FarmBoy

by Kayt Miller

  “Interesting. I went over to Nash Watson’s place after school to––” Nash doesn’t want me telling anyone about what I’m doing over there, but it’s my dad.

  “Oh?” My dad stops moving to look at me. “Why were you over at Nash’s place?”

  I’m just going to say it. My parents won’t tell anyone. “To help Andi with her reading outside of school.” I look into his eyes. “Please don’t repeat that to the fellas. He wants to keep it private.”

  “That poor boy.” My mom sighs. “That awful Ivy DeLucas.”

  “Yeah.” She’s not wrong.

  “And poor Bonnie,” my mom says, looking glum. “She won’t step foot in that house. Not since she moved to town after Conrad passed.”

  “I could tell.” I shouldn’t say a word about his house, but Mom will get it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It needs a good cleaning.”

  Mom winks. “You mean it needs a woman’s touch?”

  “No, I mean it needs several women and or men to touch it. It’ll take a good scrubbing from a cleaning crew to get it spick-and-span.”

  Mom sighs again. “Oh, dear. Poor Nash. Maybe I could talk to Bonnie.”

  “No!” I say quickly. “Please don’t. I don’t want Nash to know I’ve said something about his house. I’m going over there every Tuesday and Thursday to work with Andi, and I don’t want anything to get in the way of that.”

  “That’s a good plan.” She reaches out and pats my hand. “You could do a little dusting while you’re there. He’ll never know.” Hm, I’m not sure Mom’s right about that. “Just do a little here and there. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

  “Just don’t piss him off,” Dad says between bites.

  I do my best to school my whine, but it’s still there. “Dad, I won’t. This is all about Andi. I was just sharing my day with you. No need to get all concerned about Nash.”

  “It’s hard not to worry about him, Izzy.” Mom sighs.

  No, I suppose she’s right. Nash is the kind of man who stays on your mind.

  11

  Nash

  She’s here again. She’s been here five times so far, and I’ve done my damn best to stay away from the house while she’s here. I know the time she’s spending with Andi is helping because my daughter read an entire book to me last night before bed. It took her extra time to do it, but it was time well spent. My baby girl was so damn proud of herself. I nearly wept just seeing the smile across her pretty little face. So, yeah, it’s difficult knowing Isabelle is in my house, in my home, but I’d endure just about anything for Andi.

  Looking around the barn, my stomach roars loud enough for Cy to hear me. And see me. She’s got sight in her eye. Cal was right, she had a vitamin deficiency, one that we treated initially with shots, but now I’ve added it to her bottle, so she’ll get what she needs while she nurses. “I’m hungry, Cy. Back in a bit.”

  I know I shouldn’t interrupt reading time, but the stomach has spoken. I choose to enter through the back door quietly, so as not to disturb them. In the kitchen, I peek over at the table and see Andi sitting alone. She’s reading aloud. When she mispronounces a word, I hear Isabelle’s voice coming from the other room. “It’s binoculars, Andi. The c makes the k sound.”

  “Binoculars,” repeats Andi, pronouncing it correctly.

  I frown at the scene before me. What is Isabelle doing in the other room? I step past the kitchen island and around the table and spot her in my living room with a bottle of some kind of spray in her hand and a kitchen towel. “What’re you doing, Isabelle?”

  She quickly places the bottle behind her back and stammers, “Oh, um, I….”

  “Dusting, Daddy. She dusts while I read. We’ve got a system.”

  The fuck? I’m staring at Isabelle when I say, “Hey, Andi? Can you run out and give Cy her bottle? It’s ready to go.”

  “Sure, Daddy.” I hear her chair slide across the hardwood floor.

  Then I hear the front door open and the screen door slam closed. All the while, my eyes are on Isabelle—an Isabelle that is blushing a deep shade of pink. Her blue eyes are big and round, and I just can’t wait to hear what’s going to come out of that mouth of hers that’s opening and closing like a fish. I take first one step, then another and another until I’m less than a foot away from her. As I move even closer, she moves backward until her back meets the bookshelf next to the door.

