by Fiona Lowe
Silence greeted him as four jaws dropped and four heads turned sharply in his direction.
Then the yelling started.
“What the hell are you talking about?” His father’s fist hit the table, making the remaining silverware bounce.
“How do you even know this?” Wade’s expression held the pain of betrayal that Luke hadn’t mentioned it to him.
“Oh my God, that’s a lot of money.” Keri, who was always a ball of energy, sat perfectly still in her chair as if trying to absorb the figure.
“Luke?” His mother’s voice was pure anxiety. “What’s going on?”
I don’t know. The heavy feeling that had been dogging him in months felt like a lead weight on his chest and molten lead in his veins. “Nothing’s going on. Axel was over last month and we were down at the beach and he valued the land. I thought you should know how much it’s worth. All I’m saying is that it’s another option to put into the mix.”
“The hell it is,” Vernon roared. “This farm’s been in my family for five generations and dividing it up has never been part of succession planning and it’s not going to start now.”
Keri sat forward. “Luke’s got a point, Daddy. It’s an option worth discussing.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been sitting on this for a month,” Wade said accusingly.
Luke tried to dismantle some of the tension that encircled them all and he looked directly at his brother. “It could be that lottery you were talking about. A chance to leave Whitetail and meet someone.”
Wade glared at him. “I wasn’t serious. With the Whitetail wedding business taking off, I’m in a prime position to capitalize on it and have guests discover we’re not just any old B and B. My guests use that beach and it’s a big draw. When I told you about my plans for the mini nursery-farm for families staying at the cottages, you said it was a good idea and promised me calves. Now, all that time, you’ve been planning to undermine me. My business is connected to this farm, Luke, and selling isn’t an option.”
“At least one of my sons understands,” Vernon ground out, the veins on his neck bulging. “Pity it isn’t the farmer.”
“We should never have left you alone on the farm before you were married and settled,” Martha said, wringing her hands. “It’s too hard living this life on your own.”
“Jeez, Mom.” Luke shot to his feet as her words vibrated deep down inside him like a chord—a very discordant one. “Being single has nothing to do with this. Nothing. God, I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“I’m not,” Keri said.
“Keri...” The warning tone in Vernon’s voice may have silenced his sister when she was fourteen but at thirty-four and a mother of two, it wasn’t going to silence her now.
“What, Daddy? Are you telling me that because I married and moved away, I don’t get a say in the family farm?”
“Your father isn’t saying that at all,” Martha said, her face pinched.
“I’m not saying anything else, period. This conversation is over.” Vernon pushed back in his chair. “I’m going for a walk.”
“I’ll join you,” Wade said, meeting his father at the door.
Keri flounced off toward her old room. His mother followed, but not before giving Luke a look that begged him to explain why he’d just thrown a grenade into the next step of succession planning for the farm.
Doors slammed.
Silence hung heavily.
The walls of the house bore down on him, filled with condemnation. He didn’t know what he hated more—the fact he’d just imploded his family or the fact that all he could think about was Erin.
* * *
The cottage that came with the cleaning job was tiny, consisting of two rooms and an en suite bathroom and although it was way too small for a family vacation, it was perfect for Erin. Wade had told her it had originally been built quickly in the twenties for a bachelor farm worker and the sloping floor was testament to its age. Long after the farm worker had moved on and housing expectations had risen, it had become the teenage retreat cum band room for two generations. Now it was careworn and required a lot of work, including repairs to the sagging entrance which currently made the front door stick shut. Erin entered and exited through the slider glass doors of the bedroom, which was no big deal.
She’d spent the evening doing the jobs that she’d set aside to photograph the sunflower field. She was just about to turn out the light for the night when Maggie-May started barking. A second later the slider doors to her bedroom vibrated from loud knocking and she spun around with a jerk, staring at the drawn curtains she’d closed against the doors to shut out the massive expanse of darkness. Earlier she’d tried to enjoy the starlit night and the silence but after living in the city all her life, the quietness and the inky black had freaked her out a little bit.
She gave herself a shake. No boogeyman is going to bother driving down a muddy lane to find you. It’s probably just Wade telling you which cottage to start with in the morning.
“Maggie-May, quiet. Sit.” When her precious had stopped barking she called out, “Who is it?”
“Luke.”
Maggie-May barked and pawed at the curtains with a whine as if saying, Let me at him.
Luke? Anticipation and panic collided, leaving her stomach flipping and her head spinning. Was this a booty call?
Unlikely, she told her panting inner slut. Given the cool way he’d acknowledged her after what she’d been referring to all evening as the kiss, she doubted he was here to continue where they left off.
“Erin, can you call your dog off so I can come in?”
Yes, no, I don’t know.
“Just a minute.” She stifled a groan at what she was wearing, picked up her dog and locked her in the other room before doubling back, flicking on the deck light and sliding open the door. Mac sat quietly next to his master but her breath caught at the sight of Luke leaning up against the doorjamb. Clean boots, clean chinos, and he wore a pressed, long-sleeved Oxford shirt the color of a summer sky. The blue lit up his eyes and took them to a level beyond piercing.
