by Fiona Lowe
Her eyes narrowed. “If you weren’t interested in selling, you wouldn’t have told us at all.”
He shrugged against the complex knot that was his feelings for the farm—a tight and tangled mess he couldn’t seem to untie. “The price surprised me.”
They both turned at the sound of a four-wheeler. A moment later, Wade jumped off and shot both of them a killing look. “Plotting against me, are we?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Wade,” Keri said, her voice tight.
“I think you just answered my question, sister dear.”
Wade stood with his hands on his hips, looking like a solid, concrete wall.
Luke offered him a sub, wanting to build bridges with his brother. “Sit down and eat with us.”
“Oh, you mean like supper last night, Judas.”
Luke lowered the plate. “I thought you might want to hash this out rationally rather than resorting to amateur dramatics.”
Wade folded his arms across his chest. “Listen, Luke. You’re the one causing the drama. You can’t just change your mind about running the farm, because, guess what? You’re not the only person affected.”
Luke shot to his feet, mad at being told what he couldn’t do, twice in one day. “So I have to live my life to suit yours? This is rich coming from the man who played the ‘if you’re not homophobic, Dad, you’ll prove it by giving me Grandpa’s house and some land to run my business from’ card.
Wade’s ears burned red and his arm shot out in a fist that came very close to striking Luke on the shoulder. It fell back to his side. “You got the whole fucking farm!”
Keri scrambled in between them. “I’m the girl in the family and I got sweet fuck all.”
Luke stared at them both as their waves of antagonism bashed against him and part of him regretted ever mentioning the land value while another part of him knew that he had to. Even so, he wasn’t going to stand for being painted as the bad guy. “Newsflash. Neither of you wanted the farm, and to put things in perspective, it’s not like you get nothing. If I stay farming, there are the dividends from the family trust.”
“Only in the good years,” Keri said. “It’s not reliable income.”
Luke wanted to yell at her, telling her that inheritance was a privilege, not a right, and that the family trust dividends were income off of his hard work. But, after last night’s reaction from everyone, he was learning. Swallowing the comment meant Keri couldn’t jump on it and tell him to sell the farm, take his share and go. Right now, he didn’t know if he really wanted to walk away from the farm or not. All he knew was that as things stood, he wasn’t happy.
Sticking to cold, hard facts and avoiding the minefield that was anything to do with emotions, he said, “Due to the size of the herd, the last decade has had more good years than bad. Why do you think Mom and Dad could retire to Arizona?”
Keri ignored him. “The sale of the beach acres would go a long way toward paying Grace and Ethan’s college tuition.”
“They’re eight and ten!” Wade yelled. “You and Phil have the means to earn that money between now and then or, here’s an idea, they take out student loans like the rest of us.”
Keri’s mouth hardened. “That’s my point. It would mean they start their life without a debt load.”
Wade leaned in like a boxer ready to throw the first punch. “I think you failed to factor in the reality that the money has to be split four ways. Selling the beach acres won’t even cover their tuition.”
Keri matched his stance. “It will if the farm is sold.” She spun around to face Luke. “That’s what you want, right, little brother?”
Luke was sucked back in time to when his older siblings fought and then each one tried to get him to side with them against the other. He was all grown up now and he wasn’t falling for that old chestnut. “Right now, I want to get back to loading the freshly cut grass into the silage bags.”
“See, Keri,” Wade said with victory in his voice, “he wants to keep farming. Your money-grabbing power play isn’t going to work.”
Keri’s mouth flattened into a line of sheer determination. “Really, Luke? I can’t believe that’s what you truly want.”
He wasn’t prepared to say either yes or no. He wasn’t prepared to admit anything to either of them, especially not the fact that he felt lost. God, he hated the feeling. It swamped him, accompanying him everywhere and tainting everything he did. How had it happened that the life he’d always envisaged with great excitement had suddenly become a chore? Where was the joy he’d always found here as a kid helping out? Where was the enthusiasm that had propelled him through CALS? Where was the drive that had him working outside of the farm to gather a wealth of information so he could bring it back here and implement it? He’d started and then he’d stalled.
He ran his hand through his hair. “I want the farm in tip-top shape no matter what my decision. I’m going back to work.”
He swiped the cheesecake off the plate and trudged back to the tractor.
Wade’s voice carried over the evening air. “Keri, you haven’t brought the kids to the farm since before Mom and Dad retired and I know they want to see you all. I’ve got a vacancy in a two-bedroom cottage next weekend. Bring Phil and the kids up to visit.”
Where the hell had that invitation come from? Sometimes he really didn’t understand his siblings at all, but then again, they’d run hot and cold with each other all their lives so why would he expect today to be any different?
* * *
The moon was high as Erin pulled into Lakeview Farm Road on her return journey from Minnesota. With bookings coming in, she’d needed more cameras, her big computer and clothes, so she’d made the long trek there and back in a day. She’d also taken the opportunity to print out Lindsay and Keith’s photos.
