?” Her voice came out as a squeak.
“Really.” His amusement poured down the line. “I can say no if you’d prefer.”
“Ah, no, great, thanks.” Relief made her chest relax and she savored the scent of sweet, late-afternoon air sweeping into her lungs.
“Where are you now?”
She reached over, grabbing the GPS, and her fingers brushed the screen. As she told Luke she was on County Hill Road, Ken said loudly and nasally, “Turrrrn around when possible.”
“Is someone with you?” Luke asked.
“Ken, from Australia. I thought he might give me better directions than Patrick from Ireland. It was Patrick’s fault I ended up in your pasture.”
“Be very careful, Erin.” Luke’s voice vibrated in a way that seemed to roll her name in a caress. “I’ve spent time in Australia and those Aussie men will lead you astray every single time.”
Will you? The thought slammed into her, making her body hot and heavy and her head dizzy. Was she losing her mind or was Luke Anderson actually flirting with her?
She thought about the last time she’d seen him, when he’d tried his best to make sure she didn’t stay at Wade’s cottage.
You are so totally losing your mind.
“Erin, are you there?”
“Yes.” It came out all breathy and she cleared her throat.
“You need to keep driving west—”
“How do I know which way is west?”
She heard him take a breath but at least he didn’t sigh. “The road runs east-west so keep the town behind you and you’re heading west, into the sun. You’ll come to a four-way stop with corn on every side. Take a left at the scarecrow.”
Having seen quite a few scarecrows over the past few days and being very aware that she could easily turn at the wrong one and get horribly lost, she asked, “What’s it wearing?”
“A straw hat and a black bird,” he said sharply. “How the hell should I know? Does it matter?”
His smooth liqueur voice, the one which had wrapped her in wondrous warmth, had vanished, and the abrasive Luke she knew all too well was back. This Luke she’d met. With this Luke she knew exactly where she stood. “Actually, I’ve seen quite a few fashion-conscious scarecrows in fields so I take it you dressed this one in flannel and overalls,” she teased him a bit unfairly because she’d never seen him wear either of those things.
“Do you want the rest of the instructions or not?”
“Yes, please.” She grinned happily as she wrote them down.
* * *
Luke saw Erin’s car parked in the space between the gate and the road and he pulled up behind it. He’d driven down to the field because despite giving her detailed instructions on how to get here, he was convinced he’d be getting an “I’m lost” phone call. He’d decided he may as well just come to the field now rather than start something only to be interrupted. Besides, he wanted to make sure she’d closed the gate.
Admit it. You just want to see her.
He wasn’t anywhere close to ready to concede that. It had been forty-eight hours since he’d last seen Erin and had watched her leave the milking parlor with her laughter ringing in his ears. Forty-six hours since he’d disengaged Marlene’s arms from his neck and her tongue from his ear, tucked her into her motel room bed and come home sober and celibate. It wasn’t supposed to have turned out quite like that, especially given how agreeable Marlene had been to doing exactly what he’d wanted—a fun evening ending in mindless sex, and all for one night only.
However, as the evening with Marlene had progressed, instead of her general agreeableness making him feel like a king, he’d found himself making increasingly outrageous political, social and religious pronouncements to see what it would take for her to disagree with him. The more she continued to say, “You’re so right,” the more he found himself thinking how Erin, with her brilliant green eyes flashing indignantly, would have jabbed him in the sternum with one of her manicured fingers and called him on it.
It made absolutely no sense to walk away from Marlene who stroked his ego just because he was
thinking about a woman who didn’t, but that’s what he’d done. It still stunned him and his frustrated libido wasn’t at all happy that his brain had overruled it. He couldn’t believe that even when Erin wasn’t anywhere near him, she was still getting in the way and interrupting his life.
You’re the one interrupting your life. You’re the one who doesn’t know what he wants.
He whistled Mac from the truck to shut up the rogue thought and then he walked to the gate, checking the chain. “Well, Mac, it looks like she’s in the field and she’s shut the gate behind her.” His palm slapped the top of the fence post. “Job done. Guess we can leave now.”
Mac’s big, brown eyes gave him a quizzical look when he leaned over and unlooped the chain from its anchoring stump, opened the gate and passed through, closing it behind them. Row upon row of sunflower stalks taller than Erin faced him, their large heads bursting, almost ready to flower. Mac trotted happily next to him for a bit and then started barking.
Luke ruffled his ears. “Stay, Mac.”
A white ball of fluff appeared at the end of a row, straining to move forward but going nowhere, and then Erin came into view, holding a leash in one hand and her camera in the other. Her dog yapped and bounced at her feet, desperate to meet Mac nose to nose, but was unhappily restrained by the leash.
“Sit, Maggie-May,” Erin instructed firmly.
Surprisingly, the dog did just that. He and Mac walked up.
Erin checked her watch and astonishment raced across her cheeks. “Don’t tell me you’ve delayed milking just to come check I closed the gate?”
She’s too smart by half. In her bright yellow, plastic clogs, white skirt and canary-yellow top with black trim, she looked like a happy sunflower in bloom rather than a perceptive woman. “Gates are important.”
She smiled and her nose suddenly fell into perfect proportion to her wide mouth. “I know. You told me three times on the phone.”
“It’s farming 101 and I can’t emphasize it enough.” He shoved his hands in his pockets feeling caught out, and his reaction ran parallel to the general discontent that pervaded his life at the moment—like the constant feeling that the farm was controlling him instead of the other way around.
She tilted her head, studying him, and the tips of her hair caressed her chin. “Do you and gates have a history? Did one chase you with a whip and traumatize you as a child?”
He grinned at the image. “Something like that. All I’ll say is that it involved a gate, a happy bull, some surprised cows and a furious father.”
Her eyes lit up with interest. “That sounds like a story worth hearing.”