After throwing herself at him like a wild thing earlier, this time she was determined to be Ms. Civilized and match his previously detached air. “You’re all dressed up? Have you been to a party?”
“Family supper. Mom expects clean hands, clean shirt, clean pants and clean shoes.”
And he looked divine. Just as he had at the wedding. Not that he didn’t look fabulous in his cutoff work shirts, but there was something about a man who took some care in matching his clothes to the occasion. “I like the sound of your mother.”
He huffed out a breath. “Yeah.”
Given that he’d been the one to stop by, he wasn’t exactly full of conversation. “So I take it supper’s over?”
“You bet.” The words held a sardonic edge.
She searched his face looking for a hint of why he was here but she came up blank. His expression was neutral and his eyes shuttered. “So at ten p.m. you thought you’d stop by and...?”
“And—” his voice dropped to a delicious burr, “—see you.”
His eyes, which up until that moment had been fixed on her face, proceeded to flick over her—one small brushing glance at a time.
Mini explosions of lust detonated until they coalesced and rushed through her, making her blood thick with hot and heavy need. God, she really should have paid overnight shipping on that vibrator.
As his gaze hovered, reading the writing on her tank top and then dropping to her black-and-white pants, he made a sound that was half laughter and half groan. “Nice pajamas. Do you always dress to suit your location?”
She crossed her arms over the black tank top that had a picture of two cows wearing black fedoras, suits and ties, and said The Moos Brothers. “They were an iro
nic birthday present from my brother. Who knew I was actually going to end up living next door to cows?”
“Who indeed?” As he stepped past her into the bedroom, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her in close.
His voice and his touch had her sighing. Quickly forgetting she was supposed to be cool and detached, she relaxed against him, breathing in his clean scent of soap with the undertones of pure masculinity. Running her hands along the soft cotton of his shirt, she reacquainted her body with the hard contours of his. Man, he smelled and felt fantastic.
He nuzzled her neck exactly the way she liked it—the stubble on his cheeks tickling her skin, the gentle pressure of his mouth on hers, the decadent flick of his tongue followed by the erotic suction of his lips. Every part of her started tumbling toward doing anything he desired, because chances were it was exactly what she wanted too.
His mouth cruised down her décolletage and when he reached the top of her tank top, he lifted his head. “You being dressed like a Holstein is slightly disconcerting. I was hoping to forget the farm tonight.”
Her totally aroused inner slut called out, No problem. Strip my pajamas off me now.
His words, however, had kick-started her brain, which rudely interrupted with, Why did he say I was hoping to forget the farm?
Her body tensed. As a come-on line it was very one-sided. Shouldn’t it be we can forget the farm? No, that wouldn’t have made sense because she had no reason to forget the farm or even a reason to remember it. However, it seemed he had a reason to forget it or why would he have said it? Her brain continued to whirr, firing questions at her and slowly her body started to calm as the rational side doused the lust.
If she added in his cool detachment this afternoon, moments after the kiss and then combined it with this unexpected evening visit, she suddenly felt like she was being used. “Are you drunk?”
“Nope.” He stared down at her with an easy smile and her legs immediately turned to jelly again despite the fact her head was warning her that he’d never smiled at her like that before. From the moment she’d met him, all previous smiles had either been sarcastic grimaces, wry, reluctant or had come with accompanying tension clinging to the edges. His words were at odds with the smile.
“Buzzed, then?”
“Little bit.” He stroked her hair behind her ear. “But you have nothing to worry about. I promise you my performance will only be enhanced by a little help from Jack.”
She rolled her eyes thinking he was more than just buzzed. “Research doesn’t support that theory.”
“I’m willing to prove research wrong,” he said, still holding her hands and stepping backward. He sat down on the end of the bed, pulling her toward him until she was standing between his legs. He smiled up at her, those blue-on-blue eyes gazing at her as if she was the only woman in the world.
Even a little bit drunk he was good and she needed to harness every ounce of energy to stop herself from pressing her hands to his shoulders, pushing him backward onto the bed and climbing on top of him. Distance. She needed distance. Somehow she stammered out, “Would you like a hot beverage?”
“I don’t need a drink.” His smooth, deep voice wove around her like the promise of cozy heat on a cold night and all she had to do to get it was snuggle up. “All I need is you.”
All I want is you. But she knew she had to override her wanton libido and slow everything down. She tugged her hands from his loose hold. “I think some hot chocolate would be a good idea.”
His eyes lit up with wicked intent. “Excellent idea. I think you’d look fabulous wearing nothing but chocolate.”
The thought of him licking her clean made her gasp as the slow build of fire between her legs roared to life with flames leaping high and fast. Her muscles twitched against nothing, desperate to close around something, and because of the reckless command of her body, she almost agreed to have sex right here, right now. Right this very second. God knows she was ready. Her body was beyond ready, willing and absolutely able, and there was no argument that she wanted him. Handsome, gorgeous, ripped, Luke Anderson. What was not to want?
Except he was more than buzzed and something was going on with him. Something she had no clue about but she wasn’t fool enough to step into the middle of whatever that something was, no matter how much her body was begging her to have sex with him.