Many photographers gave their client a DVD, but she believed people responded best to handling the physical photos rather than staring at a screen. She always went one step further by inserting the proofs into a standard white album and mounting her favorite shot of the couple. This gave her clients a real feel for the potential of their final album—an artistic collection representing love, hopes and dreams. A potential heirloom piece that could be handed down to future generations.
She slowed as she rounded the final bend and just before she passed through the open gateway into the grounds of the cottages, she braked. Work lights beamed from the middle of the adjacent field and her eyes scanned the lit area. Even with the distance, she easily spotted Luke. Despite his shoulders being equally as broad as Wade’s, his height made him stand above most men and his distinctive shock of hair gleamed golden under the lights.
Her stomach flipped in a good way.
She glanced at the dashboard clock. 11:37 p.m.
Why was he working at this late hour?
Does it matter? You often work late into the night.
She couldn’t argue that.
She hadn’t seen him since she’d flicked a throw rug over him last night. Now he stood on a machine which was attached to the back of the tractor, and trailing behind that was the biggest and longest white, plastic “slug” she’d ever seen. The combination of moonlight and artificial light bathed the field in complex shadows but all the energy was centered on Luke. She wanted to capture the moment.
Maggie-May barked and pawed the window, her ears sticking up like eager triangles and then she whimpered her I need to get out of this car right this minute whine.
The silky, smooth voice of “Soul Barry” sounded from the GPS. You have reached your destination, bay-bee.
She shivered as a thrill of anticipation shot through her, making her tingle all over. If Barry was telling her in his oh-so-seductive tones that she’d reached her destination at the exact moment she’d been staring at Luke, then who was she to argue? She’d take the pho
to and then go talk to him. Last night he’d definitely wanted to talk to her.
No, he’d wanted to have sex with you.
She sloughed off the semantics. He’d been a permanent guest in her head all day and she wanted to see him. She wanted to have that “getting to know you” conversation they’d totally bypassed when they’d leaped straight into a take my clothes off me now kiss. The conversation he’d fallen asleep before they could have last night.
Throwing the gearshift into Drive, she drove the short distance into the parking lot for the cottages, switched off the ignition and then, having learned her lesson on the very first day on the farm, she tugged on her hot-pink-and-black rubber boots. Who knew rubber boots could be such fabulously fun footwear, or that they came in so many fantastic designs. The choice had been tricky because she’d been torn between buying three pairs—the ones she’d purchased, a pair covered in pictures of handmade chocolates, and a black pair with bright red tartan tops.
She leashed a now-frantic Maggie-May and got out of the car with her camera, tripod and flashlight. Maggie-May darted under Wade’s rustic post and rail fence, while Erin hefted her gear over and then she followed, gingerly throwing her leg over the rail. Arcing her flashlight back and forth, she hoped there were no badger holes to trip her up and was immediately struck by the thought. How did she even know about badger holes? Obviously, watching local television was more informative than she’d thought. Next she’d be quoting the specifications of farm machinery.
Once she’d found the perfect place to shoot the photo, it didn’t take long to attach the camera to the tripod and then quickly set the f-stop for a long exposure. As she lined everything up and pressed the shutter release, she heard a second dog panting by her side. She tousled Mac’s soft ears. “Hey, boy, how are you?”
The border collie rubbed his black-and-white head against her thigh and Maggie-May barked indignantly as if to say forget her, I’m here. The two dogs sniffed each other in that friendly greeting routine common to all dogs—nose to nose and nose to nether regions. Sometimes Erin wondered if that told them a lot more about each other than humans ever learned from a handshake.
Luke smells like sunshine.
“Mac! Here, boy.” Luke’s command drifted across the field.
The farm dog hesitated, as if he knew he should respond instantly to his master, but at the same time being tempted to stay with Erin and Maggie-May.
“Come on, Mac. Let’s not give him an excuse to be grumpy with either of us.”
Slinging her camera bag and tripod over her shoulder, she continued to walk carefully toward the tractors and lights. As she entered the spill of light, she saw there were two other men working alongside Luke.
Luke had his back to her and she heard him say, “You guys call it a night. I’ll finish up.”
“Are you sure?” asked the man Erin now recognized as Brett.
“You bet. See you at seven to start over.”
“Hey, Erin.” Brett nodded toward her camera. “Great moon.”
“It sure is.” She gave him a wave as he departed with the other worker in the truck.
“Erin.” Luke faced her and his greeting neither welcomed or rejected her.
His flirting tone, which had been present yesterday, was now absent and she struggled against her disappointment.
She reminded herself there was no need to be disappointed. In fact, it was probably a good thing because she was here to talk, to get to know him and not to get sidetracked just yet by thoughts of his amazing mouth, which could stroke hers as softly as a feather and be as hard and demanding as granite.
Oh, yeah, that’s the perfect way not to be sidetracked.
As she tried to shake off the unhelpful voice in her head, she lowered her tripod to the ground. “You’re working late.”
Go, Erin. What a fascinating conversation starter. Try leading with the weather next.