  “I c-can explain, Nash.”

  I move in closer until our bodies are almost touching. Almost. “You cleanin’ my house, Isabelle?”

  “No. I just….”

  I stay put but look around my living room. Not a speck of dust in sight. I look down at the rug and notice it’s either been vacuumed or shook out. I never heard her run a sweeper, so it’s got to be the latter. Turning my head the other way, I see my sofa looks like it’s brand new. Why haven’t I noticed this before now? And you want to know what? It pisses me the fuck off. Turning back to look right into her eyes, I ask, “What do you think you’re doing, Isabelle? You trying to show me how valuable you’d be to me?”

  “What?” she screeches. “No.”

  I lean in closer until I’m an inch from those fucking lips of hers. “You sure about that? You think I don’t do a good enough job around here? You think you can come on in and become the woman of the Watson house?”

  “N-Nash. No, I—”

  “I’ve got news for you, sweetheart.” My voice just got deep, probably because my dick has taken notice of everything in front of me. “You couldn’t handle me.”

  I expect her to tell me she can handle me, but when I look into her eyes, I watch them darken. She’s either pissed or turned on. I lean down and let my nose skim up the side of her neck. Goddamn, she smells perfect. I scent vanilla and something else. I’ve got to keep going. “What? You think you can handle me, Isabelle?”

  “Nash.” Her voice is husky and soft. “I was just….”

  “Tryin’ to prove yourself to me?” I raise my hand so I can touch her face. So fucking soft. “You want in my bed? You don’t have to clean my house to have that.”

  “No.” Her voice has gained some steam. “I….” She stops trying to talk.

  “You sure?” I lift my head and look down at her breasts that are nearly pressed against me. I can see the peak of her nipples. “Your body is saying otherwise, darlin’. Your breathing is labored, and your eyes are dilated. You’re turned on.” I lean in and skim my lips against hers. “You want me to fuck you, Isabelle? I’d make it good for you. Once. One great fuck. After that, you never step foot in my place again, and you sure as shit don’t say a word to anyone.”

  Holy shit. What the hell am I doing? I came in to get a bite to eat, and now all I want to do is get a taste of this woman. It’s wrong. I know. Isaac would murder me if he found out the bullshit that’s spewing out of my mouth. Because that’s all it is, bullshit.

  I feel her hands run up my chest. For a split second, I think she’s going to wrap those lovely arms around me, but that’s not what happens. Instead of wrapping me up, those little hands of hers push on my chest, hard. So hard it catches me off guard and off balance. I end up on my ass. Looking up at Isabelle, her face is flushed, and her nostrils are flaring.

  “You arrogant jerk.” She steps to her left, getting closer to the door. “All I was doing was helping you out a little bit. It’s what neighbors and sisters of your best friend do. They help out. You’ve got some nerve thinking I’d… I’d just do that….” She points to the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. “I’m not that kind of woman.” She places her hands on her hips and stares right into my eyes. “And frankly, I deserve more respect than that from you, Nash Watson.”

  She turns and moves toward the kitchen, gathering up her bag and a jacket. On her way back to the front door, she stops and looks me in the eye. “From now on, Andi and I will work at my parents’ house. I’ll bring her home immediately afterward. I’ll be sure to provide her
a healthy snack. In the meantime”—she reaches in her purse, retrieving a business card—“this is the number for Janine Baker’s, formerly Davis, cleaning service. I’d use it if I were you.”

  I stare as she moves to the screen door and watch as she pushes it open and steps through without one more look my way.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “I’m in fucking love.”

  12

  Isabelle

  I can’t get out of Nash’s house fast enough, and it’s not because he frightened me. No, it’s because I frightened myself. I mean… I wanted to stay. I wanted to do whatever it was he was offering to do to me, but luckily, I had the wherewithal to push that man away so I could get some breathing room. Once I had that, I got myself together and ran. I ran like the yellow-bellied Izzy Harmon I am.