Obviously all talk of chocolate was extremely dangerous. “As hot chocolate is off the menu, I’ll go make us chamomile tea then.”
He snorted. “Seduction by sleeping? That’s a hypothesis not even worth testing.”
She wanted to smile. “We can drink tea and talk.”
He groaned. “You’re killing me, Erin. I didn’t come here to talk and you sure as hell weren’t interested in talking in the sunflower field.”
Embarrassment tinged with guilt burned her cheeks. “True, but tea and talking are all I’m offering now.”
Her inner slut flounced off in a stomping huff.
He glared at her. “I’m not drinking any new-age mumbo-jumbo pansy-assed tea.”
Somehow she suppressed the urge to laugh. “Instant coffee then?”
He flinched as if the offer was abhorrent. “Hot chocolate,” he said with a smile that would have melted stone. “You know you want it.”
I do, I really do. “I’ll go check on Maggie-May and make the drinks.” She fisted her hands to stop them reaching out to him and turned to leave.
“Erin?”
She paused wondering if she really should risk turning back. “Yes.”
“If you have any compassion at all you’ll wear this.” He threw a hoodie at her.
She pulled it over her head and Luke’s eyes scanned the words printed on the front.
“Photographers do it in the dark?” He groaned. “More irony from your brother?”
She sucked in her lips as laughter hit them. “A college friend.”
“Do you own anything that doesn’t scream sex?”
He looked so forlorn she almost felt sorry for him, but talking about sex would just head them straight back to her being in his arms, which wasn’t wise. “I’ll go make those drinks.”
“Yeah, you do that.” He fell backward onto the bed, his moan of frustration echoing loudly behind her.
As she waited for the water to boil she hugged the feeling close that although he wanted her, he respected her right to say no. Despite the fact that her second impression of him as a misogynist had been completely erased, this was the first building block of her new picture of Luke. She wanted to add to that picture. So, after they’d talked and she’d worked out exactly what made Luke Anderson tick, maybe then she could risk kissing him again. After all, they were adults and if they agreed beforehand and limited themselves to just kissing, they could finish the evening in a most delicious way.
With her plan all set and the water boiled, she returned carrying the two steaming mugs along with a packet of chocolate cookies tucked under her arm. “Here we are.”
She’d expected Luke to be sitting up watching the sports channel but he was still lying down. “Luke?”
A gentle snore was his only response.
Disappointment streaked through her.
She set down the drinks and grabbed a throw rug, settling it over him. As she tucked it under his chin, she couldn’t help but notice the lines of strain around his eyes. She remembered the rigid set of his shoulders earlier in the day. For someone who lived the supposedly carefree country life, he wore strain on him like a cloak. It took one hand holding back the other not to smooth the skin with the tips of her fingers, and it took almost superhuman effort not to crawl in next to him and snuggle up.
With a silent sigh, she picked up the spare quilt and trudged out to the sofa. Sleeping on an old, lumpy sofa with Luke Anderson mere feet away was the perfect
definition of an oxymoron.
Chapter Seven
“And it’s gonna be a perfect day today with clear skies with the temperature hitting eighty-five.”
Luke listened to Gary, from Whitetail’s Bait, Tackle and Beer, who not only sponsored the local weather on the radio, but also got to write his own copy.
“So get down to the lake early or late, bring the bait and kick back with some beers. Spotted Cow six-packs are today’s special and there’s a free one to anybody who brings in a walleye weighing over thirteen pounds.”
Vernon grunted. “Gary knows his beer is safe.”
This was only the second time his father had spoken since Luke had entered the milking parlor. On his arrival, he’d greeted Vernon with a nod. “Dad.” Vernon had replied with “Luke” accompanied by a pointed glance at the clock.
Yes, he’d been late but he’d made it to the parlor by 6:09 and he thought that was a fair effort given he’d only woken up at 6:01. By 6:02 he’d known he wasn’t in his bed or in his room—the sight of one of Erin’s cameras on the bedside table along with the scent of her perfume on his skin from her sheets being big clues. He’d automatically stretched out his arm only to hit crisp, early morning air and stone-cold sheets.
That had jerked him awake fast and then he’d remembered.
The family argument after supper. The company of Jack. Going to Erin’s cottage.
You know you want it.
He silently groaned again at the memory of his behavior last night, just as he’d groaned when he’d woken up. Very smooth, Anderson.
By 6:04 he’d been on his feet, the ancient floorboards creaking under his weight and the sound had caused Mac, who must have slept on the deck, to bark. Erin’s dog had immediately joined in with scratching and whining on the other side of the closed bedroom door and he’d expected Erin to appear, tousle-haired, arms crossed over her pert breasts and with eyes rolling at the fact he’d fallen asleep moments after declaring he wasn’t drunk.
Only she hadn’t appeared and he’d been the one to open the door to let her dog out. As the white fluff ball had shot between his legs, he’d looked toward the couch and glimpsed the curvaceous line of Erin’s hip and her ass. A line he’d badly wanted to trail last night, first with his fingers and then with his mouth. Just last night? Who was he kidding? In the dawn light, he’d still wanted to do it, only, unlike last night, he’d had the presence of mind not to even try.