Luke shrugged as he stepped down and off the machine. “Just normal summer farming hours when we’re cutting hay.”
She frowned. “I thought hay went into stackable bales or those big round things I’ve seen in the fields all around Whitetail.”
He stared at her for a moment, his intelligent blue eyes flicking over her face with traces of puzzlement. It was as if she’d just spoken in a language that should be familiar to him but was sounding very foreign.
“Cut grass dries and becomes bailed hay. It’s important we cut it during a hot, dry spell and we rake it so it loses all its moisture before we roll it or bale it. Wet bales can smolder and then spontaneously combust.” He gave her a teasing smile. “Burning down the barn isn’t something any farmer recommends.”
Spontaneously combust.
His words and his smile took her instantly back to the sunflower field. To the magical feel of the slow burn of his lips against hers and the exhilarating moment that touch had ignited the pure, insatiable burning lust in both of them. The memory sparked rafts of quivering tingles, which shot through her like a meteor shower. She clenched her thighs together, hard. Very hard, in a desperate attempt to squash the darting and delicious throbbing that was beating a steady tattoo of need deep down inside her.
Did he realize he’d just described their kiss?
“...freshly chopped green grass or haylage gets stored in—” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, “—polyethylene bags.”
Possibly not. God, she had it bad.
“...chemistry happens and in a few months we have cow food.”
Chemistry. The thing that so often vibrated between them, although tonight it seemed the vibrating was restricted just to her. She fought to get herself under control so she sounded intellectually interested rather than breathy and aroused. After all, she was on a “getting to know Luke” mission.
“Wow.” It sounded deep and strangled and she cleared her throat. “I had no idea there was so much science in hay.”
He grinned. “There’s science in everything. I’ll turn the lights off so you can get that shot of the moon.”
She didn’t follow. “The moon?”
Surprise flitted across his face. “That’s what you’re out here for, isn’t it? The call of the full moon on a clear night and a perfect photo opportunity?”
The call of you.
“Sure, yes, absolutely.” She quickly opened the legs of her tripod as if she had come to do just that. “Only don’t turn the lights out just for me. I can wait.”
He shut down the generator and the light slowly faded. “This job’s finished and I’m done.”
He sounded weary and she wasn’t surprised given she’d heard him leave the cottage around six this morning. “For a few hours anyway. I’m guessing the cows always need milking.”
“They do.”
A shaft of moonlight put his face in half shadow and half light. It was like looking at a black-and-white photo and she swallowed at the haunted look it gave him. Then he moved and the light shifted, vanquishing the look and she was left wondering if she’d imagined it.
She pulled her gaze away from him and concentrated on setting up the photo he was expecting her to take. The silver rays of the moon bounced off the grove of trees on the far boundary of the now slashed field, creating a thousand tones between the iridescent white of the moon and the inky black of the trees. She wasn’t used to a lack of artificial light pollution and she was in awe at the sight. “The moon’s a massive LED.”
He nodded with a smile. “It’s harvesting light.”
The long exposure finally came to an end, her camera signaling it with a distinctive click.
“May I see?” he asked.
She hesitated. “It’s going to look better on a computer screen where you can see all the nuances.”
“You’ll have to show me sometime.”
I’ll
show you now.
Only, unlike last night when every statement he’d made had been a double entendre intended to get her naked and horizontal, tonight he sounded genuinely interested in seeing the photo, rather than her. As she unscrewed her camera from the tripod, she felt oddly let down.
He leaned against the enormous wheel of the tractor, his body relaxed and his expression interested. “Do you do much artistic photography?”
His words lifted a scab on a wound which was often inflicted on wedding photographers. “All my photography is artistic,” she snapped more sharply than she’d intended.
“Have I hit a sore spot?” he asked mildly.
“No.” She collapsed her tripod. “You’ve only exposed your ignorance.”
He didn’t bite at her barb. Instead he shifted his weight and said, “So, enlighten me.”
Her head jerked up and she scanned his face for derision but found only curiosity. Her hands fluttered out in front of her. “Sorry. It’s just I get weary of the jokes like what’s the difference between a wedding photographer and a monkey.”
His mouth twitched. “I’m assuming you don’t want me to try and guess the answer?”
She grimaced. “No, thank you.”
He pushed off the tractor and reached in behind the seat, before handing her a chocolate bar. As he pulled down the wrapper he said, “So why do you choose to photograph weddings?”
She thought about how everything could be lost in a heartbeat. How with one decision a bank account could be emptied and a home could cease to exist. How lie upon lie from a father could rip a family apart, destroying everything except poverty, heartache and dislocation. Her laugh sounded tight. “Too easy. They’re happy. They’re filled with joy and love and I consider it an honor to be allowed to capture those emotions for perpetuity.”
A streak of disbelief rode across his cheeks. “There have to be levels of happiness though, right? Some weddings would be happier than others.”
She pondered the question. “I suppose so, but I can honestly say my brides always look so happy they glow.”