  Sitting in my car, I haven’t moved from the spot in front of his house because I wanted to say goodbye to Andi. That and I’m afraid if I drive now, I’ll end up in one of the ditches on either side of Nash’s driveway thanks to my shaking hands. “That arrogant man,” I mutter to myself. He sure thinks highly of himself. No doubt he’s already bedded a number of ladies from Honeywell, but he hasn’t dated any of them in public, and if what he said is true, he only does it with a woman once. That’s it.

  I get it. He doesn’t want to get attached. More likely, though, he doesn’t want the lady to get attached to him. I scoff and then laugh. What the heck am I’m saying? I’ve barely touched the man and I’m attached. But he’s obviously still in love with Ivy. If he weren’t, he’d have met someone already.

  I see movement from my right; it’s Andi stepping out from the barn. Pushing my door open, I step out and wave to her. “Good job today, Andi. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.” she says with a smile. “Bye, Izzy.”

  “Bye.” I sit back down and pull the door shut. Looking ahead, he’s there, leaning in the doorway looking so dang handsome. He lifts his hand to wave; then I watch as he winks at me. It makes me instantly irate. I turn the key in the ignition angrily and nothing happens. “Great,” I grumble. “This is not happening.”

  I hold my breath and release it slowly. Placing my foot on the break, I turn the key more gently this time and it works. My little car hums to life. “Thank you,” I say to the ceiling. I don’t want to spend one more minute in the company of Nash Watson. At least not until I’ve had time to think.

  After school on Friday, I decide to skip kickboxing instead making my way to Rose’s classroom. I need to talk to someone. Since I can’t very well tell my mother about Nash’s proposition, I choose my one and only friend here at school. Pulling out a small chair from one of the kids’ tables, I sit across from her. “Rose, if I tell you something, do you promise not to tell?”

  My coworker makes a groaning sound. “Why? Why do you do that? Now I know it’s going to be good and I won’t be able to talk to anyone about it.”

  “You can talk to me about it,” I say brightly. “But if you don’t think you can handle it, it’s fine. I’ll keep it to myself.”

  She rolls her eyes. “It’s about Nash Watson, isn’t it?”

  I say nothing. I don’t even give her an expression to the affirmative. But still she knows.

  “Goddamn it, woman.” Rose huffs. “Fine. But then you’re buying me a beer. Joel’s out of town tonight, and I hate going home to an empty house.”

  “Sounds good.” Starting at the beginning, I tell her about Andi’s reading improvement, about spending time at Nash’s place, and about my trying to “tidy up,” but I don’t tell her his house was as bad as it was. Then I tell her about his proposition. That’s the part that makes her gasp.

  “You did it, right? You fucked that man’s brains out, right?” Holding her hands up like she’s praying, she adds, “Please, for the love of all that’s sacred, tell me all the dirty things he did to you.”

  It makes me giggle. I know I’m blushing like crazy, but hearing her go on like that is funny.

  “Of course not.”

  “What!” She stands up from the child-size chair in Rose’s classroom and covers her mouth. “No, Izzy! No! You needed to do that for me. For the rest of us. For the team.” She stares at me, then yells, “Girl power!”

  Like that reasoning makes any sense. It doesn’t. So I blurt, “I’m a virgin, Rose.”

  “Huh?” She falls back down onto her seat so fast, I’m afraid she hurt herself. “No. Fucking. Way.”

  “Way.”

  Her head falls forward and makes a loud thumping sound when her forehead makes contact with the table. Mumbling into the faux wood, she says, “I need a damn beer.” Looking up, she adds, “Let’s head over to Three Sisters and you can explain to me why the sexiest bitch this side of the Mississippi still has her hymen.”

  Ick. Hymen. I guess it was nice she called me sexy.

  Ten minutes later, we step through the doors of Honeywell’s one and only bar, Three Sisters Place. It’s been in business since the 1950s, and from the décor, it looks like it. I think the last time they updated it was the 70s. There’re still remnants of some pretty dizzying wallpaper in the back near the pool table. There are three booths that line the wall on the side with bench seats on either side of the tables. Those seats used to be orange but are now covered in patches of various colors of duct tape. No matter how ugly the place is, it’s still a favorite of many of the locals. It’s the place to go when there’s nothing else going on, and in Honeywell, that’s most of the time.