And oddly he wanted to tell her, only that wasn’t how he was supposed to be feeling because she was everything in a woman he didn’t want. “Put it this way, I’ve never left a gate open since. Now you’re fully briefed on all things gates, you’ll avoid a similar trauma so I’ll leave you to it.” He turned to go and Mac rose to his feet.
“Actually,” her voice cajoled, “seeing as you’re here, can you be my model?”
He spun back, not sure he’d heard right. “What?”
Her smooth hair swung as her mouth formed a wry smile. “It would really help me if you stood in a few different places so I can check the shadows and the light. If I have a person in the photo, Connie will be able to picture it all a lot better.”
“I’m not a bride.”
“So be the groom.”
He wasn’t planning on being either of those things. “Use Mac to stand in for the bride.” He deliberately palmed his forehead. “Oh, sorry, that won’t work, he’s not batshit crazy.”
Erin shook her head emphatically. “Connie isn’t crazy either. She just knows what she wants, which in a lot of ways is easier than a bride who constantly changes her mind.”
Luke wasn’t convinced about the crazy part.
“This is going to be the most fabulous setting when the flowers open and the photos will be stunning.” She threw her arms out and spun around, her face filling with a dreamy look.
A heavy feeling dragged at Luke, as if he was missing something.
The spinning stopped abruptly as her feet stilled and the dreamy look vanished. She hit him with an intense stare. “The flowers will open in time, right?”
He rocked back on his boots, surveying the bulging heads that were so very close to opening. “They should, unless we get an unexpected cold snap or a hail storm that decimates the entire field.”
She blanched, her features looking stark and pinched. “Is that likely to happen?”
He shrugged. “In farming, anything can happen. In a lot of ways it’s an inexact science because there’s only so much you can control.”
Her whole body jerked as if she’d just been shocked.
“The weather must be perfect because this shoot has to work.”
Her reaction and forceful tone surprised him because as a photographer she must be used to dealing with brides and inclement weather. “If it’s a complete disaster there are other places you can use for your difficult bride, like the covered bridge and Mrs. Norell’s garden.” He rubbed his neck. “Although if hail flattens this, it’ll probably take out those gardens too.”
“And that’s you trying to reassure me?” She shook her head slowly as if she couldn’t quite believe her ears. “For a moment there, I’d forgotten farmers are pessimists.”
“Hey!” He took offense at being cast as a naysayer. “I’m not being negative. I’m just being a realist. You asked would the field flower on time, and I gave you the facts.”
“The facts...” She stared at him for a long, contemplative moment. “You’re a guy so of course you gave me all the facts because facts are important.”
“Damn straight, they are.”
Her face creased in a genuine smile. “My brother’s always giving me the facts. Sorry, it’s just this shoot is really important to me.”
Me? He raised a brow. “Isn’t it supposed to be important to the bride?”
“Yes. I meant the bride.” She sounded defensive and her body seemed to bustle with exaggerated movement as her hands tied the leash around a fence post. “So, is your dog going to play nice with Maggie-May while we do this?”
He got the distinct impression she wanted to change the subject. “Mac will stand with me.”
“Great. I need you both to stand—” her fingers closed around his forearm and she tugged him into the middle of the dirt strip that ran down the center of the field, “—here. Now if you can just turn around...”
Her hands were suddenly on his shoulder, her fingers pressing firmly into the bare skin at the tops of his arms. There was nothing gentle or tentative about the touch—it was all business—a photographer used to putting her hands on people to position them exactly where they were needed for the shot. Only it was making him think Swedish massage, hot oil, naked skin and her hands pummeling every part of him.
When she finally stepped back from him and he was left alone facing down the field with his back to her, he gave up a silent thank-you. At least the time it took her to take the photos would give him a few moments to get his body back under control and give his erection time to deflate.
He heard the sounds of the camera behind him and grabbed on to an innocuous topic to help the process along. “I’ve never understood why digital cameras make shutter sounds?”
“This one’s a top-end SLR and it’s got both an electronic and a mechanical shutter. It means a sharper picture. Even if it only had an electronic one, I’d have the shutter sound turned on for my clients because when they hear the click, they know I’ve taken the photo. Can you walk over to the sunflowers, please?”
He did and Mac followed him. Maggie-May bounced on her leash, yapping, as if saying to Mac, It’s so not fair you’re walking free. This time Erin wanted
Luke to face the camera and he crossed his arms, feeling uncomfortable. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just stand.” She squatted down and angled her camera.
He found himself studying the way her hair fell from her part, which ran perfectly straight until the last quarter where it snaked crookedly. It was at odds with the neat bob that fell effortlessly in a shining waterfall of hair. He instantly remembered the silky feel of it against his chin when she’d fallen on top of him and the delectable scent of fresh fruit.
Don’t go there, buddy.
It was too late.
The memory made way for the one he’d tried to forget—the one where her body had wriggled against his, sending her heat scudding through him and making his blood pound hard and fast. Sweat broke out on his top lip as he tried to keep his blood supply north of his groin. Frantic for a distraction, he looked up at the sky and was instantly mocked. There wasn’t a cloud in sight to watch or wonder about.
One twelve is twelve, two twelves are twenty-four, three twelves—
“Actually, Luke, you’re taller than the groom. Can you bend your knees?”
He wanted out before she noticed he was hornier than a teenager watching porn. “I can hear the cows getting angsty.”
“Five more minutes. Please.”
She flashed him a quick “all business” appreciative smile, and despite the assault of color from her clothes, the slightly ditzy and chaos-causing woman he’d first met was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the overly polite or the pointedly snarky one. Instead he was faced with focused professionalism and gratitude.
Shit. It meant he really couldn’t walk away without looking like he was a grumpy and difficult farmer.