  Since it’s not quite 4:30 p.m., the place is only moderately busy. One of the booths is empty, so I lead Rose over to that one and slide in.

  “I’ll get a pitcher of beer. What do you want?” she asks, still standing.

  “Something light, please.”

  “Of course,” she mumbles as she turns to approach the bar.

  I spy the jukebox and can’t help noticing it’s new—well, new for this place. I pull my wallet out of my purse and make my way over to see what they’ve got to listen to. It’s digital, so it makes looking for songs much easier, but I confess, I do miss the old-timey juke boxes that let you watch the records spin. But I digress. Putting in a buck, I select three songs that will give this place a little lift. I pick “Any Way You Want It” by Journey as a nod to my mother, “Brass in Pocket” by the Pretenders, and “Alison” by Elvis Costello. I know what you’re thinking, my taste in music is a bit old school, and you’d be right. I’ve always liked music from the 80s and 90s, and since that’s pretty much all this jukebox has on it, I’m a happy little camper.

  Back at the table, Rose has already returned with a pitcher of beer and two glasses. “Okay, I want to hear everything. Start at the beginning again.” She reaches out and covers my hand with hers. “And be very descriptive. I want it all.”

  I chuckle as I sip my beer. “Fine.” Setting my glass down, I lean in to tell her the story again. She’s doing the same from her side, which is good because people around us have good hearing and big mouths. If it ever got back to Nash that I was talking about him at Three Sisters, he’d have a conniption.

  After the story that ended with the part where he propositioned me, Rose leans back and asks, “How in the hell are you still a virgin?”

  She said it loud, which makes me blush in seconds. I quickly look around to see if anyone heard her, but I think we’re safe. The booth behind her is empty, and the music is fairly loud. “Shh,” I say, leaning back over the table. “I told you that in confidence. I’m not that proud of the fact that I’m—” I look around again then back to Rose. “—you know….”

  She leans in again and whispers, “A v-i-r-g-i-n?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sitting back, she takes a drink of her beer. “No joke, Izzy. You’re one of the sexiest women I’ve ever seen with your curves and that hair and those lips.”

  I blush at her words. Besides, she’s dead wrong. There’s nothing sexy about me. I’m just
Izzy. “I’m not sexy.” Obviously. If I were, someone would have wanted to have sex with me by now. Then I recall yesterday in Nash’s living room, and I blush again. I guess he wanted to have sex with me. Once. Only once. But it’s something, I guess.

  “You’re fucking sexy, Izzy. Trust me.”

  I shake my head and do my best to change the subject. “So, how are things going with your newest paraprofessional?” Rose is our special education teacher, and part of that job is supervising associates, better known as paraprofessionals. They work with each student, and some work one-on-one with a specific student, attending classes with them to assist as needed.

  Rose rolls her eyes. “I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to hire the superintendent’s wife, but she’s a pain in my ass.”

  I giggle into my nearly empty glass. “Oh, Martha’s a nice lady.”

  “You’re insane. No.” She slaps the table. “She’s insane. She brought everyone homemade peanut butter cookies on Wednesday, and I had to confiscate them. The kids were pissed.”

  “Why?” I pause. “Oh, wait, I know. Peanut allergies.”

  “Right.” She nods. “They were really good cookies though.”

  “You ate them?”

  She scoffs. “Fuck yes, I ate them. I’m not allergic to peanuts.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. My goodness Rose Avery is hilarious. Once I stop, something occurs to me. “Hey, I’m not allergic either. Why didn’t you share?”

  She arches her brow. “I had to sneak eat them when Martha was out of the room.” She snickers. “You should have seen her when I gave her back her empty Tupperware.” She laughs again.

  “You’re terrible.”

  Rose smirks. “I know.”

  Pouring the last of our beer into Rose’s glass, I look at the clock above the bar. We’ve been at Sisters for an hour. “Another one?” she asks.